During the first nine months of socially transitioning in 2020, a name change was non-existent.
August of the same year. Out of left field, my name felt distant and foreign. A sinking feeling of loss and grief. Another, replacing who he's known.
Various names ran through my mind like trials to be passed, seeing who would make it. Misfit after misfit lined the queue. I couldn't see myself in any combination of these syllables.
Until one day...
I was playing a survival horror game and Lev appeared on screen. My core, intutition and body all screamed "YES. THIS IS THE ONE", leaving my logic confused and scrambling for answers. I didn't know why then, but I went with it. It passed my trial to be granted a legal change in early 2021.
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Five years pass without incident, until four months ago.
Lev felt distant and absent. But unlike the first time, it wasn't dysphoria or a disconnect from my core, but something he has no answers to.
That gave birth to J.
We became one, boundaries blurred.
It felt right in the wrong way. Someone or something protested within, sending waves of nausea through me.
Distance from normal routine brought clarity. A period of losing myself, before finding myself, again. Lev never died; he was smothered, clinging onto life and protesting.
—
I'm reminded of why I chose Lev, not only as a name, but making it the legal three letters on every document. On the surface, a name is a combination of letters or characters, yet, it carries a weight I am yet to fully understand.
Lev means both 'lion' and 'heart'. Combined, it forms lionheart (which I learnt is a word). A part of me knew then why Lev felt right. In 2023, I unearthed the meaning of Lev. I'm not J; I am Lev.
And that, my friends, is the origin of lionhearlev.