name

Our names are our identities. They are awesome. Names are a funny thing to think about. They are the set of syllables that, together, refer to ourselves.

With their mix of multiple cultures, I am constantly reminded of the disconnect I have with my ethnic Chinese and Taiwanese heritage — and I remember this every time I think about their decision to legally name me Emily.

Having a nickname is a unique experience because it can sometimes feel like I’m two different people. Nothing is wrong with either of my names, but my nickname lets me feel like my truest self. 

“Am I saying your name correctly?”

My name ties me to my family, to my home and to who I am; it reminds me of who I want to be; it is a part of me that I could never give away.

As “Deen,” I no longer had to be the ambassador for my name’s origin. I could just be an “American,” freed from the shackles of my name’s uniqueness in this country.

This wouldn't be the last time I haphazardly gave my body to somebody whose name I didn’t know. Desperately, I wanted to feel desired.

As much as I wanted to cherish my full Korean name, I felt that my name was weighing down my confidence and hindering me from being myself while in the United States.

Black music heals me. For me, there is no other place to start but here — to pay homage to the music that birthed and raised me.

I often wonder how hard it can possibly be to pronounce or remember my first name. It’s Glorace. Not Grace. Why can't people ever remember? How many times do I have to correct them, which is unpleasant for me and embarrassing for them?