Let's start at the end of the thought I had writing this.
They asked me why I brought a skull to the shoot. I think about how the recognized symbol for recycling is a cycle and not a point.
Let's start in the beginning. I have four first names. You can imagine how it was learning cursive as a Jit. By my sixth school in the sixth grade, I started going by my second name, Xavier. It's like my twelve-year-old self just knew to use a new beginning as a opportunity to make sense of the struggle of ending in the middle, in ways I couldn't put into words then. It's even harder now.
The beginning of the end. This is my sixth house. I still haven't unpacked. The name 'Xavier' meant 'new house': a cosmic joke. I don't go by any of my four names anymore. I go back to the beginning; I answer to the call of my grandmother's and my mother's initials now, respectively.
At the end of beginning. That I only have the guts to be here at all because I'm one of the few people who got to feel safety after the passing of somebody.
Let's start at the beginning of this essay. Maybe, the fact that, like in recycling, life being a cycle is the point. That I had to write this last line in the middle because endings, like new beginnings happen right in the middle, or the middle sometimes looks like the end.