Names

I have so many.  Some are public, some I share only with friends, and others are just for me.  As an adoptee, my name has sometimes felt like one of the few parts of my identity that I have some control over.  Of course, non-adopted children don’t choose their parents, or land of birth, either…but for me, choosing my name at age 22 was a deeply powerful affirmation of my own ability to shape my identity as an adoptee.

Below is an excerpt from a letter I sent to family and friends a few years ago, explaining why I decided to change my name.

Twenty six years ago on this day, I arrived via airplane to Minneapolis, brought over by a group of foster mothers with several other Korean adoptees. At three and a half months, I was old enough to have been given a name by my foster family, but young enough to have been renamed by my new family and not have any memories of that process. Many of you, especially my family, know me as Jackie, which is the name my parents gave me when I became their daughter.  It’s the name I grew up with and for many years I didn’t even think about it.

While in college however, I began to consider the importance of names—the way they shape how we see ourselves and define who we are.  I had many conversations with friends about the significance of names in different cultures, how naming traditions vary in different parts of the world.  As I reflected more, I began to realize that I never really felt like a “Jackie”.

In American culture, names are very static.  You are given a name, usually by your parents, or perhaps grandparents, and that is the name you are expected to use your entire life.  If you’re a woman who decides to get married to a man, then you’re expected to take his last name, or hyphenate to signify the unity of your relationship.  This works out all right if you like your name, or just don’t care about it much…

But I kept having these nagging feelings that there is something deeper and more powerful in a name, and I wanted a name that really articulated how I see myself as a person.  The name Jackie, or Jacqueline, which is derived from the French Jacques, supposedly comes from the Hebrew word Ya’akob (Jacob) for “supplanter”.  Look up the word “supplanter” and you get this: to take the place of (another), as through force, scheming, strategy, or the like.  You don’t have to know me well to know that this is not how I see myself, or want to see myself in the world!

As I continued to explore the idea of naming, my friends and I began to come up with ideas for a new name.  After many conversations and a lot of reflection, I chose the name Lena.  At first, I just liked the way it sounded and looked (I pronounce it Lee-na, rather than Lay-na).  It felt comfortable, and rolled off my tongue easily.  When I looked up its meaning, I was pleased to learn that it comes from the Greek, and means “light,” or “bright one”.

However, I also wanted my name to embrace all of my cultural heritage, which as a transnational adoptee, makes things a bit more complicated.  I could have chosen the name that my Korean foster parents gave me as my new first name, but that didn’t feel right, either. As much as I look it, I am not Korean. I grew up here in the United States and culturally, I am an American.  To take on a Korean first name would have, in many ways, felt like putting on a costume for a part that I cannot play.  I do, however, love the meaning of the Korean name given to me by my foster family, Soo Hee, which (according to my paperwork) roughly translates as “woman of noble character”.  I’ve seen a few other translations, too.  Ultimately, I have decided to take Soo Hee as my middle name to honor my Korean heritage and the love and kindness of the foster family that cared for me for three months.

And as for my last name? It’s still very common in the US for a woman to take her husband’s name when she gets married.  I’ve thought long and hard about that, because I do feel there’s something wonderful that happens when you make a commitment to share the rest of your life with someone.  To share a name is to make a statement of unity—that you are becoming a new family together and are creating a new identity as a couple.

However, as much as I try, I cannot fathom giving up my last name, even if it is to take the name of the man I love and with whom I want to share my life.  As a feminist (yes, I’ll claim that label!), I am not thrilled about the idea of perpetuating a tradition in which it’s simply expected that women will give up their lineage and identity in order to take on that of their spouse.  Moreover, I want a piece of my name to reflect my family and the vital role they play in my life. This is the family that has loved me unconditionally and made me believe that I could do anything I wanted to.  For these reasons, I’ve decided to carry on the lineage of my adoptive family by keeping my last name.

I love reading about other people’s names, especially those who choose their own. Going to the Multnomah County Courthouse to legally change my name was a surprisingly empowering experience…and I was amazed by how simple it was, and how many other people were waiting to get their names changed, too. The bulletin board of public notice was covered with several layers of forms, each one an individual who was reclaiming their identity in some way, making their unique presence in the world known.