Romeo and Juliet | Enchanted Seashells by Princess Rosebud

Romeo and Juliet
Spoken by Juliet, Act 2 Scene 2

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”

Do you like your name, the name you were given–the name on your birth certificate?

I don’t like my name.

For as long as I can remember, every single time I hear someone call me by my name, my very first thought is “that’s not my name”.

Is that weird? Am I weird?

For a nanosecond, I have to remind myself that it’s ME they’re referring to, because not only do I not like my name, I really feel that it’s not actually my name.

“Oh, you’re talking to ME?”

I don’t know what it is, but it’s not the one that’s on my birth certificate.

I remember telling my mom that I didn’t like my name and that I was also curious why my brother had a middle name but I didn’t, and she told me to choose my own middle name and it wouldn’t be legal nor official, but it would be something special just for me.

So I named myself Aurora, because that’s who I identify with. Aurora means dawn, but I chose it because of Sleeping Beauty. Princess Aurora (also known as Briar Rose) is the daughter of King Stefan and Queen Leah. On the day of her christening, Aurora was cursed to die by the evil fairy Maleficent. We all know she’s awakened by the prince’s kiss of true love. My mom read me that story so many times, i memorized it. What she failed to impress upon me was that it was just a fantasy, not real life.

Only one person has ever known that’s my secret name.

Some call me Rose or Rosebud, even Angel Boy refers to me as Princess (which is pretty funny when he does it in public, haha), but none of those are my given name, either.

When I meet new people or I’m introduced and asked what I like to be called, half the time I don’t have an answer or I say it doesn’t matter or I’ve even asked what do they think my name should be? What do I look like?

Additionally, no one can spell my real name right and that’s part of the problem, I think. I’ve spent my entire life correcting the spelling which only contributes to my possibly delusional introspection that I’m a mistake–an aberration; a typographical error.

Maybe I don’t really exist. Maybe I’m a character in a fairy tale minus the fairytale ending.

Being and nothingness. Maybe Sartre had it all figured out–this little existential crisis of mine isn’t even original. (Or NON-existential, in my case.) This existentialist philosophy is a study of the consciousness of being. Or not being, which is tiring my non-existent brain.

Except the one name I always respond to with a smile in my heart is “Grandma”.

Or “Mom”.

Because that’s who I am.

Always. Always. Always.

…would smell as sweet.

First Robert Burns, and now Shakespeare?

During this Covid-19 pandemic, I seem to be living in an alternate universe of poetry and literature. Pretty soon, my brain will start to spontaneously remember all my years of French, and I’ll be ready for my trip to France to pay homage to the one and only Coco Chanel.

Once upon a time, in another lifetime, I memorized Juliet’s lines, Act 2, Scene 2, for an audition.

Nope, I didn’t win the role that time, but the words have never left me.

It’s a bit of a cliche considering my name, but a rose is a rose is a rose, according to Gertrude Stein.

JULIET

O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

Deny thy father and refuse thy name;

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,

And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.

’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,
Nor arm nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.