Losing Names

I lost my name when I was young. Not my whole name, but pieces. A middle piece, in fact.

My last post--the story of my middle name, Retsilisitsoe--was used for a dramatic performance at the University of Guelph that centered around the topic of ghosts. What I did not mention was the border implications of this name. And believe me, there are some.

Retsilisitsoe is an unwieldy name. It took me years to learn to spell and pronounce properly (which makes it a great prank: "I'll give you 5 bucks if you can spell my middle name right on the first try, or else you owe me 5"). It's also very long.

The first time my name was removed off of my documentation was in Bolivia. We were having our photos taken at some government office and had to hold up a little plackard with our names constructed out of little white plastic letters. Initially I was worried there wouldn't be enough space for me to fit my whole name. My mother assured me there would be enough room- that we would squeeze the letters together. We started spelling it out together: two first names for each of my grandmothers and then....
There weren't enough letters. Not enough to complete my middle name and my last name, so just like that, it was gone.

The later disappearances of my name were similar to the first and all bleed into one another. There wasn't space on the form. No option for a second middle name. First and last name only, please. The school didn't care, the driver's licence used a file with only my first and last name, the health card didn't have the option. It was a hassle to fight with the paperwork.

Finally. One last chance. I applied for (another) passport 3 years ago so that I could go on a trip to Belgium to meet my father's side of the family. I walked up to the desk. Lo and behold there were enough boxes to fill in my entire name. I was excited--finally, I'd have proof of my middle name beyond that of the crumpled birth certificate my mother hangs onto--I started to fill it in. My father, who was with me, stopped me.

"Do you really want to do that? You'll be hassled at borders for having that name. It's easier to only be English. You don't want trouble at the border--no one does."

And there it went. The last chance. Gone, because of a fear that when I got to a border (a hypothetical border on a hypothetical trip I haven't yet planned) it would be contested. Better for it to vanish and sneak across border spaces unnoticed. It didn't feel different, maybe a little discouraging, but not terribly different. I still feel like an imposter when I tell someone what my middle name is because, without the paper work to prove it, is it still mine?