It was the day before Poppy Day when the son, brother, and friend known as Aldrin, author of this lazy arse blog, fucked up big time. Sinking into a pool of shame, guilt, and sadness, he descended into the abyss of his own making, and perished.
Just kidding. He isn’t dead–not literally, at least–but he is trying to resurrect himself from a figurative death as we speak.
Half a month after shutting people out from his then-dismal existence–on Lebanon’s independence day, no less–Aldrin decided to reconnect, taking the name of Eleutherios (ancient or modern pronunciation, doesn’t matter).
I am now Eleutherios.
Born again, through the fires of freedom and truth, though not in any evangelical or new-agey way. Halleloo.
Now, you can still call me by my old name, no problem, but it wouldn’t hurt if you called me Eleutherios, too.
The reason I decided to change my name is because it’s symbolic of what I’m going through right now. Nothing overly dramatic, but still signifies a death and rebirth of some sort. It’s a powerful act, taking back control.
I’m turning 30 next year and I feel like I need a radical change in my life. One that has just been waiting to happen, apparently.
It won’t be easy and it will be painful, but I’m willing to go through it if that’s what it takes. Truly, this year has been transformative. Painfully transformative. This is what you get when you delay the necessary.
I’m not a major mess. Heck, I’m relatively lucky in terms of the support that I’ve got and the lot I’ve been given. That being said, I still fucked some things up, hurt important people in my life, and I’m just taking ownership.
I’ve broken some hearts, but I broke mine, too. So help me me, I will fix this shit and un-horcrux my soul.