My name is Monika. Actually, that is not true. When I was about twelve years old I dropped the “C” in my first name and adopted what I deemed to be the hipper consonant; “K.” For reasons I cannot explain, this spelling stuck. This has made cashing a check somewhat complicated and there is the occasional social media snafu, but for the most part, my adaptation has gone unnoticed. Even more covertly, I have a native name. As a Native American, my father gets the honor of deciding which bundle of syllables carries my essence. I believe “Never Stops Talking” was tossed around and I even threw “Grazing Buffalo” into the hat. I have a penchant for appetizers and I am not ashamed. Ultimately

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