Living with my name in globalizing world

I’ve long held my parents accountable for naming me what they named me. My name carries a heavy load of over- and undertones, and I like none of them.

I, of course, did not ask my parents to bestow this name upon me. Like almost everybody else on this globe, I was too young to campaign for my preferences when I was named. (I was about 3 days old.) Then, later, whenever I tried to raise the point with them while growing up, my mother just gave me “the look” and said “Live with it.”

There are many reasons I’m not crazy about my name. For one thing, merely pronouncing my name can cause a medical condition. The nasal sound of “k” immediately followed by the semi-vowel sound of “y” creates some sort of internal combustion in your vocal system, as well as an unpleasant ring in the ears. Also, if you try to pronounce it sharply after a meal, a grain of rice can shoot from your mouth into any one of the various cranial canals. I often get nervous watching people trying to address me after a meal. Will a bout of wild snorting and/or the Heimlich Maneuver be required?

For another thing, my name is absolutely shameless. Like all other Korean names, mine carries a special meaning when written in Chinese characters. It means “Beautiful Scenery.” (I am not joking.) My father is an oil painter and he does landscapes. The sight of his third daughter could have been something of a beauty to his biased eyes. I understand how some parents lose perspective when it comes to their own flesh and blood. However, I am the one suffering the consequences. Whenever people ask me about the meaning of my name, I get a bit dizzy. After a moment of awkward silence, I begin by saying, “You know, I have a totally shameless name. You see, my father is an oil painter…” I often end up giving out a totally convoluted and personalized confession to the meaning of my name. My name is a product of blind parental love compounded with occupational bias, yet it often leaves me feeling like a used car advertisement.

To make matters worse, my name also happens to be one of the most common girl’s names in my generation. Growing up, I was not just Kim Mi-kyoung. More often than I would have liked, I was more like Kim Mi-kyoung-C, or Kim Mi-kyoung-5 in my classes. One blind date in college days even said, “Wow, you have such a common name. Did you know that when you throw a rock from the top of library, it hits one of the Kim Mi-kyoungs?” He was certainly no charming, politically-correct metro-sexual, yet he had a point. I never saw him again, but his observation lingers on.

And, if you believe I was going to be relatively content with my name in the U.S., well, you’ve got that wrong. It was the same story all over again. Many Americans took my familiar, easy-to-pronounce family name as a common first name. And when they realize that the name they thought was my first name is, in fact, my last name, they go like “Huh? Say what?”

I was talking with a perky female clerk over the phone one day. She asked me, “May I have your name?” Then, I said, “It’s K, I, M, Kim.” Then she jumped and said, “You know, I am Kim, too. I am Kimberley.” At that point, I needed to explain to her that Kim was actually my family name and my first name was M, I, K, Y, O, U, N, G. Then, I got the usual: “Huh? Say what?”

Koreans, of course, put their family names before the first names, unlike Americans, who do it in the reverse order. I saw more than a few unfortunate incidents where the confusion became an issue. The idiosyncratic spellings of Korean names add more to the confusion. An American journalist once told me that he had to study accurate ways to spell Korean names in his reports. Koreans are getting creative with the English spellings of their name where Li, Lee, Yi, Rhee, and Yee all mean the same family name.

In an attempt to avoid the first name/family name confusion outside of Korea, however, I’ve even tried the strategy of simply giving out my first name only, as if I were Psy, Cher or Madonna. But inevitably, the existence of “Mikyoung” somehow escapes the bag, and yields up variations such as Mi, Mai Kong, Miguel and Me Young. Don’t get me wrong. I can stomach most of these variations, but, people, people please. King Kong? Help.

It all gets to the point where you feel elated with somebody who can even come close. When an American friend of mine called out my name in the perfect pronunciation at a huge store, I almost felt like hugging her out of gratitude. Alas, it was a rare moment.

Here’s yet another wrinkle in all this: In the post 9/11 world, I almost always get selected for the random security check at the airport. The security check is supposed to be random, but when you get selected all the time, you begin to question this theoretical claim. Some say it is the itinerary. Some say it is the iteration that the machines run though the list of passengers. But I believe it has something to do with my name. After missing my flight from New York La Guardia to Washington Reagan because of the excruciatingly time-consuming random security check, I killed two hours seriously pondering whether I needed to change my name. If my name was something like Mary Jones or Jane Smith, or even Cher or Madonna, would the “random” security check finally exempt me once in a while? The situation does not get any better here in Japan for I have become Kimu Mi Kyon-sama.

So, what is to be done? Despite all the embarrassments and awkward moments, I am going to keep my name. I’d like to sound completely noble about this. I certainly do appreciate my father’s total bliss and bias for his daughter. His blind faith in love and life helped me muddle through some very dark moments. But in truth, all the gyration, explication, and reiteration have also just made me stubborn. I have suffered enough, and I cannot quit now. I had to stand up each time my name as Kimu Mi Kyon-sama was called out during a medical check-up today. No matter what happens, I can never and will never be Kimura Michiko or Jane Smith or Madonna or Miki. I am Kim Mi-kyoung, and my crazy name will stay with me, for better or for worse.

The author is associate professor at Hiroshima City University-Hiroshima Peace Institute. She can be reached at mkkim_33@hotmail.com. <The Korea Times/Kim Mi-kyoung>