Our names are our unique signature on the world. From the time we are born, and long after we are gone—it is our names that hold our energy. Names can cause a swell of emotions in others by hearing our name and recalling a sweet memory. Names can be a way we honor our ancestors and remember their qualities by speaking their name or giving that name to children down the line. It is no wonder that many parents give so much thought to picking the most appropriate names for their children—our names perhaps even help shape our personalities, the people we become, our destiny.
I’m very grateful that my Sansei parents decided to give me a Japanese middle name. And not just any beautiful sounding name in Japanese, but one made from both of their Issei grandmothers: Bachan Fuji and Bachan Tsuchiyo—to make my middle name Fujiyo.
Bachan Fuji was my dad’s grandmother—a sweet, jolly woman who loved champagne. She passed only a few months before I was born, so we never physically met, but I feel like she was someone that I would have gotten along with well—as my friends would likewise describe me as bubbly, always smiling, and never one to turn down champagne either.
Bachan Tsuchiyo was my mom’s grandmother—a strong willed, independent, and loving woman who I cherished playing with, running around with her cane in the backyard, and simply spending time with—until her passing when I was 4 years old. She was my favorite person, and had a huge influence on me embracing my Japanese heritage from a very young age. Bachan Tsuchiyo spoke very little English, so according to my parents she would speak to me in Japanese and I would understand and respond back. (Sadly my Japanese has faded since then, since after her passing no one really spoke to me in Japanese anymore).
Bachan Tsuchiyo also bought me a children’s kimono—white with red flowers on it—which I loved wearing daily because it was from her. (My parents have so many photos of me beaming with happiness in this one kimono from Bachan Tsuchiyo). I loved it so much that I even insisted on wearing this kimono (along with bright yellow rain boots) to Bachan Tsuchiyo’s funeral. As my Aunt Lisa later commented—Bachan Tsuchiyo would not have had it any other way. She would have appreciated that I stood by what I believed in, and not caved into what my parents or what society expected. To this day, this is a quality/trait that I have embraced, and that I likewise admire in others. From living in a different country for 4 years in my early twenties, to being fascinated by other cultures and languages, to choosing somewhat unconventional paths—I am grateful to Bachan Tsuchiyo for her encouragement for me to always be authentically me.
Additionally, most interestingly on this topic of names—because Bachan Tsuchiyo did not speak much English, she could not pronounce my American first name “Melissa.” So she started to call me by my middle name, Fujiyo. We had such a strong connection as great-grandmother and great-granddaughter, that I began calling myself Fujiyo too. I even told my parents that I wanted to go by my middle name. Apparently I was very convincing and insistent as a toddler, and my entire family listened to the request. I was Fujiyo from then on, correcting my teachers from preschool all the way until high school, and using my Japanese middle name with friends and all those I met until I went to college.
In college, I began using my American first name because it was easier than constantly repeating myself on how to pronounce Fujiyo—especially on a big campus where there wasn’t the same level of investment to remember people’s names in the first place. While today I do use Melissa, my high school friends and family still call me Fujiyo. According to my childhood friends, it is weird for them to call me anything else. For me, I feel like I have incorporated both names into my identity, and at the same time, this reflection has made me realize just how important our names are. It is so much a part of our identity, and the energy that others identify us by, too.
Recently, I have been doing a lot of research on my family’s history, names, and identities. It has been fascinating to uncover the stories of each of the individuals who make up our family tree—from my grandma’s sister Tomiko who tragically passed away at just 18 years old, to the incredible properties my great-grandfather owned, to understanding my family members experiences in the internment camps during World War II. As we learn the stories and histories of our families, and the meaning behind their names—we can learn to know ourselves even better too.
© 2024 Melissa Fujiyo Okabe
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