My brother got a middle name.

I didn't.

For a while I thought my middle name was "John," because I thought it was like my mother taking my father's last name--so I took my brother's middle name until I was four.

I called myself Weddinga. Maya. Dorothy. I got called Jane, once.

But yet I stayed "Kate."

I never got a cool gmail account. My name was common enough so that the username was always taken, so I had to tack on various numbers or handles. But at least I never had people mispronounce it or spell it wrong ("C or K" was the worst of it--I can't complain).

No one called me Katherine except for doctors and substitute teachers. I was always "Kate."

Until a month before I moved to college.

I had just broken up with my high school boyfriend. I was moving to a place where no one knew me. I needed a change. Since I had reinvented my wardrobe right before I came to high school, I decided needed to reinvented myself a little.

So I changed my name. I became "Kat."

It's a little embarrassing because I took so much pride, put so much importance, in just the drop of a letter. But I wanted to become someone new. "Kate" had a history, she was an entire book. But "Kat" was a diary filled with empty pages. She was something new and exciting. Who could she be? The possibilities were endless.

It was just what I needed. A fresh start. A clean slate. Something new. I felt like now I could be whatever I wanted. I could make a name for myself, now that I had a new one.

My brother took to it pretty well. My parents, especially my mother, took a bit longer. Sometimes they switch back and forth, but I hardly notice. The people back home, the other people who knew me in all the different stages of my life, they still call me Kate. But I don't mind.It's not really my childhood nickname, but just another layer of myself. I'm still Kate, I'm still Kat. I'm still me.

I'm whoever I want to be.