It has been said many times before the only meaningful way we know to materialize is to pass on the name
so I traffic in the web of amorphous biochemical and electrical impulses to understand why I was given the name of a mythical Hindu god who cursed his son to turn queer
what has been attempted to emphasize here: the curse, cursed or the curser?
the implications of relevance of this myth should be argued but cannot be dismissed especially when the palpable dissonance of one’s ideal beliefs have always lingered amidst the smog of camphor and the scent of sandalwood
I’ve often found myself engulfed in the quicksand of ambivalence surrounding my faith and demand a context of this forlorn controversy but it was never provided never accounted for
through the destructive disposition of time the mechanics of a devotional fraud has been exposed to me which seeks to philosophically politicize and erase every otherness of existence in the name of religion
I’ll never make peace with my name even though I have to accept it’s mine and always will be
I have to respond to it whenever someone calls me that without thinking of the cruelty it carries
I have to spell it out and write it down when asked for
because it won’t leave me because I can’t run away from it.