My name is something my mother thought I was. But how can she think that when she has never met me? So different from my other, polar opposites from one another. We’re the same yet so utterly different. Sometimes I would imagine I was my own self and that I had a birthday that was mine to my own. Mine to my own. 

But not me, I’m called traveller, I’m called wanderer, I’m called freedom.

I’m called Gypsy.

My Dad wanted to call me India, Jasper if I was a boy, but my Mum said no.

My Mum wanted to call me Tilly, Oliver if I was a boy, but my Dad said no.

So they agreed on Gypsy

Whenever I meet people they say ‘that’s interesting’, ‘that’s unique’, ‘that’s different’ 

But to me, it’s just a name

My middle name is Ellis, that’s my Mum’s maiden name

I think it’s a boring name

It’s also a boy’s name 

My last name is Cook, that’s my Dad’s last name

I think it’s ironic because I can’t cook.

People ask if I’m related to Captain Cook

I’m not. 

I like my first name. The ‘Eli’ comes from the first three letters of my grandmother’s name, which was Elizabeth. The ‘na’ comes from the first two letters of my family name. I feel that this is quite unique.

I don’t like my last name. In my culture, you’re supposed to take the first name of your father, but I guess in my case, I got the first name of my mum and dad. Sheeba and Jose. Also, my dad’s name changed when he was young. His name was actually Joseph, but in his class, there were two people with the name Joseph, so people started calling him Jose. I would rather if my last name was just Nadakal, my family name. 

Elina Nadakal. 

Simple. 

But there are some positives, like people pronounce my last name with a Spanish accent, and then they think I’m Spanish, and I like Europe, so that works well with me. My dad usually lies and tells people he is Spanish, but I tell them the truth because they might ask me to speak some Spanish, and that wouldn’t go down well. Because at the end of the day, no matter how much I want to be European, I am proud of my Indian heritage. 

Light in the darkness, this is something that I think is very important in life. There should always be hope, no matter how bad things get. Hope is good. 

I was once embarrassed about the origins of my name, and hence would say that it came from the bible. I assume you know of Noah’s ark? But now I think it’s cool, being named after Asia. 

Finding a name for me was more than a challenge for my parents, mainly because the good names in my language are equally as difficult to pronounce in English and horoscope name books are nowhere to be found in Australia. Some names they liked, like Chamath, which means wonderful, but might be mispronounced as “Kamath” and Dineth, which was just too popular at the time.

So my dad suggested an English name. “Michael?” my mum said. It was obvious that she wasn’t fond of it. After all, it would sound strange if my cousins and I consisted of Dasuni, Oshadi, Kisara, Sanduni and Michael. And it didn’t sound too great with my surname either. So Michael Chandrasena was thrown down the waterpipe.

Time was running out. But then they found the name Sidath. No idea how it came, whether it was in some book, or just a passing thought, but it was something they could both agree on. Not too difficult on the Australian tongue (unlike Hirusha, which becomes huh-roo-shuh) and it could be converted to Sid if the need arises. 

Even now, I’m not sure what my name really means.  I’ve read that it could be “a goal”, or “something that happened” or “beauty of all colours”. While these meanings don’t flatter me, at least I have my surname which means “moonarmy”

Almost seventeen years later, my parents still admit that my name wasn’t the best decision they made.

The dictionary says I’m “slender and graceful”, but I don’t think that fits. I think I would fit something more… me. Something that is sudden and sounds like laugher, something that makes you think, something that you remember. Something that is not so elegant, something that is more like fire. 

My middle name is Eden. No, not like the garden of Eden, and no, not related to Adam and Eve. Eden has no meaning, neither does Willow. My parents did not have a meaning for it either, they just said it sounded beautiful. So do strangers, and friends and teachers. “What a pretty name!” they say. But I don’t want to be just a pretty name. And I don’t want to not have meaning. I want to be more than Just Willow. 

I wish my name had meaning to me. 

Not the desperate ‘MIA’ received by people when loved ones are missing. Not the google search meanings ‘rebellion’ and ‘wished-for child’. 

Not just my parent's meaning -a word that is common to them both and their separate languages. They also tell me that it means ‘goutte de mer’ - a drop of sea water. It is a symbol for them and a reminder for me that I am one amongst many, part of the whole but also my own self.  

I like that others give my name their own meanings but I am yet to find my own. I wish my name would ring. I wish that it would please me. 

Not a single name is unique. Not a single name is mine. But I don't mind. I have to make the name mean something

My parents called me Hagen because they liked the sound. They joke sometimes that it’s the wrong name for Australia, because here people who read it can’t pronounce it and those who hear it can’t spell it. So sometimes I am Haigen, or Hargan, but I don’t really mind because to me I am still Hagen. In old stories about Siegfried the dragon slayer, Siegfried like my uncle, there is a Hagen; Hagen the one eyed, Hagen the changeling, Hagen the traitor that kills the invulnerable hero with a stab to the back. I don’t mind this version either. It’s more interesting than the meaning ‘hedge’, or the many towns ending in –hagen, or the city Hagen itself. So I tell people about Hagen, the one that killed a dragon slayer, and sometimes let myself be Hagorn or Hayjen or Hagin because it’s easier than explaining. 

There is no story behind my name. 

My parents simply said to each other, “Jay is a nice name. Let’s name him Jay”. 

People ask “But what if you were a girl?” and I answer, “Nothing. 

They knew I wouldn’t be”.

I have a simple name: only three letters. J. A. Y. 

No not Jake 

Not Jye 

Yes like the letter 

Exactly like the letter 

My name has no special meaning 

If you google it, it means many things 

But to me, it just means me 

I am Jay 

I do not often meet another Jay 

But when I do, they are not really Jay 

They are a different Jay, a more foreign Jay. 

Almost like I have never heard the name before

My middle name is slightly more interesting 

It is essentially gibberish 

My father, before I was born, thought, 

“I like the word Reinier; you can spell it backwards” 

Just like Bob 

And my mother agreed 

Although there is no story behind my name 

I like it 

It is unique 

And it is mine 

Jay Reinier Helbers 

The Name of Kings

(Vignette inspired by Sandra Cisneros’s Book, The House on Mango Street)

My mum originated in Poland. I’ve heard she’s rather religious.

Christianity is her faith, and the bible her guidance. 

Like her, David the shepherd comes from a humble beginning.

But he rises to become a King.

In the face of a great adversary.

In a time where all hope was lost.

David the lone shepherd takes on a giant.

And wins. 

That is my mother’s inspiration.

That is my name.

David.  

(I think)

 

My Name Vignette 

 My name is Nosheana. No the first A in A-N-A is not silent. My dad changed that years ago. To make things easier you can call me Nosh I told everyone. Little did I know 9 year old me would discover that she had been telling everyone to call her food in British slang. How I discovered that you might ask? Well I was skimming through my new sticker book I’d just bought, when something familiar caught my eye. There I saw a sticker with a hungry looking dog holding a can of dog food with the label “tasty dog nosh”. Mum had a lot of explaining to do that day.