What’s In a Name?

…that which we call a rose would smell just as sweet?”

– William Shakespear.

One of the first things you do, when you meet someone new is ask them their name, and it’s always amusing to me the variations of responses I usually get at this point.

A lil’ context, okay? 

I have two English names. Yeah, yeah. I am one of those annoying brats at school who insisted on their two English names. When I was in primary school, it was kinda cool. There were very few of us, and I’d bet you my life, my teachers could barely pronounce my name. Trust my mum to give me one of the most challenging of names, not bearing in mind she sentenced me to a life in the mountains through her choice of a partner. And trust me, my people can barely get it right!

But once I got to high school and realized it was kind of the norm, blending in with the crowd became so much easier. 

So, when someone asks for my name, I usually take a moment (or two) to think. To assess how important they are to me so I know which name to give them. With two English names, pet names, nicknames, and a tribal one, there are more than a few options. And honestly, your position in my life gets to determine which version of me you get to meet. 

I cannot recall my reaction when they called me that name for the first time. Y’know, that one we don’t talk about. I was probably too young, anyway. I can imagine them cooing all over my baby face, chanting the name they all very much loved. And me, oblivious to how much this very name would be the start of my identity crisis. 

 But I can recall the resentment growing with each day. I grew to hate the way it rolled off their tongues. I grew to hate how it sounded coming from their mouths. I grew to hate how proud they were of this identity, all while completely disregarding my other half. I grew to hate how it made me feel the difference, it served as a constant reminder that I wasn’t really one or the other, and I wasn’t really either, anyway. 

Now, there’s something you should know about this name; this one we don’t mention in public places, this one that doesn’t appear on official documents. See, they named me after my paternal grandmother. Strong woman, that one. Lived for a whole century (and maybe counting, we’re really not sure). And while I recognize who she was now that I’m older, 6-year-old me definitely did not. All she knew was that she did not like the name, and that was that. The only time it sounded right was when it came from her, who they named me after, and from my favorite Uncle B, of course. 

I dropped it when I was 7. The reasons? I’m better off keeping those to myself. All you need to know is that they made sense to me, then. And they still do, if only I were still 7. See, that little girl could already tell the world was unjust, and she was playing no part in it… even if that meant giving up part of her identity. 

But here’s the thing about who you truly are; you can never really escape it- no matter how far you go. Somehow, you’ll always find your way back. And as much as I hate it, it took the matriarch’s passing to realize how much I actually wanted her name. How much I wanted to be associated with her, and how much I knew being half of who she was would get me sorted in this hell-hole of a life. 

I’m not 7 anymore, and I definitely don’t see the world through rose-colored glasses. Like any other person, the quest for self began in my teenage hood, and even though it’s still in process, I’d like to think I’ve made so much more progress than I care to give myself credit for. 

Granted, there’s still so much more I need to work out, so much more of myself I need to place, but if there’s one thing I know for a fact- is that I am a daughter of the West, just as I am of the Mountain. 

So, what’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet? 

Now, allow me to reintroduce myself. The name’s Ciru (Shiro)- Shee if you like. Whatever other name you know me by, I suggest you update your contact list. That’s the one we barely talk about, and it’s the same one we’re about to shout from the mountains (pun very much intended). 

Oh, and before I forget, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance! 🙂