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strangeI hate my former name. I’ve always hated it. I hate the way it sounds when it’s spoken, I hate the way it looks when written, I hate the way people are constantly trying to spell it with an “I” at the end, and I hate it’s generally accepted meaning as well (which is a big deal to me, being a massive name-nerd). Most people don’t know what it’s like to hate something so very fundamental about oneself. Something as everyday as your name shouldn’t be a source of distaste and resentment. Cringing every time a friend or neighbor says hello to you is just shitty, trust me. It’s not a good way to live, and it wreaks havoc with your self-esteem, of which I have very little to begin with. But there’s more to it than this simple answer.
I was given the name by my biological mother Karen, whom I do not consider to be, nor call my mom. For reasons. Oh, so many reasons. Reasons beside the point here. Karen has three daughters, all of us have different dads. Her first daughter she named Corina, the name of a star in the sky. Her second she named Bridgette, the name of a Celtic Goddess. Her third daughter she named Tiffany. The name of what, a jeweler? The name in the top 5 for sitcoms to pick when it comes to sluts one met in Vegas, strippers, bimbos for one-night stands and vapid twits around town? Gee. Thanks. My dad gave me my middle name, Marie, after one of my god-sisters. Marie has emotion behind the choice, meaning. Marie is a name that matters to me. But Tiffany? None. And if it had any meaning or emotion for Karen, I’d never know it. She never bothered to impart meaning or emotion to anything she (intentionally) gave me. But that’ll happen when you bail on your kids, you know.
I’ve spent the last decade or more learning how to disassociate myself, emotionally, with Karen; to move above and beyond the sometimes paralyzing myriad of issues she left me with, to learn how to want to stay here (yes, I do actually meant that in the darkest possible way you can imagine) when my own biological mother couldn’t be bothered with me. And my former name is part of that, how could it not be when she chose it for me?
So when I was a kid, mainly out of general distaste for “Tiffany”, I tried to get people to call me Samantha, Sam for short. That didn’t last very long, because you know, your teachers don’t really take you seriously in 3rd grade. Also I didn’t have the nerve to tell my dad at the time that I hated my name. So you know. That faded. A few years later I started up online, and this was in the birth of the in-home internet when it was still scary as fuck and you didn’t want anyone to know who you really were. We had just read the Odyssey in class and my English teacher played for us the Suzanne Vega song “Calypso”, as a way to make us think about the characters in the story that weren’t part of the main bit. I connected to Calypso instantly, an affinity that I’d never felt with any written character that wasn’t a Unicorn (Peter S Beagle’s “The Last Unicorn”, specifically). Her longing to be loved, her desperation to be seen for who she is, the pain of letting go of someone she loved dearly but who would never love her in return, even her basic love of the sea all struck me deeply. Even at age(ish) 11. So I became Calypso online to my earliest on-line friends, many of whom I’m still very close with to this day and who still know me by that name more-so than any other, even though they’ve known my actual name for decades. In High school I went by Cera, short for Cerridwen. Ignorance, as it turned out. Cerridwen is pronounced with a “K”, as there is no “S” sound in the Gaelic language. I didn’t really know that when I first adopted the name, so though I pronounced Cerridwen correctly, I pronounced Cera as “Sara”, which is all wrong and I was so embarrassed by the time I actually learned more of the Gaelic language that I just dropped the name all together. Also at 19 I moved to WA to be with my god-family and it just seemed too complicated by then to change my name, even if not to Cerridwen.
A few years back I realized, why the fuck didn’t I just go with Calypso? I love the name, I love the meaning and the emotion behind the name, and I love what the woman’s story means to me (though there is, of course, the difference of her learning to let go of a romantic love who didn’t want her, and my learning to let go of familial love, it’s still lost love and it leaves you with a similar emptiness). But I was in my early 30’s, it seemed ridiculous to go and change my name at that point. I mentioned the desire again to a few people and got nothing but support, so you know what? Why am I living with a name I loathe because it’s easier for everyone else (obviously other than my wonderful supportive people) to deal with? Sooo. I’m just not anymore. I have the documents, I go by Calypso legally. I’ll have the official court papers this summer at the latest for to get my birth certificate, SSN, and DL’s all changed. I know who I am. My name is Calypso.
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Date: 2017-05-15 05:24 pm (UTC)....
what is life.
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Date: 2017-05-19 09:21 pm (UTC)