Empire

It occurred to me the other day that if people were desperate to find this blog (and believe me, several of my college friends know of this blog's existence but have fruitlessly tried to find it), there are several ways to connect Sophelia Lee to my earthen alias. Any Facebook friend of my brother's, for instance, should have no problem tracking this blog down and deducing my identity in half an hour--that is, if they were truly desperate to find me.

I have wrestled with this strange dynamic of publicity and privacy with this blog in all its iterations.  When I think back to how this blog first started, this paradox was already at its core. I had decided from the very beginning that I would never use my real name, nor would I ever post photographs revealing who I was. I almost never used the actual names of my friends and acquaintances, referring to them instead with initials or cryptic nicknames. Only a handful of old friends were given the URL to this blog--those whom I trusted and whose opinions I valued.

And yet, there have always been moments when I wanted to drop the facade. To publicly claim Sophelia as one half of the whole.

Because deep down, I wanted to help you discover the truth. I wanted you to find the real me, in the way a soul spends a lifetime searching for its other half.

I don't know who you are. But I see the ghost of you wherever I go. The chivalry of the Watermelon Prince, the rebellion of Bravo Romeo, the fearlessness of Sewage Blond, the darkness of the Wolf, the various other you's that have crossed in and out of my path--at some point or another, I thought I had found you nestled within them. I was wrong.

She tells me, Your standards are as high as the Empire State Building.

I tell her, I just want somebody to find me.