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تحياتناالقلبيه لزعماء آل سرور

Now I am Alexis. That's who I am. And Alexis has seen more injustice and pettiness than she cares to admit. And Alexis has been hardened by struggle. And Alexis is always told she is an enigma. But she is what she is and she can't attempt to be anything else. Which is probably why she's an enigma. And I have learned that I don't have to adopt the names that people give me. I think I'll move. I think I'll take up my stick and go to a new town, a new place. I don't have much furniture. I was trained by a yuppie hobo. And there I will make a new name for myself, one I will keep close to my heart and not tell anyone. Let them call me what they will, because they will anyway. Because the one thing I've learned in my life with a traveling salesman, hanging off the stick of a yuppie hobo, is that everything is disposable. Even identities, even lives. Especially lives.
{ b a c k }	How many names do you have?	{ h o p e }

1989: "Nice to meet you! Mind if I call you Alex?" And that person introduces me to others as Alex. When I was most alive, I was Alex. I was in college. I was alive. I was immature, passionate, giggling and naive. Of course, I thought I was terribly savvy. I was, after all, the daughter of a yuppie hobo, a feminist success story, a hardliner with a mission. I had a heritage to live up to. But ultimately, I was just plain silly. I met a guy who made my heart sing and I learned more about Jack Kerouac than any living American really needs to know. And life was good. That was Alex. But Alex graduated. And Alex got a job. And Alex was taken under the wing of a woman she worked for who started to affectionately call her Lexi. It caught on. And Alex died. And was gone.

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