The truth is, I never felt fitted to my name. Its length and complexity draw attention and counter my desire to live quietly in the cut. It isn’t pronounced as it’s written, thus forcing me into a constant dance, where I first correct people and then assure them that it’s not their fault. The awkwardness was part of the point: My parents meant to mark me as a citizen of a country far different from the one in which I lived; my name was an artifact of a forgotten world and an aspiration for one yet to come.
