The day I lost my name

Ti- Da- di- da-di- chirps the bird in the tree, and does not care about, who this girl Elise might have been.

Elias was the name of the boy, who drowned in the Red Sea at first.

Nomen est omen, is an old saying and Plataus was the name of the man who said it for the first time.

In the English novel of the nineteenth century naming each other with the first name, was the synonym for making love to each other.

A-Skinny-Soy Milk-Frappuccino-Latte- with-an- extra-shot- for- Jo-please  is the most usual greeting at every airport or station in the 21st century.

My Irish students silently smile when I try to pronounce their names right.

I do not know your name, says the men I shall meet for a discussion to me, pointing with his finger in my direction, and barks over the office floor, to his secretary to tell him my name. The secretary does not find the calendar, where my name might appear under 10 AM meeting and the man I shall meet, yells louder, why there is nobody in this d*mn office, who is able to tell him my name. Me standing still in front of him, obviously included. I am terribly sorry, says the man I shall meet, turning  closer to me. I am sure we have taken down a note somewhere. My name is…I want to say, but the man I shall meet, already turned away, yelling, barking and searching for a note with my name on it. I am sure, if I would say may name to anyone in the room now, nobody would believe my name, not even the bird outside in the tree: Ti-Da-di-da-di–

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