“Welcome to Starbucks, what would you like to order today?”
“Hi can I get a, um, Iced Caramel Macchiato?”
“Sure, and what size would you like that in?”
“A Grande.”
“Okay, and what’s your name?”
I thought to myself, “Here we go,” and said “Srijita.”
The barista looks confused for 3 seconds.
“Wait, what was that?”
“Srijita.”
“Huh?”
“Srijita.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”
“You can write Su.”
“Okay, Su.”
All my other times in Starbucks:
“Welcome to Starbucks, what would you like to order today?
“Hi, can I get a, um, Iced Caramel Macchiato?”
“Sure, and what size would you like that in?
“A Grande.”
“Okay, and what’s your name?”
“Su.”
“Thank you, you can get your drink from that side.”
Growing up I always had issues with other people trying to pronounce my name. My friends would always make up a shorter name to call me instead. I didn’t like my name because of how unusual it was compared to everyone else’s. Because of such issues, I wanted to change my name into something more simple and easier to pronounce. Teachers would always stop and give a trick face when they would call out my name for attendance. What I mean by trick face is that some teachers would sigh deeply, look confused for two or three seconds, then look at the paper closely, and just say my last name which was easier to pronounce. And when I go to Starbucks, I won’t say my original name to make it easier and less confusing for the worker, so I just say Su, or Sri.
In 9th grade I was in my zone high school, where a lot of familiar faces from my middle school had gone. My friends were all South Asian and could speak a language that I could understand. I had to transfer schools because I was moving. After that, in 10th grade I noticed a lot of different things that did not occur to me before. The new school had a much bigger student population and they were mostly White and East Asian. There weren’t any of “my people,” that I knew from before. I realized that at my previous school, everyone naturally separated into their own racial groups, as friends. After going to a school and growing up with the same people since elementary, everyone was already used to my name and knew how to pronounce it. After I transferred schools, people had to start using random nicknames instead of my actual name when they would call me. From the teachers to the students, everyone would have a problem with my name. The extra attention from this always made me annoyed because it would always make people turn around and stare at me for a few moments. The peers I talk to would not even know my name, but would talk to me everyday. So I decided I was going to make everyone call me a nickname since it was too difficult to remember and pronounce.
“Hey, so what was the homework last night?”
“I don’t think there was any homework.”
“Yeah I am pretty sure there was homework, sis.”
“Oh damn, then um, what was it?”
“That was my question, lol. What's your name, by the way?”
“Srijita, you?”
“Adriana. You new here? I don’t think I saw you last year.”
“Yeah, I am a transfer.”
“Oh okay, what school……”
Next week:
“Hey what was your name again?...”
The week after:
“I'm sorry, I keep forgetting your name, do you have a nickname or something?”
“ I don’t really, you could call me Sri , I guess.”
“Ok, bet.”
The month after calling me Su, instead of Sri:
Avoids calling me by my name because she forgot it again.
But the plan backfired because I hated the nicknames that I came up with more than my real name.
I tried to stop being embarrassed by my name, and accepted the fact that it defines me and does not make me feel offended. I realized that it is hard because people from different backgrounds are not used to Indian names, and therefore could not pronounce it fluently. I would highly appreciate teachers and peers that would take their time to understand my name, and pronounce it right. Also, I realized I couldn’t even pronounce it right, and in fact, my accent made it sound more suitable for English accents.
I had an Indian teacher for geometry in 10th grade, and she would pronounce my name differently and in a more authentic version of saying it. People in my class would make fun of the way my teacher said it, and ridicule her English accent.
“Srijita?”
“Here.”
“Wait, that's not how you say her name.”
“Yes, well in India, you pronounce it like that.”
“But she's not from India, she's Bengali.”
“Doesn’t matter, it is common in both countries.”
“No, it’s pronounced Surjeeta, right?”
“No, she is right though. That’s how they would pronounce it in India, or Bangladesh.”
“Ok then, SREJHETHA.”
The entire class starts mimicking her.
I felt embarrassed by her because she had similar features to me. I would feel uncomfortable when other students would harass her, or make fun of her. At times when everyone would joke around, students would make offensive jokes to everyone’s race. Although I wasn’t even Indian, since we look alike, this made me really embarrassed to be a Bengali. I didn’t feel like I fit in with the crowd of my school, and I really wanted to return to my old school. Now, I reflect on this story, and I feel like I should've been more supportive of the teacher. She was basically being bullied, and I was doing nothing to help her. We had come from similar backgrounds, and I had gotten so insecure about my name, and the pronunciation, I forgot about how she was facing discrimination, and racism as well.
I remember telling my parents about how I was going to change my name when I was older, since it was so difficult to pronounce for people. My mother was mad at me for it, and was telling me how I was “giving up” my culture. My mom explained how my parents had picked the name out, and how unique it was, but nothing convinced me, I was just waiting until I could change my name. But I was talking to my friends one day, and telling them about my plans, and they had the most dramatic reaction. My friend said that would be so confusing, and how I would lose my “identity.” I didn’t take much seriousness at the time. Throughout my school years, I would have an urge to change my name so I can appear “cooler” or stop getting the extra attention, which mostly ended up as embarrassing for me. Always having to clear out the pronunciation of my name, and people forgetting it made me so embarrassed of my name.
As time passed, I developed a strong positive feeling toward my name. I realized that it was very uncommon. I’ve learned to outgrow my phase of being insecure for “standing out,” and having a different name. I had gotten used to how people interact with me when they hear my name, or where I am from. After certain incidents with my name, I have gotten over my insecurity, and am now willing to have an extra conversation to try to fix others’ mistakes. This was actually very hard to do overnight obviously. I was very intimidated at first, but then I developed to be smart witted, and not to let my emotions get the best of me. I don’t have to settle or change my name for the comfortability of other people. In fact, once I started being confident about my name, I didn’t care about the pronunciation issue, instead I became willing to help the person out. This change happened after I realized that I shouldn’t even be embarrassed for something that puts a label on my face. After I’ve started to stop overthinking about how different my name is from everyone else around me and accepted it, I’ve started feeling more confident. I have also gotten many compliments on how beautiful and unique my name is. I don’t have to settle or change my name for the comfortability of other people.
Today, I am proud to say that I am from Bangladesh. I realized that even if I did not say my name, people would assume I am Indian and react to me accordingly. That goes for all the people, from all different types of races. Race makes up only a part of you, and it should not consume your entire personality. I wish I could go back and tell my younger self to not be afraid to stand out, and speak my truth. Growing up in such a diverse community, always made me aware of other racial groups and made me realize my own racial identity. As I’ve had a major character development of my insecurity of being “different,” today I feel so comfortable in my skin and proud to say my name twice any time anyone asks.
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