Wharton Journal

Issue date: 10/6/08 Section: Perspectives

"A man's name is to him the sweetest and most important sound in any language."
-Dale Carnegie, author of "How to Win Friends and Influence People"

Thirty-three years ago, I was born Hsin-Hsin Foo. Thirteen years ago, I decided on Julia Foo but that was short-lived. Three years ago, I chose to be Katherine Foo and have kept it since. Today, I admit still feeling conflicted. Although I was born in the States, my parents gave me a Chinese name because the Chinese highly value what names mean, and they wanted me to be reminded of my heritage. I do love what my name means: happiness. I also love the way it is pronounced: "shing-shing." It rings of cuteness!

What I did not love were the times that people would mispronounce it after repeated attempts to guide them. "Huh-sin," "shin," and "sin" were the most popular variants. I remained unfazed if telemarketers or strangers did so, but colleagues or peers of over a year? Or even some friends who, when seeing my name on paper, inadvertently pronounced "shin" or noticeably paused before pronouncing it properly?

So while I appreciate my parents' intentions, I confess to having resented them occasionally for choosing a name with a challenging spelling and an oftclaim for embarrassment. I'd have far preferred something that could be pronounced intuitively, such as Ling-Ling (aka Hsing-Hsing's longtime panda wife).

In an effort to be helpful, when introducing myself to people I'd mention that my name sounded like Shing or sign off e-mails with "Hsin-Hsin (pronounced Shing-Shing)." When we eventually met, any slight hope of having my name pronounced correctly would dissolve as that person fumbled. Most often I would let it slide by. "It's not worth it," I rationalized. "I don't know them well enough."

However, the times that I'd tried speaking up, I was almost apologetic, sporting an abashed countenance. "I hope you won't mind if I tell you this, but…," as if I were inconveniencing them to get my name right. The name that defined me, the name that celebrated my heritage! Now, looking back, I feel some self-directed outrage for having responded this way.

So why didn't I just assertively and unashamedly state "Shing-Shing" after every slip up? Was I not guilty of the same laziness that I attributed to others? Fair enough, but to me, it was a daunting task; I gravitate heavily toward introversion and shyness. Being from a culture that hails deference and meekness was another chief deterrent. Either way, desiring to make it easier for others, perhaps with hopes to assimilate, I've toyed with adopting an American name ever since college.

It wasn't a decision meant to reject my heritage. After all, I am proud of it. I'm glad that China is a global powerhouse. Or that I can communicate with my grandma in Mandarin and write letters to her. I even confess (with a semi-guilty look now) to being addicted to Chinese soaps! But I was tired of explaining myself all the time. Weary of others' unwillingness or lack of care to learn my name properly.

Finally, before my last job started, I decided it was time. Unfortunately I couldn't think of any suitable names incorporating the "shing" sound. Sheena came the closest, but did I want to be compared to the Queen of the Jungle? A clear no. So I scoured baby websites for names that would capture my identity. Carmen. Elizabeth. Madelyn. Sophia. Elena. Elyse. Katherine. These were among the names I sent to some friends and requested feedback on.

Apart from Caroline who refused to rate them-stating that Hsin-Hsin made me unique, with all the other names bland in comparison- everyone else indulged my wishes. Eventually, Katherine emerged as the winner. I informed my friends and new employers, and requested Wharton to reflect this change. It wasn't a legal name change-something to contemplate if I get married someday-but for all practical purposes, I was now Katherine Foo.

Certainly, an American name has made things simpler, but accompanying it at times is a pronounced feeling of loss. Such as when I automatically start to type Katherine in e-mails with longtime friends, only to strike the Delete key and type Hsin. Or when I attended two close friends' weddings and saw a name card imprinted with "Katherine Foo" nestled behind the plate setting. I did not expect or desire these friends to think of me as Katherine, although they still used Hsin in conversations. At what point did my identity get blurred for them? But more importantly, when did it happen for myself? Am I at danger of losing my "Chinese-ness"? I do not want that to happen.

Lately, I've been missing my Chinese name. Part of it has to do with people who've asked how it is pronounced (like when they see my credit card), and when finding out, will express how they like it or how "it's cool," and then say my name just fine! It's such a refreshing change. Part of it also has to do with the growing belief that I shouldn't deny any aspect of myself for the sake of others. Of course, I'd rather have people call me Hsin-Hsin, but do it right.

So, I do feel torn. I don't know if and when I'll ask others to call me Hsin-Hsin again. (I suspect I might.) Since you've always known me as Katherine, your question about what name I'd rather be called would be countered with a vague response. ("Whatever you want...") Regardless, I imagine that this conflict and tension I have struggled with is not unique. Perhaps many of you have resolved it in a better way than I have; in that case, I'd love to hear from you. Perhaps others of you are uncertain how to integrate your cultural identity into another cultural backdrop. In that case, I hope you will continue to search, ask, and define. And I hope you will do something that I wasn't able to: take more courage in informing others (including myself!) how to really pronounce your name. Speak up and be proud.

Carnegie was onto something when he penned that famous quote. While none of us would profess to be self-indulgent egomaniacs, having our names pronounced correctly- especially those with unusual spellings or origins-is indeed a pleasure to hear. One marvelous aspect about Wharton is its diversity, and what better place to engage yourself in others' cultures and backgrounds?

Perhaps next time you meet someone new, you can take a few moments to ask how their name is pronounced, inquire what it means. Confirm that you're placing the emphasis on the right syllable (and not as Mike Myers humorously noted: "the right em-PHA-sis on the right syl-LAB-le.") In Spanish, not doing so will turn "I am embarrassed" to "I am pregnant." Who knows if a slipup will cause a name's meaning to go from "moonlight" to "buffalo snout"? Maybe you can also approach people whose names you're still uncertain how to say. They would probably welcome the opportunity, and I daresay, will feel relieved. And you will rack up social savvy points in the process!

Typically, we associate treating others with respect as embracing their differences, being considerate, and listening to their views. What I've come to realize ever more is that it also means honoring their names by pronouncing and spelling them properly.

Signing off,
The Gal still known as Hsin-Hsin

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