I am bare.
Like a blank slate, I will read whatever you write on me.
I am barren.
Like a field, I will yield whatever you plant in me.
I am elastic.
Like clay, I will form whatever you mold of me.
I am empty.
Like a tunnel, I will echo whatever you speak into me.
I am neutral.
Like money. Good or evil, I will only be that for which you use me.
I am novel.
Like a newborn, for the rest of my days I will answer the name you give me.
I am 2021.
And I ask you:
What's my name?