By O. Deng, TIWP Student

“Who are you?” she asks.

She’s short, with a round face and she’s wearing a pair of purple glasses. Her hair is tied into two pigtails, definitely the work of her mother. “I’m Oriana,” I say. Back then that name looked weird when I wrote it on my homework at school. My name was weird. Now it’s something I’ve gotten used to because of the number of times I’ve signed it. And no, I don’t want your validation so please don’t tell me I have a pretty name. 

“But I’m Oriana,” she says, her voice high. I remember hating my voice as a child because I always thought it was deeper than all of my other friends. Now I don’t care how rude I sound when I make my voice deep on purpose because I can always say “thank you!” with the perfect amount of cheerfulness when I get a compliment. The girl standing in front of me never got compliments though, with her bushy brows and crooked teeth. 

“So am I,” I say because I don’t want to tell her that I used to be her and that in a couple of years she would be completely gone because Oriana isn’t her anymore. 

She looks me up and down but avoids eye contact with me. I wonder what she’s thinking. I know when I was little I used to be really scared of people. I wonder if I should give her a hug or tell her everything is okay.