name shame

My name has always been a discussion. I have always been made aware of how “different” my name is from every other student in a classroom, party or any other type of social setting. I have always been asked to identity where I am from, meaning background and what significance my name holds. Being a young Eritrean Canadian I wanted nothing but to fit into society. I was always the new black student in the room and I guess it didn’t help matters when I had the most out of this world name on the attendance list. I never could embrace it because: one, I was an extremely shy student; and second kids can be very cruel. I guess this is the reason why I could relate to Sandra Cisneross character Esperanza in The House on Mango Street. Like myself, Eperanza does not appreciate her name and wishes to have something that is easier to pronounce. While reading Eperanza heartache, I couldn’t help but think of my own issues with my name. My name is something that easily could be identified with in my homeland of Eritrea and to any other Eritrean. To someone on the outside it was something to poke and pry about. I didn’t mind explaining it to others, nor do I mind now but it is the fact that I have to have the history and background information that is frustrating. As I have gotten older I have come to respect and appreciate my name and the roots behind it. Something I wasn’t made aware of back then is how beautiful, fortunate and blessed I am to have something that separates me from the rest. My name allows me to make discussion and saves me from having to produce topics on my own. My name allows me to carry my culture and traditions on paper and in every, and any, dialogue that I may face in my life. I wear it proud and I speak it louder. It is something that I was given, not cursed with. It is like anything else with a little bit of practice you realize it is nothing to shy away from, but instead be embraced. Like others I too have questioned my name and I would be lying if I said I was strong and thankful till this day. I still hesitate when my name is butchered, but I come at it with a new opportunity to spread the good news. My name is Yodit and it originates from Eritrea. No I do not know what it means, because I have yet come to find an accurate meaning. But I can tell you what it means to me today. Yodit is the beautiful letters that I have been spelling and explaining to others in my short life.