This was really beautiful, Jenna. It brought tears to my eyes and also plenty of chagrin for the teachers of the 70s and 80s who didn’t try harder to pronounce your name or even to contain the cruelty of the other children.
I've heard you talk about Crystal before, but the longer story adds so much resonance. This past weekend, my mom shared a printed version of my grandmother's life story, including how my Omi, as a single mom, left her two kids behind while going to set up life in a new country after war. The hard choices immigrants have to make are beyond anything most Americans have had to do, and also so part of the generational trauma we carry. Separation fights were part of my mother and grandmother's life-long relationship, but only now does mom talk about it. Maybe it's part of why I feel so much guilt when I leave home. Thank you for this story, 박현정.
I was born here, but I have a common Indian first name (my Dad immigrated here from India). My 70s/80s teachers often mispronounced it as "Marsha." I mean, how did that happen? There's no M anywhere in sight!
I love this piece. I too have been thinking about names. I’m a Korean adoptee, who was given my arbitrary American name when I arrived to the States. It is/was easier for people to recognize and pronounce, but as an adult, I grieve for all of the lost names (and identities). Also, I think you should publish a collection of essays ... that’s a book I’d want to read. ❤️
Here here to the idea about collection of essays!! Names are so personal, and when you're young you have to hear them so many times. My name is Hungarian, and was given to me to revive our heritage and because my dad was an immigrant and wanted to keep it going. No one else in our family had a Hungarian name, and let me tell you no one else in school did. This was before the supermodel had a similar name. I really related to the calling of the names in school part of this essay. I just wanted to die every time, and my last name then was Peter. Sometimes the teachers just called Peter because they couldn't say my name. I dreamed I would change my name to Jane when I was 18.
You can have a traditional Biblical Hebrew name, known to Christianity for a couple of thousand years and they still get it wrong. Naomi is not that hard, I would have thought but no, Niomi or Neeomi or something else. I became Nomes.
I have many Chinese migrant friends. The story of their English names is depressing.
This hit so close to home, Jenna :) Thank you so much for sharing. I came to the U.S. on a student visa about 10 years ago and was going by an English name that I gave to myself back in China when I was attending English classes with English-speaking teachers. I wanted to make it easier for people to call my name, to make friends, to blend in. I went by that name for about five years in the U.S. until graduate school when a Black professor insisted on learning to pronounce my Chinese name and told me that my name is beautiful. That changed everything.
I've been going by my Chinese name, Yuezhong, for the last six years now, and it's been less intimating than I had expected. This "more difficult" name kind of served as a social filter that helped me get to know people who are really interested in me as a person + don't mind learning to pronounce name vs. those who avoided saying my name because it's "foreign".
My version of the story that is similar to what you said in the last sentence: As it turns out, maybe my name wasn’t too hard to pronounce after all. It’s just that for some people, they never cared or really tired.
Beautiful story! I have a completely different story about my name, you may have inspired me to write about it! but long story short, I didn't like my birth Chinese name from the start, and at 11 years old, my best friend and I went through the book of names (English) and chose one because many of our friends had one officially (Malaysia was once a British colony). once I left studies for work, I used it initially for the convenience, but now it has became my identity.
This was really beautiful, Jenna. It brought tears to my eyes and also plenty of chagrin for the teachers of the 70s and 80s who didn’t try harder to pronounce your name or even to contain the cruelty of the other children.
I've heard you talk about Crystal before, but the longer story adds so much resonance. This past weekend, my mom shared a printed version of my grandmother's life story, including how my Omi, as a single mom, left her two kids behind while going to set up life in a new country after war. The hard choices immigrants have to make are beyond anything most Americans have had to do, and also so part of the generational trauma we carry. Separation fights were part of my mother and grandmother's life-long relationship, but only now does mom talk about it. Maybe it's part of why I feel so much guilt when I leave home. Thank you for this story, 박현정.
I was born here, but I have a common Indian first name (my Dad immigrated here from India). My 70s/80s teachers often mispronounced it as "Marsha." I mean, how did that happen? There's no M anywhere in sight!
This was a lovely piece. Thank you for sharing.
I love this piece. I too have been thinking about names. I’m a Korean adoptee, who was given my arbitrary American name when I arrived to the States. It is/was easier for people to recognize and pronounce, but as an adult, I grieve for all of the lost names (and identities). Also, I think you should publish a collection of essays ... that’s a book I’d want to read. ❤️
Here here to the idea about collection of essays!! Names are so personal, and when you're young you have to hear them so many times. My name is Hungarian, and was given to me to revive our heritage and because my dad was an immigrant and wanted to keep it going. No one else in our family had a Hungarian name, and let me tell you no one else in school did. This was before the supermodel had a similar name. I really related to the calling of the names in school part of this essay. I just wanted to die every time, and my last name then was Peter. Sometimes the teachers just called Peter because they couldn't say my name. I dreamed I would change my name to Jane when I was 18.
You can have a traditional Biblical Hebrew name, known to Christianity for a couple of thousand years and they still get it wrong. Naomi is not that hard, I would have thought but no, Niomi or Neeomi or something else. I became Nomes.
I have many Chinese migrant friends. The story of their English names is depressing.
This hit so close to home, Jenna :) Thank you so much for sharing. I came to the U.S. on a student visa about 10 years ago and was going by an English name that I gave to myself back in China when I was attending English classes with English-speaking teachers. I wanted to make it easier for people to call my name, to make friends, to blend in. I went by that name for about five years in the U.S. until graduate school when a Black professor insisted on learning to pronounce my Chinese name and told me that my name is beautiful. That changed everything.
I've been going by my Chinese name, Yuezhong, for the last six years now, and it's been less intimating than I had expected. This "more difficult" name kind of served as a social filter that helped me get to know people who are really interested in me as a person + don't mind learning to pronounce name vs. those who avoided saying my name because it's "foreign".
My version of the story that is similar to what you said in the last sentence: As it turns out, maybe my name wasn’t too hard to pronounce after all. It’s just that for some people, they never cared or really tired.
Beautiful story! I have a completely different story about my name, you may have inspired me to write about it! but long story short, I didn't like my birth Chinese name from the start, and at 11 years old, my best friend and I went through the book of names (English) and chose one because many of our friends had one officially (Malaysia was once a British colony). once I left studies for work, I used it initially for the convenience, but now it has became my identity.