Names

     The funniest thing about names is that though we call them our own, answer to them, and believe them inherently ours, they do not come from us; names are given to us by our parents or guardians.  Through names, the first name that is chosen for us and the last name that is inherited, we are claimed.  In American culture, people generally have a “given name” (of which mine, for example, is “Amanda”), and a family name (of which mine is “Arand”) commonly passed down via the patriarch –  because we are a patriarchal society.

     Sometimes people are named after others – handed a family name as a given name or a name passed down from Grandma or Grandpa.  Sometimes it is from the baby book.  I can’t begin to imagine how new or not-so-new parents might go through the choosing process.  All I know is that my two names are two letters off of each other and that when I was in college and writing fast, sometimes I accidentally wrote, “Amanda Aranda.”  What a great conversation starter with the Professor.  Thanks Mom and Dad. 

     Other quirks with names come when one moves to a society or different language.  For example, when I was in college, I studied abroad in Athens, Greece, and no matter what I said to Greeks, no matter how many times I repeated my name, they forever called me, “Amina.”  My roommate happened to be standing next to me when one of these encounters took place. 

"Πώς σε λένε;" (pos se llene?)(“What is your name?”)

“Amanda.”

“Amina?”

“Amanda.”

“Amina?”

“OK.” 

     I embraced it. So did my roommate.  After learning a bit of modern Greek I came to find that the hard “d” sound isn’t actually in the Greek alphabet (delta is actually pronounced like “thelta” – the “th” soft as in “the”…but Greek lessons are for another day) and so whose fault was it if they didn’t have the letters of my name in their alphabet?  Alphabet reconstructions are for another day, when I have more time on my hands. 

     Added names-I, for example, have a baptismal name and a confirmation name-are added in for good measure (I suppose) to show the world that we are otherwise involved in a religion, have passed a certain age, or have hit some other sort of mark in the world.  Sometimes people receive new names when they pass from one family to another, are adopted or married.  Sometimes they choose new names for themselves.  Whatever the reason, a change in a name can signify a change in a life, or a change in the surroundings of a person.

     For most people, names are important.  They identify us.  They are how we identify ourselves.  People don’t go around trading names willy nilly.  Oftentimes this indicates that something is wrong, or someone is not who they say they are.  We guard our names from people we don’t trust or for protection.  Names are incredibly personal. 

     In fact, in a study on attention – the dichotic listening test, (I just got out of school, remember?…or something like that, so I figure I can cite journal articles – check out this MSU journal article or Arciuli 2011) people who were told to concentrate on what they were being told in one ear were always distracted by their names spoken into their other ear, but not by more conversation or a switch in languages from English to German.  They could concentrate on anything they were told to (it's called, "selective attention" or "the Cocktail Party Effect"), but were always distracted by hearing their own names.  People like hearing their own names. 

Why am I telling you all of this?

    To remind you that names are important, that’s all, no matter what culture you are in.  When so much of your identity changes, it’s nice to fall back on something that’s not supposed to: your name. 

     In Khmer culture, like many Asian cultures, the family names come first.  So if I were a Khmer person (which I am mistaken for more often than not, here), my name would be Arand Amanda.  But in Cambodia, my name is not “Amanda,” “Arand,” “Amanda Arand” or even “Arand Amanda,” it is “ManDAAH.” 

     Something that I found very interesting and was explained to me when Diana visited, was a quirk of the language involving names: to preface a name with “Aaahhh” (as in Ahhh-manda) is endearing to a person when said by someone older than them.  So that means that my host mom or HCD might call me Ahh-man-DAAH and that would be completely acceptable (indeed, it’s even my name) but if one of my host brothers were to call me Ahh-man-DAAH, instead of “Bong” (the respectful term for “older sister”) or even “Bong Man-DA” (which they sometimes resort to) it would be considered rude.  Therefore my name, Amanda, is not entirely proper in Cambodia due to the first syllable – but only for people younger than me.  Likewise, my host mom has called Diana, “Ahh-Dian-AAh” because adding in that extra “Ahhh” is kind of like nicknaming a person you like who is younger than you.  I think.

    

     A Khmer nickname isn't so bad.  I have gotten used to both versions.  In fact, I have decided that more than anything, it signifies my acceptance into my community; assimilation and integration. 

     During the last wedding season I learned that the people of my village think that my name is Da.  As in, they think my full name is “Man Da” – my family name being “Man,” and my given name being “Da.”  More than one wedding invitation I received in which the person was able to write in English was addressed to “Man.Da.”  Interesting.   I have been adopted and renamed. 

     One afternoon Man Kheang, Sokchea, Mea, and their friends asked me about English and American culture and I explained to them that in America and many other Western cultures, we do not use hierarchical names or greetings, and that the family name goes second; the two names are dtawh-dto (swapped). 

They spent the next few days walking around, calling me “Da Man.” 

I couldn't object.

xo-Amanda