My name is Psalm. Yes, Psalm. Boring, right? But that’s the name my mom called me when I was born. My Dad had wanted to call me Job, but my mom would not have it.
“Have you seen any man called Job that wasn’t a carpenter or a bricklayer,” she had fired at my dad. “All the people named Job na so so suffer suffer!”
Mom certainly hadn’t heard of Steve Jobs (well, after he moved out of the garage) plus my oldman had suffered so much, having lived from hand to mouth since he lost his job thirty years ago, yet his name wasn’t Job.