"What's in a Name?"

I (finally) submitted my name change a few weeks ago.

What I thought would be monumental, a sigh a relief,

Instead came anger. 

I walked back to my car, closed the door, 

And lamented about how much I had spent. 

In time, in effort,

How much it took, 

The paperwork, the organizing.
How much it cost. 

I felt  angry about the money.

For the record, if you ever think about going through the legal name change process, it’s more money than you think. The notary, the fingerprints, the criminal record check, the government fee, the registry fee. It’s so much.

Above that, I felt that my father had put me in the position, like I had to do it, then pay the price for it all.
I don’t like the feeling of anger.

“I sat with my anger long enough that it told me it’s real name was grief”.

Grief over my father and the situation before me.

Grief and anger holding hands, melding together and festering.

Confused and angry over why I was even angry and grieving. 

This was weeks ago.

I have focused my energy on the fact that in a few months, my name will be different and I’ll have to go through more motions of change.

I forget how many things have your legal name. How many documents -  how many bills and companies and websites. 

I also underestimated how ingrained your name is to you.

That I have to remember that I prefer to be called Kika instead of Jess, that I should introduce myself that way. Your name is a reflex, it’s instinctual - a name I’ve held for 30 years and now am trying to reinvent it. 

Recently I went shopping with a friend and the woman working in the change rooms asked for my name. Without pause, I had answered “Jessica!”, and immediately wanted to crawl inside myself. 

I’ve also felt waves of embarrassment - or maybe it’s shame. I can’t quite pinpoint the emotion, but overthinking how inconvenient it might be for other people who have known me by one name, now have to remember that I have a new one. Sometimes I will wonder to myself  if this might be really unnecessary. 

Those thoughts don’t stick with me, thankfully. They are few and fleeting. It brings me more peace and excitement than anything else. So much so that sometimes I’ll scribble  my new full name on a scrap paper while I’m at work, just to see it written there. 

I’ll end this piece with a small name lesson, in case you’re interested: 

My nickname Kika was inspired from two different places.

The first from  the pet name “kikay” in Tagalog (pronounced key-k-eye), which means a feminine girl/girly girl; one who likes fashion and beauty. 

The second from my name in Hawaiian, Iekika (pronounced ee-key-ka). I was gifted a keychain with this name engraved on it during my first trip to Hawaii - which coincidentally, I happened to be mistaken as a local. 

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