What’s in Text by MELODY XU
HOW DO OUR LEGAL NAMES AFFECT OUR CHOSEN IDENTITIES?
“D
AO… WEI? DAO-DASH-WEI?” My third-gradeself had been dreading this moment — a terrifying but familiar one — for the entire week. I knew from experience that the absence of my normal classroom teacher always came with a substitute who had no way of knowing my preferred name. “Here,” I said quietly. With that, it seemed like everyone in the classroom physically turned around, craned their necks and squinted to catch a glimpse of my face for themselves, as third graders would. So with 30 pairs of eyes fixated on me — some curious, some confused and some holding back giggles — I hoped they weren’t noticing the tears forming in mine. My name is Melody Xu, but my birth certificate, passport, debit card, CollegeBoard account, Infinite Campus profile, school ID and practically any place else you might search would tell you I’m a liar. Legally, my name is Dao-Wei Melody Xu, and these documents won’t seem to let me forget it. The minor complications of having “DaoWei” as my legal name have followed me to every doctor’s office, airport and classroom I’ve ever stepped foot in. Every year without fail at my annual checkup, the nurse at Kaiser Permanente squints at
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their clipboard before calling out “Dao-Wei?” into the waiting room with timid uncertainty. I remember once when I was already running late for an international flight, my tight airport schedule was further delayed by not being able to check in — the airline system’s on-screen keyboard simply didn’t have a hyphen key. And of course, dozens and dozens of these unpleasant roll call memories have piled up over my years of schooling. Having grown up in America for most of my life, my Chinese name’s permanent attachment to my identity contributed to a festering resentment for the culture and heritage it originates from. I desperately wanted to fit in and feel American, but the whole “Dao-Wei” thing made it pretty hard. It’s taken me years to grow beyond this mindset, but even now I can’t say I’m fully there yet. Many of my negative feelings about my name stemmed from social interactions in elementary and middle school. For some reason, the riveting topic of middle names was a lunchtime favorite back then, and my nine or 10-year-old soul would feel utterly crushed at the realization that I’d never have a “pretty” middle name to dramatically reveal like what seemed like all of my friends did (some of my favorite middle names were “Anabel” and “Scarlett”). Of course, I would quickly
