52 weeks in a year, 26 letters in the alphabet, this is week 1:
Acceptance
Before I got
married, I would always sign with just my first name, never my last. When
asked, I explained that I assumed that one day my family name would change, so
there was no point in getting attached to something that had to go. Later, when
I did get engaged, the event prompted the great name change debate. Being
Sindhi, our tradition has an expectation that if the stars dictate it, a girl
should change her first name (as well as adopt her soon-to-be-husband’s family
name) to match and support that of her new family.
The problem
with this cunning plan was that I liked my name and didn’t want to comply. To
make matters more complicated, my husband liked my name too and despite many
horoscope readings and dialogues exchanged with Hindu priests, he wasn’t having
it either. So long story short, I didn’t change my first name, just my family
name. And who did I annoy in the process?
The very
people that chose my name in the first place. They got over it, they have been
on many of my bumpy rides and they’re still standing.
Why did they
want me to change my name? Because they love me and thought my new family would
accept me and treat me as one of their own if I started my new life with a new
name. But “a rose by any other name would smell as sweet” which I hope means
that I am always going to be who I am, regardless of the label. Believe in who
you are, name aside. My new family accepted me, not just my name.
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