4 Concerns You Wouldn’t Understand if Your Name isn’t Alexa

I’m sorry I can’t be her.

When I was five, I constantly had to remind my teachers my name wasn’t Alexis. Alexa. A-L-E-X-A. I accepted it.

I accepted I’d rarely find my name on a crappy souvenir key-chain. Whenever I did manage to find my name, I’d beg my parents for that rubber sandal like I staked my entire identity on it. And to be honest, I felt like it was.