Title: Name

[swirlsofpurple]

She sits, not really swinging, just pushing herself a few inches back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“Hi Viji!”

She stills the swing and says, “My name is Vijikala.”

“I know, silly. It’s a nickname.”

“I don’t like it.”

“No one likes nicknames, that’s the point of them.”

“Oh, okay,” she says, fingers clenching around the chains holding up her seat, the metal digs sharp into her palms. And Vijikala struggles to understand why she’s so upset. Loads of people have their names shortened, it’s not a big deal. She feels small. She is small though. But she feels more small.


*

 

“This is Vij.”

“It’s Vijikala,” she corrects. She’s in High School now and she’s determined to get everyone calling her by her name.

“Forget it Vij, this is your name now, no one’s going to call you that.”

She pushes down the unpleasant smallness, just as she had years ago that day on the swing and just as she has every time since. It’s okay, she’s just a kid, a nobody. When she’s older she’ll be someone big and important and will make everyone call her by her name.

* 

“Is there something easier we can call you by, it’s kind of difficult to remember,” the interviewer says.

She shrinks in on herself, forces herself to sit back up straight, she’s too old to be angry, she’s too old to be a troublemaker, she’s too old to rock the boat. There are bills to be paid.

“You can call me Vij.”

*

 

And she works hard, and does what everyone wants, and climbs the ladder- slowly, so slowly. Sometimes the thought pops into her head: one day I’ll be worthy of four whole syllables, not this small cowering thing, someone worth the effort, someone worth the respect, a whole name, for a whole person.

But the years go on, and she only gets smaller and smaller. Some days she can’t even remember the sound of her name.

Until one day it feels as though she’s going to be squeezed into non-existence, the pressure builds, her size demanding its space, and she towers high above, screaming,

“That’s NOT my FUCKING NAME!”

* 

There are approaching footsteps and a too loud whisper, “Isn’t she the crazy lady who will only help if you address her by her full title?”

“Yes.”

“What is it then?”

She grins manically as they come into view.

“I am Vijikala, First of her name, The Angry One, The Troublemaker, The Rocker of Boats.”

 

Comments

[banana_galaxy]

I relate to this. When I was younger, I used to just accept people shortening my name so it was easier for them to say, and didn't really think much about it. Until I moved to California and suddenly did not introduce myself as the nickname that had been chosen for me, but rather my full proper given name, and people actually used it without shortening it. I came to realise how much more I preferred that. Genuinely glad there's more of a movement now about respecting names more, especially when they're not from the same culture. I actually used to perform improv with someone from Mexico, and when I met him he'd been using the English pronunciation of his name, but then as time went on and with the encouragement of me and others, he started going by the Mexican pronunciation. I felt so happy that he was able to bring that authenticity back into his life.

[swirlsofpurple]

Thank you, glad you managed to get people to use your chosen name. I used to just accept people shortening my name when I was younger, even though I prefer my full name, I've kind of just gotten used to it, and now shorten it for convenience. That's a lovely story about that Mexican guy. I do sometimes wonder if I should go back to my full name, but it feels like it would cause so much drama to try to actually enforce it.