XINGQUN: I am the name given to the girl in her native country. One translation of my name is river of stars, but in your English language, you would simply call me constellation. Without me, the girl would have lived her first year as a nameless baby amongst millions of other orphan girls. I am the sliver of memory, the single thread tying the girl to her Chinese heritage. When the girl was adopted, I was severed in half—allowed to only take up one syllable on her American birth certificate between two family names, right in the center, right where people would read it on the page and know that the girl was not American by birth. It was a place of honor, of remembrance. It still could be, if all of me still existed in the girl’s name.

 

KAITLYN: I am the name that tricks strangers into expecting a white girl. People read me on the page and hold no reservations or concerns of whether the girl can speak proper English or whether she knows how American customs and traditions work. I saved the girl on every first day of school. Teachers would butcher and stumble over foreign names, but I was simple. Easy to pronounce, easy to pass as white. The girl hated the sound of me on other people’s tongues, but she secretly loved the way I disguised the truth of her identity. I am the girl’s shield, her first line of defense against the expectations of white people who glance at an Asian name and scowl. Call me a liar, a mask that hides the truth of what the girl is, but I am the name that keeps the girl safe in a country that favors its white citizens. I am the name that makes the girl American.

 

KIT: I am the name that gives the girl enough confidence to change and grow without worrying what people might think of her. In a new city, with a new group of friends, the girl was finally able to remake herself. She discarded the name that her mother gave her, choosing me for my simplicity, my directness. Kaitlyn felt too soft. Worn down. I sharpened the edges that had grown dull from the weight of hiding the truth of who she was—and who she would become. In the four years since she claimed me as hers, I changed her from a person who sought approval and admiration from others into someone who only needed her own approval. I am the youngest name she has had, but I am the one that will outlive the others.