Dear Lauren,

I'm reading a book. It's a really good book. It's The Fountains of Silence by Ruta Sepetys. In it, there's a character named Ana. She's a great character.

I can already hear people completely butchering her name. It's Ana like Anna from Frozen but spelled properly, not An-NAH. I know because that's my mom's name. It hurts, hearing someone say her name like that, the last syllable sharp and piercing. It's a beautiful name meaning gracious, compassionate, kind, and generous. Not a name meant to sound like an insult.

Every time the name leaves my asl teacher's lips, it sounds like she thinks my mom is nothing more than a stain on her blouse, something ugly that does not belong. I know she doesn't mean it like that, but it still hurts. I itch to correct her every time, but if my mom isn't bothered, then I won't be either.

How do I know that is the right pronunciation? Ana lives in Madrid, and my mother is Hispanic. It's simple, really. Maybe one day if I ever have a daughter I will name her Ana. Then again, do I want to have to put her through the pain of people not being able to say her name correctly like my mom and I do?

About half the time someone gets my name right. I still get other versions though. It doesn't help that my last name is in Spanish either so unless you're expecting it, most don't catch the double L. Although my old PE coach still can't get it right. Is adding on the last letter so hard? Just pronounce it! It doesn't even take a second! At least I can rest assured that she leaves out a letter in a bunch of other people's names too.

I read the dedication of the book. One of the names is almost mine. All I would need to do is add one letter and maybe I could pretend that it was dedicated to me. That maybe a #1 New York Times bestselling author liked me enough that they'd dedicate a book to me. There was even a K instead of the usual CH in true Spanish spelling. It's the closest I've ever gotten to finding my name in a book.

I don't know why I'm getting so worked up about this. It's just some names, I don't know why I'm being so stupid about it. More exciting things have happened that you'd care more about because, let's be honest, I'm the only person that cares about the correct pronunciation of Ana.

There was a solar eclipse today, an annular one to be specific. That was pretty cool. We sat outside in my grandparents' driveway with two of their neighbors. I sat in the trunk of the car.

One person across the street kept coming outside in a welding mask to watch. It was pretty funny to see.

There was one person there, an old woman, who sat outside to watch with us. I don't remember her name, but I remember that it started with a J and sounded like a boy name. James? Jamie? John? Something like that. She kept on pronouncing my name wrong. Funny how things came back to that.

Are you having fun, Jules? she would ask. What book is that, Julia?

In that example, we could say my name was Julie.

I'm so tired of everything. I wish I could go home, but at the same time I wish I could stay here, with my granny to do the cross prayer every night. I love it when she does it every night before bed.

She whispers a prayer in Spanish, too quick for me to catch any words except the occasional mutter of my name and muy when she slows for emphasis, repeating the world over and over. She taps my face and chest with her fingertips, making crosses. It's enough to send a shiver up my spine and a tingling in my head that I get whenever someone prays over me. I wish that moment could last forever. It's one of the few things I enjoy coming from a Christian family.

I don't know why, but I can't seem to shake the crimes of the past. Every crime and injustice someone has committed in the name of God seems to stick to me, like I did it too. It makes me feel ashamed of being a Christian if I let myself think about it too much.

Especially with the rise of atheism, having someone tell me to go and preach the good news just feels wildly inappropriate and evil. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not try to enforce my religion on someone, especially when I'm not such a strong believer in it.

I remember them talking about being a missionary in India one time in service and I still remember thinking, 'India? Don't they have a large Hindu population? Are we taking Hindus and forcing them to become Christian because that's what we think is right? What if God isn't real and the Hindu gods are, and they punish us for trying to convert their followers into some bogus religion?'

What if we're all just a bunch of big stinky idiots who are all wrong and the actual person in charge of everything is someone we've never heard of and instead we're all focused on destroying all the other religions and forcing everyone to join ours because that's basically what humanity's been doing since the beginning of time to discover the actual truth because we're afraid of being wrong?

If that actually does happen and I'm not alive anymore, please tell whoever discovered that I told you so for me?

But these thoughts are too depressing to think about before bed, so instead I'm going to think about how there's hundreds of nukes all over the earth that were lost during the Cold War that could explode at any second and kill you. I hope you sleep well tonight with that knowledge.

Bunas noches, Lauren. Maybe tomorrow will be better.