What’s in a name?

How do you feel about your own name? Is it the name given to you or one that you chose for yourself?
We invited CLIC members to share stories about their names and how they feel about them. If you would like to share how you feel about your name, write to: theclicproject@uqam.ca

Muzhgan

My name means ‘eyelashes’ in Farsi. In English, it doesn’t sound special. However, it meant everything to my expecting parents. Muzhgan can sound strange in other languages, but in Farsi, it sounds pretty. The word, my name, is often used in Persian poetry in a very positive, metaphoric way, and my parents named me so for the joyful feeling it gave them from poems and songs. Therefore, only a Persian speaking person would understand what is in this name with all its literary context. For a non-Persian speaker, not only can it be difficult to pronounce, but how can that word mean, just ‘eyelashes’?

Behind every name is the story that mattered to the people who welcomed the child into their lives. Whether a name sounds weird, difficult, meaningless, or something else to others, it may mean a lot to its own story tellers, just like mine!

I am not usually bothered that my name is mispronounced, especially when I first meet people. But on important occasions, I try to make sure that it will be pronounced correctly. My name was completely mispronounced during my masters graduation ceremony even though I had written it phonetically so that an academic could read it.

As a woman, a refugee, an immigrant, and an ethnic minority, I always felt some type of pressure to prove or validate myself to others. I have an intelligent male figure in my life, my dad, and he always helped to push me further. He always calls me his ‘champion’. ‘My champion’ he says. Although we have lived a king distance apart for most of my life, his courageous words always empowered me, especially when I am in a strange and challenging situation. Whenever I feel down, I think of his words, ‘I believe in you, my champion’. Words have power and they stay with us. When we choose our words wisely, we can impact lives positively! 

Jaime

When I was little, I didn’t like my name. I only knew one other person with this name in grade school, and he was a shy boy. I wanted a name that was more ‘masculine’ and common-sounding. Jaime sounded too ‘fragile’, too ‘small’. I think I secretly disliked it until I was in my 30’s. Then I got older, and my dad passed away. That’s when I gave more thought to my name. My dad’s name was James, and I was named after him. In fact, I was named Jaime Marie, after both of my parents–my father’s first name, and my mother’s middle name.

Today, I feel much differently about Jaime. It suits me, strangely enough. In French, it means, ‘I love’, which is kind of fun and weird. It’s a male name in Spanish, so some people who read it think they’ll be able to converse with me in Spanish. (Hola is the only word I reliably remember in that language.) And in English, it is a genderless name, really. That suits me just fine. In Montreal, almost no one pronounces it correctly on the first go. Almost no one spells it correctly, either, even after I tell people how it’s spelled. So, I like both the ambiguity of it, and the fact that my parents wanted me to carry their names. At the end of the day, it looks like somehow my parents chose a perfect name for me that I am now embracing.

A Name for Every Soul

Behind every soul is a destiny. Behind every name is a wish. A story for each name. A name can keep a soul alive!

Before I gave birth, I decided not to know the sex of my baby, wondering what surprise awaited me. As a mother, I didn’t know how to welcome a soul, except by giving it love and a meaningful name that would comfort it forever.

The restless crying and trembling hands of my first child made me feel as guilty as if I had brought this creature into the world to suffer. My baby was a she, just like me! She is my other: I gave her the only name I created for myself, Poemy. The best poem is the one the poet fails to write, and life is a beautiful poem to live. Despite the ups and downs, I wished my little poem a life lit by Beautiful Sunshine (雅晴).

My second child was born calmly in the year of the rooster. The work was much easier and the baby was crying like a little bird. She was so different from her sister that I was afraid my girls would often argue. I really had to think about her name, an original name starting with P, making her the twin of her sister. Because I was going through difficult times, I wanted my baby to bring PEACE. I named her Paloma: a dove that Flies Beautifully. (雅翔).

For my last child, I learned during prenatal screening that it would be a boy. I was surprised by my own concerns: Male culture is unknown to me… How should I prepare myself to welcome a boy? He took 2 days to come out, and, looking me in the eyes, he said a few “words” before crying. Only my caress could calm him down and he has only me in his eyes. I knew I wouldn’t have another baby afterwards, and I was sorry that he would be the only boy, so I gave him a compound name. As I couldn’t name him Terre-Anse, his name is Terrence-Olivier. I wished for him to be the Winter Sunrise (冬昇) to bring HOPE to warm the family.

An olive tree takes root between the land and the bay. A dove sang a beautiful poem. Even in the coldest of winters, the sun always rises to illuminate the beauty of flight. I am with them in fulfillment of my promise: to be la mer (la mère).

If I could create harmony with names, the world would be a better place!
(Lily Chang)