Tonight, I felt like talking about what I've learned to unlearn from my parents but also the gratefulness from meeting the people I did.
It's been a journey. Oh, and it's quite the ramble. 17 minutes long in fact.
Enjoy :) I've graduated from YouTube podcasts at least ;)
For the ramble, click here ---> A Ramble Indeed
[it may take 10 secs to load lmao but give it a chance, I swear]
For the past 13 years of my life, I went with it.
Save others the trouble of pronouncing my name correctly. Keep it easy. Memorable even.
Keep it at whatever my pre-K teacher could say.
I remember she asked my parents how to pronounce my name at the classroom entrance on my first day of pre-K. I was busy coloring in a zebra alongside my baby sister. Ms. L didn't even hear the Diệu part. Or maybe my parents said Ngọc because they would never so formally, call me DiệuNgọc.
And Ms. L, hearing "Ngọc", probably couldn't produce the nasal "ng" sound. Her lips probably settled on the closest, ugliest but most memorable, easy equivalent: "Knock." After politely waving my very curious and worried parents goodbye, she walked towards me and probably said, "You are Knock, right?"
I didn't understand English then so I probably nodded a firm "yes". Eyes wide. Lips open. A bob cut that tickled my eyebrows.
Little did I know that this would be my forever. A forever that lasted for 13 years.
"Knock, like on the door," I would equate my first name to. I even added a hand motion to it. Pre-K thru 12. I never questioned it. It was fun even, to surprise people with a simple pronunciation of my very unique name. My cue that the person holding the roster is having trouble with my name is almost always the same. Substitute teachers. Anyone. Classmates knew where to look when the lines were said, "Last name... Nguyen?"
They'd even chime in for me. "It's Knock."
My parents were never unsettled by this either, letting others call me "Knock."
"Whatever is easiest," they probably believed.
But also, they made sure I never changed my name, and I don't think I ever would. I love it so much.
"We were told by many Vietnamese parents to give you an English name, but your name is so beautiful Ngọc. We want you to be reminded of the beautiful place that your blood came from. The land that gave you life. Việt Nam."
I never questioned it because I was comfortable. Comfortable making others comfortable with saying my name.
It felt like so muchhh to turn 180 and get my friends, teachers, mentors to say it the way that deep down, I wanted it said.
There were moments, of course, when I was reminded of how beautiful it was to hear my name said right.
In 6th grade, my English teacher, Ms. Crawford, gave us a writing assignment about our names.
"What does your name mean and mean to you?"
It was a short prompt but I-- I remember going 150% with it.
I wrote from my heart. Pride. Love. A country I knew little of. What my name meant.
Ngọc is my Mother's name.
"Why would you name me after you?" I asked, clinging to her chest in the dark.
"Because it's such a pretty name. It means Jade, and Jade is so beautiful. Takes thousands and thousands of years and heat to form to be as beautiful as we see it to be. Just like you will be, Ngọc."
Though, to be honest, haha, I'm not absolutely stunning. Or as stunning as my Mother. Just a cute, chonky child still. Dammit.
This simple writing assignment encouraged me to ask my parents the whys. The hows of my name. I came to the conclusion that there's too much to write. And that I ought to start. Begin owning the power and sound of my name. The story of it. The story of the people who gave it to me.
Another moment coming to mind is 11th grade. My AP Cal teacher was Vietnamese and she knew how to say my name without asking me how to pronounce it.
I kid you not. I almost cried. I wanted to. I felt so... so whole then. So seen.
I felt realized.
For who I am. Who I always wanted to be. A girl named DiệuNgọc. Her real name lost behind other people's lips for 13 years too long, only to be found again through the lips of merely one person.
A forever that she wanted to get out of. Hearing my name correctly said by my teacher for an entire year, it changed me. I wanted more.
I needed more.
After high school ended, I made sure that I would make every effort in college and beyond to teach anyone who asked how to say my name correctly. Even if it pauses the conversation longer than I'm comfortable with. Even if it's hard. If I matter to them, then they would make the effort. And if not, oh well. :)
It's been so difficult. And people still get scared of calling me by my name. When I was Knock, things were so much easier. I would actually hear that version of my name whenever someone I knew passed me.
But now that I've reverted to having my name pronounced the way it's supposed to be -- I hardly ever hear people say it. I hardly hear people attempt my name for fear of getting it wrong despite my enthusiasm when they get very close to it.
That's the thing though. They have to get it wrong to learn what it means to get it close-to-right.
I had to live for so many years of my life with people pronouncing my name wrong for me to realize how damned beautiful it is when my name is spoken right. Or as right as the person attempting it gets.
I worry, a lot. I worry about how my career could take shape if my name is difficult to pronounce for non-native speakers. Would people overlook me in leadership spaces? Or would my name be an asset? "The woman with the hard-to-pronounce name is speaking again."
(Ohmigod, I'll be a WOMAN ONE DAY. OMG WHAT. Am I a young lady right now or a W_O_m-a_N!?)
Just as importantly, I worry if I'll be in a position where I can foster my roots. If I'm even knowledgeable enough to pass down this history, knowledge, the beauty that was my perfectly imperfect childhood to my kids. What happens if I fall in love with and marry someone who wasn't Vietnamese? What would that mean for this incredibly important part of me?
Gosh. I'm scared.
Despite it all, I trust myself. A little. A little is enough.
I trust this process. I trust that I'll make mistakes. Even with things that are most important to me. And that I'll learn quickly, fingers-crossed, when the feeling of "rightness" naturally comes to me.
For the things most important to us, we might have to live it wrong just to experience the epic high of getting it right once. And never going back.
I pray that you'll feel found in the people you surround yourself with. Whole. And loved.
Loved because you are. And always, worth it.
Yours,
DiệuNgọc: How to Say my Name :)
P.S. Thank you Ms. Crawford. I haven't seen you in a 8 years, but you helped me own my name!! You're the best and gosh. I pray for you every day.
P.P.S. Gosh. I'm tearing up so much haha. I honestly cried so much writing this episode. The tears came because I never fully realized how much of my life, I've lived it "easy." And now that I see things differently, that I need things to be different -- life might be harder. But... *sighs* it's going to be okay. Let's get this right. :)
Below is a copy of an email I sent after the first part of Addressing Anti-Asian Hate: Storytelling was over. This is belated but it captures the daydream I lived. The high of it all after weeks of working so damn hard with incredible, incredible people. To have such an incredible team of people trust me to lead us through months of planning, calling, and event-creation -- I can't be more grateful for the lessons each person taught me. I'll never forget. <3
A daydream that's ended, at least for now.
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4/2/21
"Good evening Dream Team!!
