We treasure our names, like it defines what we are as a whole. Even though we share it with other thousands if not millions of people. Does it define us at all? Can it be called an attribute or a collector of our every trait, thought and history?
We are more than a name. The words are a poor but needed way of society to temporary call us somehow, make a difference between our existences.
In a way, just for a moment, it does bow down and acknowledge everything behind the syllables, and then it continues on ignoring and waiting for the name’s beholder to react.
It almost seems silly of how fond some people are of their names. I suppose, to them it’s not just a name. There’s something behind it, more than a meaning we could ever understand.