What’s the story behind your middle name?

Growing up, I had a fascination with middle names. There was something about them that felt magical—like a secret identity, a hidden gem tucked between your first and last name. I would sit and ask family members, teachers, and even my friends at school, “What’s your middle name?” as if I were gathering clues to a grand treasure map.

In my family, only two of my siblings had middle names. I wasn’t one of them. I can still remember the odd little disappointment that settled in my chest when I found out. Why didn’t I get one? Did they forget? Was it an oversight? Or maybe… just maybe… I wasn’t supposed to have one?

Of course, nobody had a solid answer. My parents would just smile, shrug, or change the subject. And so, the mystery remained.

But I was a kid with an imagination too big to leave a blank space sitting in the middle of my identity. So when people asked, “What’s your middle name?” I began to answer, with a perfectly straight face:

“It’s Mystery.”

Yep. Mystery. Literally.

I’d say it with a wink, like I knew something they didn’t. And the best part? Most people thought I was being poetic or clever—maybe even profound. But to me, it wasn’t a joke. It was my truth.

In time, Mystery became more than just a placeholder. It became a part of my personality. It reminded me that I didn’t need something official on paper to define who I was. I had the power to fill in the blank with whatever I wanted. And in a way, that freedom made me feel special—maybe even luckier than those who had one picked for them.

To this day, I still don’t know why I was never given a middle name. Maybe it was an intentional choice. Maybe it was just forgotten. But I’ve grown to love the open space it gave me. Because in that little unknown corner of my name, I created something entirely my own.

So, what’s my middle name?

It’s still a Mystery.

I learned to be distinguished by one word described by eight letters.

And maybe that’s exactly how it was always meant to be.