How do you say your name?
T-N
Where's it from?
*glares* Viet Nam...
Is it Chinese?
NO, Vietnamese...
No, it's Chinese!
*glare more* No it's not... I think I would know where it's from?
My name is the most exotic thing in the world along with the complexion of my skin. It's what fascinates people. It's what new comers fascinate over. They see it listed on my cubicle and feel the need to ask. They look at my skin color and cannot comprehend - what are you? What are YOU?
Have you ever heard this as a pick up line? I certainly have... Is that the best you got? It certainly seems so...
A list of responses come to mind:
1. Human
2. A person
3. Who are YOU to ask me?
4. A bastard so I don't know... (my favorite one).
5. Vietnamese No you're not... Uh... yes I am... No you have to be mix with something Uh... I think I would know?
While I was doing research for my Harry Potter class, I ran into spoken poetry by Rachel Rostad who also performed spoken poetry called "Names."
As Rachel states, it's something a mother dreams and hopes for a child to be... Like my name, it was something my parents dreamt and hoped I would be - like a daffodil, dainty and beautiful. It's something I could change, but I won't.
Idris Goodwin hits home for me on my sentiments about reactions on my name and skin color and what I'm supposed to be to fulfill other's need to know (even if it's none of their business).
"What an interesting name" (154) - actually it's not that interesting... It's my name.. Just like you have a name, I have a name... What's the big deal?
I was asked if I would ever change my name, and I thought that's an interesting question... Why should I even consider changing my name? Why should I appease "others'" need to feel like they can say my name right?
Have I fulfilled my parents and dreams of who they dreamt me to become? Probably not. But it's a piece of me and a piece of my ancestry that I can always carry with me from them...
"Can I call you something other than your name" (154). No, no you cannot...
It's Thủy Tiên
![William Wordsworth, please do the honors: I wander'd lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. [...] They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/dc/19/be/dc19be9c6722a2446515f18ef0992473.jpg)
Wow Tien. Everything you claimed from your name to your rage to your indignation and surprise, hit as hard as the poems we've read this week. Your response is more than response. It's a call to be heard and it's written in such poetic form and includes a video and the daffodils of spring. The poet Rachel got the crowd on her side and any listener who's had to hear their name butchered or dismissed. Like you. I wish this wasn't the truth we have to bear. But maybe in naming and saying our names correctly, we lay claim to ourselves and are able to open one mind, one inch by one line, the line of your name drawn in the sand that you refuse to allow the negligent to cross. Hear, here.
ReplyDeleteThe naming of thing (or person) carries a lot of weight - there is identity and life within that name. To take it away or change it is an act of violence, one that is more aggressive and sinister than physically harming someone. Taking ownership of a name that does not belong to you and claiming to know that name is even worse. The conversation of names is an interesting one that holds a lot of weight.
ReplyDeleteNice post, Tien (I had that happen this morning--what is?) anyway, you interwove your experience with some attention to the poem and specific lines. I appreciate the inclusion of Rostad's piece (love Button Poetry, Angela posted one too). Anyway, this mash up works
ReplyDeletee