Shakespeare once said a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
For the longest time I disagreed.
Names carry such immense power in our society, and have shown to impact our life decisions and career prospects. Parents spend months agonizing over their child’s name, and even in the apartment of a Duke start-up we see blood spilt over the naming of a company. Names have such baggage with them. They send the first signal to society as to who we are—and we should all know by now the importance of first impressions.
It’s one thing to just wish you had a cooler name—I’m sure most of us have gone through that phase at some point—but it’s another to grow up initially quite liking your name and slowly realizing as you grow older how utterly inconvenient and potentially crippling it is. Don’t let your labels define you, they say, but like most things it’s much easier said than done.
When I first arrived in Canada 13 years ago from my sunny little island in Southern China, I was apparently asked by my parents to adopt the so-called “English name.” Of course, for some odd reason, I refused. I guess I found it strange at the time that I would change my name just because I had moved to a new place. Perhaps at seven years old I didn’t realize how big of a deal it was. Perhaps I had some inherent burgeoning desire to go against the grain. Besides, I was complimented on my name all throughout kindergarten.
Regardless, I grew up in a society that found my name foreign. I saw the hesitation when teachers read down the name list, and like many of my foreign-born peers—most of whom have much more difficult names—I began expecting people to pronounce my name wrong the first four times. It came to the point that I felt slightly apologetic every time I introduced myself. Beyond that, I became very tired of racial stereotyping, of people expecting that I knew or did certain things because I had branded myself as more Chinese than the other Chinese-Canadians. Sometimes I felt the need to prove that I was Canadian.
We all adopt fancy foreign names when we take a language class or when we visit an exotic location—names we would probably not answer to in a crowd. But this isn’t like vacationing in Thailand or studying abroad in Spain. I had proudly become a Canadian citizen and planned to build my entire life in North America—with my name my involuntary masthead. And so for years I struggled with whether I should adopt an English name. Would people remember me better with an easier name? Would it better my career prospects? Vulgar as it sounds, should I just do society a favor?
Even at Duke I vacillated between the two options. I know at least four people of Asian descent who had changed their ethnic names right before college. They, like me, grew up frustrated by the hesitation, the confusion and the endless explanations on their side.
One of the most powerful pieces of advice I’ve ever gotten came from a fellow Duke student who went through a similar crisis. She, like me, left China at a young age and then spent the rest of her life in the U.S. She went through elementary with her Chinese name, adopted an English name in high school, and then switched it back sometime in her first couple of years here. When I asked her why she made that last change she told me a striking anecdote about a congressman and an airplane that I can’t do justice to here. But her message was clear—never let others tell you who you should be, and if you can successfully go through life with your naming disadvantage you’ll be made all the more stronger.
I didn’t quite understand the full extent of this at the time, but am beginning to. As you’ve probably noticed, I’m still Bochen, and not Nina or Blair or Addison or some other name on my "Potential Names List." I’m starting to see the validity in Shakespeare’s words—and now I’m questioning why I ever doubted him in the first place.
There wasn’t a single moment of realization for me, no ‘aha!’ in the middle of the night. I still worry that employers will subconsciously judge me based on my name, but I am more concerned with changing my name for the wrong reasons. In the society of immigrants we live in, wanting to keep hold to our identities comes with a price, but it’s a price that I’m willing to pay.
Perhaps one day when I feel significantly more “Western” than Chinese I’ll make the change. For now, I will take charge of my name and bend it to my will. I will make you remember it.
Bochen Han is a Trinity sophomore. Her column runs every other Monday.
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