But I like my adopted name. I've started to identify with it. It's more elegant and eloquent than the real thing.
But what's with this "reality" business anyway? Which is more real- the name my parents gave me or the one I have given myself?
My real first name derives from an ancient Roman family, the most famous member of which has a leading role in Shakespeare. It's further identified with the guy who set the early Christian fashion for going out into the Egyptian desert and hallucinating (otherwise known as monasticism.)
Wanna have a guess? No prizes I'm afraid.
And my last name is an odd little monosyllable of uncertain derivation. It might mean "grey" or it might have something to do with milling.
But Poliphilo- he's this Italian Renaissance Alice who scuttles through Wonderland (in search of his girlfriend) oohing and aahing at the architecture and furnishings. I didn't spend a whole lot of time choosing the name, but I find it fits very comfortably. Lover of Many Things is what it means.
I want it on my tombstone.