#5 - 29 Langthorne Street

DiaryNew beginningLondonReinventing yourselfDylan Thomas

6 Apr

Written By Eva

“I have longed to move away

From the hissing of the spent lie

And the old terror’s continual cry

(…)

I have longed to move away but am afraid;

Some life, yet unspent, might explode

Out of the old lie burning on the ground,

And, crackling into the air, leave me half-blind.”

If it's true that the eyes are the windows to the soul, then I know why I've always been afraid to look people in the eye. The idea that someone might discover what my inner self is made of terrifies me. There is still so much darkness in me.

Sitting at the airport, I decided that there would be no more Evas. All versions of me that had ever existed had been stolen, broken or corrupted. So I was looking for a new identity. I had time on my hands and, since I no longer existed, it seemed like the perfect moment to do it.

I wanted a man's name, that would give me a style. I would have to find a story to go with it, but that was kind of my thing. So it would be Dylan. Why not? It sounded just fine for a phoenix. But Dylan... what? I tried British names. Dylan Thornton? Dylan Smith?

Dylan... Thomas? Cool. Yes, it sounded classy, I liked it. I imagined the cover of a book with dog-eared pages with my name on it, and only I would know: Dylan Thomas, that was me. I took my phone. We were about to board, but I wanted to check quickly: were there already lots of “Dylan Thomases” out there? I looked on Google. Suddenly, I turned pale.

Not only was the name “Dylan Thomas” already taken, but he was also a writer. A Welsh poet. And not just any poet… Famous! How could I NOT know that? I was disappointed.

Later, in London, when I had managed to make a friend to whom I could confess my real name, she said to me: "You know, it doesn’t sound so crazy. There are tribes who invite their teenagers, during rites of passage into adulthood, to choose a new name, to mark a new stage in their lives. Nuns do it; artists do it too. Why not you?"

She was right. I'd keep the name, then, even if it was accidentally copied, because I felt connected to it anyway, to the "son of the wave" who spent his evenings in the pub reading and scribbling verses without thinking too much about it.

The next three years were formative years. I had lost all roots, I was a feather floating in a war-torn sky, but I learned to put one foot in front of the other, to survive, and that built my character.

Dylan, few people know she existed. And just once, I wanted us to talk about it. About the right to reinvent oneself. Leaving doesn't solve anything, they say... You take your problems with you in your suitcase. Yet, without that, things would never have changed. The courage it takes to run away is too often underestimated. For three years, I was able to live, to grow, to assert myself. Then, when the time comes, yes... You have to come back. And face it.

Dark is a way, he said. Light is a place.

(…)

But dark is a long way.

Because the danger, when you flee, is falling asleep. —