When I was seven years old, I named the rabbit "Scud". The rabbit ran really fast. When I was eleven years old, I called my class teacher "Smiling Tiger", and the corners of her mouth were cleft to the base of her ears. From now on, I no longer dare to call people names, or even speak - because every judgmental word I say will become reality.
When I was thirty years old, I worked as a clerk in a bookstore. I was as silent as an old book on the shelf that no one had opened. Until a man filming a documentary came in and asked me, "Why do you never call people by their names?"
I said, "You are 'worthy'."
He truly became trustworthy, dependable, and loving.
On the day we broke up, I called him one last time: "It's not worth it."
He cried, not because he was sad - his face began to distort and turned into the look of "a person not worthy of love."
The last time I used my naming powers, I turned the people I loved most into scraps.
But this time, I can't change it.
