The Jump
After eight months of marriage, I’ve legally changed my name from Sara Emilia Morishige to Sara Morishige Williams. I’m proud to have Evan’s last name, yet I miss the contrast my maiden name has always provided.
“I’m Chinese, Japanese, and half Mexican.” The amount of times I’ve said this in my life seems endless. The perpetual stream of inquiries about “what I am” is because my appearance is not entirely any one of my three ethnicities.
Morishige. If you can pronounce vowels, it rolls off the tongue like butter from pancakes fresh off the griddle. I’ve theorized that people struggle with the pronunciation because they see it’s foreign and don’t want to embarrass themselves. Translated, mori means forest, and shige, abundant. I appreciate the beauty and fluidity of my maiden name both in sound and meaning, yet it is only a nod to one quarter of my whole. Nonetheless, it has historically distinguished the fact that I’m an ethnically diversified American.
The politic of what it has meant to grow up American with mixed ethnicity has been a delicate balance between being American, and managing the influences of each culture. The obligation of not letting culture die with my parents, or their parents has influenced my life and unwittingly defined my character. Customs linger on the periphery, interjecting when I allow them.
And so, here I am, with what seems to be the plainest name in the world: Sara Williams. I'm happy with it. I will remain the same person I've always been, having only lost a perceived identity, and gaining anonymity that is the antithesis of mixed ethnicity in America.
posted by Sara E. Morishige @ 7:24 PM
2 Comments:
I know exactly how you feel. When I got married and changed my last name from an Asian last name to my very plain "white" last name, my entire Asian identity in my name was gone. And unlike you I kept my middle name and just dropped the old last name.
It's okay...now we've got even more stories to tell about who we are.
your story touched me. then i waxed nostalgic to the time i was engaged and faced the same conundrum. throughout my entire life almost everyone i had ever met stumbled as they attempted to pronounce my japanese surname, yet i really cherished it because it too had a special meaning. despite being a sansei and very much an american, my name made me feel connected to my japanese ancestry.
at first i struggled with the thought of letting go but then i realized it was about a special union, the merging of two families and different cultures into one.
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