Written by our See Beautiful Girl of the Month, Camryn Berry (14-years-old).
“I ran into one of my previous co-workers today! The first thing they said to me was ‘How’s your son, Cameron, doing?’” My mother recalled the experience with an amused smirk. “I told them that ‘My daughter is doing wonderful.’” I stuck my tongue out at her and returned to the assignment I was diligently working on at the polished mahogany dining table. It was not the first time I had heard a story from my mother about her coming across an acquaintance who had taken me for a member of the opposite sex. Not that I can blame the large group of Mistaken Acquaintances. My name, when spoken, is most commonly associated with a young boy and not a young girl. My name is Camryn.
There are a lot of people who have the same name as someone else in the universe. Currently, the top child names are Liam and Emma. I wonder how many children there are in the entirety of the world who have the name Liam, or the name Emma. I used to think that they were the lucky ones. They got to collect cool keychains from all the locations they visited, inscribed with their name written in loopy cursive writing. Never have I been able to find a cool keychain like that for myself. Instead, I am doomed to a life of finding keychains at the bottom of the rack, the ones inscribed with merely “love” or “hope” or “peace” and other virtues of the like.
There are a lot of people who have the same name as someone else in the universe. Some of their paths may intersect and they can hug each other and squeal “we’re like twins!” I have not had that opportunity before. Though there are most certainly names pronounced like mine - Cameron, Camron, and I even once went to kindergarten with a Kamryn - I have not met an authentic Camryn like myself. It’s probably because “Camryn” does not have a pretty meaning. My name means “crooked nose.”
When I was 5, obliviously mirthful, I was spending a summer afternoon flying a large rainbow kite. Mesmerized, my head was turned as I galloped so that I could observe the magnificence of the billowing fabric. Suddenly aware that I didn’t know where I was going, I faced forward. The trailer attached to my dad’s truck rushed towards me fast and SMACK! As the blood started to flow, I realized that I had just broken my nose. My name means “crooked nose.” Coincidence is remarkable.
There are close to an infinite amount of names in the world. There’s Olivia and Mia and Emily and Charlotte. There are names that were made up by the guardian of the child. There are names in different languages from all around the world. Why did my parents choose Camryn? Of all the times I’ve asked them the only response I’ve ever gotten was “Because we liked the sound of it.” I like the sound of the word “surreptitious.” I like the way it rolls off the tongue and makes the speaker sound like a middle age aristocrat. But it’s not going to be the name of my daughter.
In my tenth year of schooling, I played soccer. On the bus ride home from an away soccer game, a boy a few seats up that I had never spoken to turned around and asked “Your name’s Cameron, right? That’s a boys name.” I defended myself quickly, but not rudely, “It’s not spelt like a boys name. C-A-M-R-Y-N.” The boy remarked, “Still.” Like that was a credible answer. I slunk down in my seat, irritated.
What’s the point of a name? The point of a name is to differentiate one human being from another. There are a lot of people who have the same name as someone else in the universe. Those people are not easy to verbally distinguish within one word. Though it might be different, though you may not agree, if we’re going by that standard, my name is the best name of all.
“I ran into one of my previous co-workers today! The first thing they said to me was ‘How’s your son, Cameron, doing?’” My mother recalled the experience with an amused smirk. “I told them that ‘My daughter is doing wonderful.’” I stuck my tongue out at her and returned to the assignment I was diligently working on at the polished mahogany dining table. It was not the first time I had heard a story from my mother about her coming across an acquaintance who had taken me for a member of the opposite sex. Not that I can blame the large group of Mistaken Acquaintances. My name, when spoken, is most commonly associated with a young boy and not a young girl. My name is Camryn.
There are a lot of people who have the same name as someone else in the universe. Currently, the top child names are Liam and Emma. I wonder how many children there are in the entirety of the world who have the name Liam, or the name Emma. I used to think that they were the lucky ones. They got to collect cool keychains from all the locations they visited, inscribed with their name written in loopy cursive writing. Never have I been able to find a cool keychain like that for myself. Instead, I am doomed to a life of finding keychains at the bottom of the rack, the ones inscribed with merely “love” or “hope” or “peace” and other virtues of the like.
There are a lot of people who have the same name as someone else in the universe. Some of their paths may intersect and they can hug each other and squeal “we’re like twins!” I have not had that opportunity before. Though there are most certainly names pronounced like mine - Cameron, Camron, and I even once went to kindergarten with a Kamryn - I have not met an authentic Camryn like myself. It’s probably because “Camryn” does not have a pretty meaning. My name means “crooked nose.”
When I was 5, obliviously mirthful, I was spending a summer afternoon flying a large rainbow kite. Mesmerized, my head was turned as I galloped so that I could observe the magnificence of the billowing fabric. Suddenly aware that I didn’t know where I was going, I faced forward. The trailer attached to my dad’s truck rushed towards me fast and SMACK! As the blood started to flow, I realized that I had just broken my nose. My name means “crooked nose.” Coincidence is remarkable.
There are close to an infinite amount of names in the world. There’s Olivia and Mia and Emily and Charlotte. There are names that were made up by the guardian of the child. There are names in different languages from all around the world. Why did my parents choose Camryn? Of all the times I’ve asked them the only response I’ve ever gotten was “Because we liked the sound of it.” I like the sound of the word “surreptitious.” I like the way it rolls off the tongue and makes the speaker sound like a middle age aristocrat. But it’s not going to be the name of my daughter.
In my tenth year of schooling, I played soccer. On the bus ride home from an away soccer game, a boy a few seats up that I had never spoken to turned around and asked “Your name’s Cameron, right? That’s a boys name.” I defended myself quickly, but not rudely, “It’s not spelt like a boys name. C-A-M-R-Y-N.” The boy remarked, “Still.” Like that was a credible answer. I slunk down in my seat, irritated.
What’s the point of a name? The point of a name is to differentiate one human being from another. There are a lot of people who have the same name as someone else in the universe. Those people are not easy to verbally distinguish within one word. Though it might be different, though you may not agree, if we’re going by that standard, my name is the best name of all.
I enjoy your writings Camryn.... Keep them coming.
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