What is in a name?

[An excerpt from my journal]
Why is it so important? What’s wrong with being called Pooh-Bah? Or Lobo Moronga or Barack Obama? Well, a petty name, I thought, is the heaviest stone that one carry around. Whereas; a great name has a power in itself. The bearer of such a name, even from the earliest years of his life, possesses a powerful connection with his instinctive drives that enables him to develop a sturdy feeling of confidence, an assertive style of expression. They are easily identified and remembered first by family members who shake their cradle, then by friends and teachers and authorities. He finds himself unexpectedly the focus of his environment, he is believed in, trusted and inspires others to gather around him for guidance. After all, he is the one with a great NAME. He might be judged as great even if he didn’t personally succeeded in his quest. So having an enormous impact on others automatically makes him a leader, accomplishing great things in his NAME. Well, let’s be honest here, I mean, who could take someone seriously with a nickname Pooh-Bah, for fuck’s sake? Look at the great men in the past and present! For instance, could you imagine Adolf Hitler called Hans Hitler or Aristotle as Aesop or Michael Jackson as Michael Green or Stephen King as Stephen Ladish or Martin Luther King as Martin Minter Krotzer? Of course not! And there was also those who were legendary in the art world, being known merely by their first names and reaching a level of iconicity…people like Madonna, Rembrandt, Mozart and Einstein…With these names they achieved immortality and permanent place in the hearts and minds of their fellow human beings.

Being named after hero, that was awesome one might think, but to me my name was awkward to bear (after thirty two years, I still couldn’t get used to it and when I introduce myself I kinda muffle it) and the idea that heroism and historical greatness that had to be proved with a blood, even as a little kid, struck me as nonsense, a refuge of the hypocrite. I knew even then, you see, that being a hero didn’t necessarily make you anymore special than those animals (for I believed that every living soul had the mixture of the animal creation, that we were part of the massive web that existed on planet world, related both by blood and descent—the only difference, though, was one organ: the cerebral cortex in our brain) that have evolved over the millennia: the Venus’s-flytrap and the bat’s sonar navigational system, for instance.
A human being meant nothing at the end though. Not even forever lasts forver; no matter what you'd do, someday you'd be nothing. Those who built the Seven Wonders didn’t exist any more. But the Seven Wonders still stood up right.