what’s in your name…

Last year, I started discussing my name change plan with my Paralegal.  She started with the paper works and had me fill out necessary documents.  It took me days to fulfill everything that she needed as I was stuck to that very important detail of the name change process—– the reason.

So, what’s in your name?

Growing up I have always hated my given name… it sucked going through my primary and secondary years… even in college… bearing the same first name for years.  I actually started noticing its unusualness in high school… when you start to be aware of yourself as a teenager, and when you start fitting into a group that’s so diverse.  I felt I was already different from everybody with my RA, now I have to be different with my first name… arrrrgh!  I always had my school uniform below, or way way below my knee that I would be noticed by most eyes, then came the realization that those eyes aware of my way, way below the knee uniform were also puzzled why and who the hell is wearing such!  Then I figured they knew my first name… and I knew they all have that sinister smiles in their faces whenever they saw me…. or was I just paranoid??? Hmmm, maybe, who the hell I think I am when those eyes were too busy with their lives?  Why did I mind or think they were looking at me?

So, what’s in your name?

I wish I was named like my siblings… plain, no puzzle.  Oh, I forgot, I have a big brother named Cristy.  I don’t know how he felt about his given name, but I knew he was always mistaken for a female and always found his name in the girls’ roll list.  I was always scared with my mother and knew she had too much in her plate… that I always held off bothering her about my name… but I knew I asked her once or twice (?), she said my Aunt named me after Snoopy, yes! that comic beagle who already lived 20-something years when I was born.

So, what’s in your name?    chuttersnap-JChRnikx0tM-unsplash

I was in first grade when I asked my mother about my name — oh well, I think I was so frustrated and mad that day.  She was fuming mad too when I was home late for lunch, I told her —- all because of my name!  My teacher required us to write our whole full name in each lines, back-to-back, of a first grade writing paper.  I have two first names, a middle name which was my mother’s maiden name, and my last name… that’s 26 letters in total!  I was 7 years old who just started to master the art of scribbling, who wouldn’t be late for lunch?  It took me forever to fill out that paper back to back!

So, what’s in your name?

I wanted to change it.  I’d thought about it for a long time, having always disliked my given name.  I felt my name set me up for a lifetime of ridicule and incessant questioning.  When I had that very opportunity to change my name during my naturalization, I became a coward, like that old dog with tail in between its legs… thinking it will be an insult to my mother.  With my mother’s passing for 4 years now,  I felt I had no obligation to hold onto a name that caused me such grief, so, I made the decision to change it.


One comment

  1. I feel your pain. I was named Emma and I hated that name. The only Emmas I knew were “old and wrinkled.” I wished my name was Gemma so I could call myself “Gem.”
    Tables turned coz now that I’m the one who’s “old and wrinkled,” Emma is now such a popular name while nobody famous is really named Gemma. Go figure.


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