When senior Giljoon Lee was in eighth grade, his social studies teacher, Ami Byrne, introduced a unit on names at the beginning of the year. One of the assignments was a poem, which prompted him to think about the origins of his name and led him to reevaluate his relationship with his names.
Having immigrated from South Korea to the United States twice — first to North Carolina and later to California — Lee occasionally goes by his English name, Justin. While attending elementary school in North Carolina, Lee recalls being one of two Korean students in his class, and he tried using Justin as much as possible, except on legal documents.
“I have a weird relationship with my English and Korean name,” Lee said. “In elementary school, I hated my Korean name, and I tried to use ‘Justin’ wherever I could. But I started realizing that I had a complicated relationship with my name. The assignment made me think, ‘Why do I hate my Korean name?’”
After completing the assignment, he realized that he had no reason to resent his Korean name. Lee describes eighth grade as the catalyst for embracing his Korean name and began transitioning back to using “Giljoon” in high school, removing his English name as a preferred name from all school records. Now, Lee goes by his Korean name with almost everybody, although concerns for his cybersecurity prompt him to introduce himself as “Justin” in unfamiliar environments.
“There aren’t many people in the English-speaking world named ‘Giljoon,’” Lee said. “Because of that, it’s very easy to dox me, because all you need to do is search ‘Giljoon,’ not even my last name, and my personal website pops up. So when someone asks me for my name, I usually say ‘Justin’ for safety reasons.”
Like Lee, junior Nora Ma, who immigrated to California from China in fifth grade, had to choose whether or not to use her given name in the United States. After opting for an English name to help herself adjust to the new country, she initially settled on “Lena” as her name. Later on, she decided to switch to “Nora” after seeing the name online, which she felt suited her better.
“I choose to use an English name mainly for convenience,” Ma said. “My Chinese name, ‘Yunhan,’ can be difficult for some people to pronounce and remember. I thought ‘Nora’ sounded simple, nice and easy to spell, so I use it for other people, while my Chinese name is for my family and friends.”
Sophomore Kai Shan Lim also chose to simplify his name after moving to the United States from Malaysia two years ago. Unlike Ma and Lee, however, he did not use an entirely new name; instead, going by the first part of his birth name, “Kai,” which he believes is a common enough name in the United States to avoid being mispronounced while still maintaining a connection to his culture.
“I feel like ‘Kai’ is easy enough for everyone to understand and pronounce,” Lim said. “Part of my name already sounds American enough, so I don’t think I will change it any day soon. Maybe some people will make fun of my name, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s just my name.”
Similarly, Ma used an English name in the United States to assimilate and make it easier for others to say. Although she still goes by her birth name with those close to her, she has since gotten accustomed to using “Nora” to introduce herself in English environments. Her English name, nonetheless, holds little to no significance for her, as she still feels more connected to her Chinese name.
Ma’s English name serves a practical role, which is also seen in Lee’s experience. Although the name “Justin” has a rich etymology, to Lee, it had no meaning and was initially simply a name that his parents picked for him before he was old enough to choose one for himself. As a result, for most of his life, he felt no true connection to his English name.
“Justin was inherently a meaningless name — it was simply a name to help me assimilate,” Lee said. “Although ‘Justin’ didn’t start off as something that had meaning, I’ve created meaning by living as ‘Justin,’ making friends and using that name. With it, gradually, I feel that I’ve built meaning for ‘Justin,’ whereas ‘Giljoon’ is more of a connection to my culture and is something that has inherent meaning.”
By finding personal significance for his English name, Lee has found a balance between his two names, using them interchangeably depending on the situation. He no longer denies his Korean name as a part of his identity.
“I don’t think my Korean name deserves to be hated anymore,” Lee said. “Nowadays, I’ve come to terms with it. I’m definitely a lot prouder, and I’m not ashamed at all of either of my names.”
