Are You My Name?

By Ruby Barnett The first time I saw my birth certificate, I was fourteen. It was a rainy February afternoon in North London, and I was rifling through Dad’s drawer of important documents while he and Mum were out. The certificate was folded into three, in the hanging file marked R. I opened it carefully, noting the County seal. I’d only previously known the name of the town where I was born. A familiar feeling stirred inside me – a combination of warmth and wonder, exile and belonging. I didn’t know yet where or to whom I belonged, but figured I would soon. Maybe I’d even find out right now, from this document.

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