WHAT'S IT LIKE TO HAVE A UNIQUE NAME
If I had a dollar for every time someone mispronounced or spelled my name wrong, I'd be a billionaire by now – no kidding.
In a country full of Anikas and Maishas you'd think having a unique name would be a blessing in disguise. I guess my parents thought the same before realizing that it didn't really turn out that way. I get the occasional "Oh your name's pretty exclusive!" line, but ultimately my name causes me more distress than delight.
I've spent years staying strong and adamant that people should learn my name right. I even tried butchering my own name to make it more pronounceable but who was I kidding? People don't care that they boil my blood every time they get l my name wrong, or how infuriated I get when they don't even try to rectify it. So, after a point you just get tired and try letting go. But does that work? NO!
As much as I try forgetting these discrepancies, they have a way of coming back to me. Microsoft Word for one never fails to highlight in bold red that my name was a mistake. I never even dare to order anything at Crimson Cup for that matter, because I simply don't have the energy to witness my name being misspelled one more time. Even my dad spells my name wrong after all these years; hence, my agony!
Introducing myself to someone new is a special kind of hell for me. This relative of mine forgets my name each year he sees me. Yesterday though, he gave me his word that he'll keep it in mind not because he should but since he has a nephew named Rafid, which apparently makes it more convenient for him to remember my name. It's been 24 hours and I'm still not sure how to respond.
If sheer ignorance isn't enough, people here don't even shy away from suggesting or downright giving you alternate names. I was best friends with a girl named Rafia, back in middle school. Such fate really! After that, for a good whole year, none of us really heard our real names from the teachers since they unapologetically kept interchanging it. A year later, she left. I don't know if I was gloomier to see her go or relieved to finally get my name back.
Getting into university didn't really change my luck either. Even the most educated professors took a good 2 minutes to grasp my name. What I hate most is when people ask my name's meaning and originality. Yes, even after 22 years of existence I'm still not sure about the former. My dad's professor named me after Rafidah Aziz, the former trade minister of Malaysia, but forgot to dig out what it means. All this technology couldn't help me find it either, sigh! I pray this changes someday.
Nonetheless, even after all the resentment I provided my parents for this over the years, I got to confess that I've learned to love it over time. After all, I wouldn't be me without it!
Rafidah Rahman is a teeny-tiny Hulk, she's always angry and she's always hungry. A cynical dreamer and a food enthusiast, she's your everyday entertainment. Correspond with her at rafidahrahman93@gmail.com or https://www.facebook.com/rafidah.rahman.39