Deserae. My name is a light purple, almost like a lilac or lavender color, with a little bit of light blue—very light blue. Deserae is calm, like studying at a coffee house, or a cafe, turning into more of a party later on. Calm and relaxed at first, but there’s that little extra flair. Like a fire burning in the middle of the cafe. A day at the lake, turning into a late night boat party. 

My mom and dad spent days in the hospital thinking about how to spell my name just right.  At first my parents didn’t even know what to name me. My dad wanted to keep the D’s going on his side of the family and my mom wanted something that was beautiful and unique. My dad wanted to name me Danielle, but my mom said no.

 I am glad my name is not Danielle. It does not fit me. Danielle means, “God is my judge.” The only person I let judge me, is myself. My parents both thought of Desiree, and began figuring the spelling, so it could be unique. After multiple days, D-e-s-e-r-a-e.

My name means “Desire”, which makes my mom happy. She wanted a beautiful name and that’s what she got. Desire, “strongly wish for or want (something).” When I was young, I hated my name. Deserae. Too long. Too grown up. Not me. I wanted a new name, something more me, something that would make me happy. That is where Desi came in. 

Desi was me, short and sweet, but sassy. In third grade, when I moved to Hartland, I started at Hartland South Elementary. I introduced myself as Desi to everyone! Then came art, and Mr. Kreif called me “Deh-see”. I was so frustrated. I changed my name once again to Dezi. But nope, still “Deh-see”, but at this point, it was too late to change my name again. 

Eventually, Dezi stuck. Mostly everyone calls me Dezi, and sometimes Dez, but when they call me Deserae, they say it as if the letters and hurting their throat or like it has to end in a high pitched screech. 

My mother is the only person who truly knows how to say my name. When it comes out of her mouth, no matter the circumstance, it flows, almost like laying in a bed of silk. Very smooth, cold, almost slippery. Deserae. And when my friends call me Dezi, it also fits. It flows, like a bed sheet pinned to a clothes line on a slightly windy day. Deserae and Dezi. Both fitting. Both me.