What happens when your name becomes the bane of your life?
"Ping-Pong" "Wing Wong" "Ching Chong" these are all variations of my name that have been inflicted on me over the years.
Starting in the early years of primary school when sassy kids realised by changing one letter in my name I could become a funny sport that Chinese people played. I dreaded the beginning of every school year when after being introduced to our new teacher the time would come for the register to be read out. My young heart would beat in anticipation as the teacher read each name out in alphabetic order, "Jody Waters, Sam Watts, Jamie White, Sally Winters, ..........Ping-Pong Wong....whoops sorry I mean Ping-Ping Wong." By then sorry would be too late. The entire class would crescendo into laughter with finger pointing leaving the young impressionable Ping-Ping to grow up with insecurities that only therapy and alcohol would solve.
My parents have lived in London for over forty years, they insisted on calling my brothers and I Chinese names so that we would be proud of our Chinese roots. They believed no matter how Westernised their children would become our names would instil a small sense of "Chineseness" in our lives. My mum pointed out two interesting points. First, when English people move to Asian countries they don't usually change their names to Chinese ones so the local people can pronounce them. Also, when working as a teacher she realised that if a three year old English child can pronounce her name then it shouldn't be a problem for her parents.
I often wonder how I would have turned out if I didn't have a name like mine or if I grew up in a place where having a Ping-Ping in a class was as common as John Smith. I would live my life without having to correct every job interviewer, doctor, dentist or telemarketer that I came across. Voting, paying council tax and banking would be a breeze without writing hundreds of letters to correct the spelling of my name. I wouldn't have to answer five year old kid retorts such as "Why are you called Ping-Ping?" or "Cool, I want to call my dog Ping-Ping." Most importantly, I could get away a lot more with behaving badly. In their drunken stupor people may forget which Sarah committed the act but when it comes to which Ping-Ping there is no getting away.
Nevertheless, if my name was Mary, Jane or Sara there would be so much of life I would be missing. I wouldn't have been bullied mercilessly. Therefore, my strong resilience in life, fighter attitude and acute empathy of underdogs would not exist. My name wouldn't have an interesting story to tell - people love the idea that I was named Ping-Ping because I was born in winter (means ice when pronounced in a Chinese way). Saying my name is Mary because my parents were unimaginative and boring as muck doesn't quite have the same magic. Also, whether good or bad, my name makes an impression on everyone I meet and, in my opinion, making an impression is better than no impression at all.
So if you are reading this article and you think your unpronounceable Chinese name is the bane of your life. I encourage you to embrace your name and be proud of it. Shout out your name from the rooftops with pride and if this doesn't work just be thankful that you aren't named "Jump-Shitte" like my Peruvian friend (I kid you not).
Ping Ping Wong |