Names are much more than simple words to which we respond. They carry with them the weight of stories, told and untold, the echoes of layered histories, and the deep roots of identities we often spend a lifetime uncovering. In the syllables of our names, we can find the essence of who we are—sometimes clear, sometimes elusive. Names carry potent memories, deeply rooted meanings, and, sometimes, complexities that only the bearer can genuinely understand.
For most of my life, I answered to Kara—a name given to me with love and intention, a name that shaped who I was in so many ways. As a Korean adoptee, my name has always been a bridge between two worlds—one given to me and one I’ve had to piece together. This duality has shaped my sense of self in ways I never fully understood until now. As I’ve grown, explored, and reconnected with my heritage and myself, I’ve realized that my most authentic self is tied to the name Myung Jin.
Kara has been good to me. She is strong, resilient, and adaptable. She stood up in unfamiliar spaces, learned how to belong, and faced challenges with unwavering determination. Whether making friends in new environments or pushing through moments of self-doubt, she carried me forward with courage. She has navigated the world with tremendous curiosity and conviction; I greatly value her and will honor her legacy by continuing to share my stories with her.
In quiet moments of self-reflection, I’ve felt a pull—one that whispers of my origins, a history that predates my adoption, of a name that was mine before I even knew how to say it. Myung Jin is more than just a name; it is a reclamation of self, a bridge between past and present, a step toward authenticity. This quiet pull became impossible to ignore, and as it grew stronger, I began to realize that it was leading me back to a name that was always meant to be mine.
Changing my name is not about rejecting my past. It is about honoring my whole self. Kara taught me valuable lessons, and Myung Jin empowers me. It reminds me of the roots I was born from, a culture, identity, and multi-layered story integral to who I am. It is an awakening, a coming home to me.
Names have weight. They shape how we see ourselves and how the world sees us. They carry legacies and personal histories, and for adoptees like me, they can be tangled with knotty emotions—sometimes gratitude, sometimes grief, sometimes anger, sometimes joy, and often all of the above. The transition from Kara to Myung Jin is not just a shift in syllables. It is an evolution of identity and personal growth.
The first time I introduced myself as Myung Jin, I was struck by how the name both felt like a stranger and like a long-lost part of myself all at once. Foreign and familiar, like walking into a forgotten home. It was as though I had been walking through a dense fog, only for it to lift in that instant, revealing a clarity I hadn’t even realized I was searching for. There was something both exhilarating and nerve-wracking about it—like stepping into a new chapter of my life, where my past and present could finally coexist.
In that moment, I realized that embracing this name wasn’t just about reclaiming something lost. It is about actively shaping who I am becoming. It was a conscious choice to honor my past while fully stepping into my present. Embracing Myung Jin is more than just a reclaiming of history; it is also a commitment to the future I am building. I am no longer just someone who has faced challenges and grown from them. I am the person who continues to evolve, carrying the strength of two identities—one that is mine by birth, and one I’ve built through my choices. With Myung Jin, I step forward into a future that feels grounded and full of possibility.
I am grateful for all that Kara was and all she gave me. While Kara was a powerful part of my journey, Myung Jin now represents a different kind of strength—one that reaches beyond what I’ve known, into the very core of who I’ve always been. In embracing Myung Jin, I embrace all of who I am—past, present, and the person I am still becoming.
Reflecting on my journey of embracing Myung Jin, I’m struck by how society often approaches name changes. When someone marries, it’s common to change their last name without much question. Nicknames—whether they emerge from family, friendships, or even sports teams—are regularly adopted as joyful expressions of our identities. Yet, changing one’s first name often carries a different weight. For many, the decision to change a first name can be met with confusion, resistance, or even stigma.
This is particularly true for transgender individuals who, in the process of aligning their names with their gender identity, often face societal pushback or misunderstanding. The act of choosing a name for oneself—especially a first name—should not be viewed as an unusual act, but as a natural part of self-discovery and reclamation. We readily celebrate name changes for marriage, nicknames, sports, personal accomplishments, and socially acceptable experiences. Yet, when reclaiming one's authentic identity with a chosen name, there’s hesitation, harsh judgment, misinformation, misunderstanding, and even rejection.
This contradiction is also evident in how society treats immigrant names. Many immigrants— past and present— are pressured to adopt an "easier" Westernized name, as if their real name is an inconvenience. Sometimes the pressure is explicit; other times it's a quiet, persistent suggestion. Yet, when someone chooses to reclaim their name, they are often met with resistance, eye rolls, or dismissive comments about how 'difficult' it is to say. We're expected to conform to Western norms while being told our identities are too much to accommodate. The double standard is infuriating. Refusing to learn someone's name, even with perceived justification, is often a microaggression. If people can learn to pronounce names like Tchaikovsky, Daenerys, or Siobhan and foreign words for fancy cuisines and romantic gestures, they can learn our real names too. It's not about difficulty; it's about willingness.
As I step into the name Myung Jin, I’m reminded of the power that names hold—not just as markers of who we’ve been, but as expressions of who we are becoming. We must normalize this kind of self-discovery. Changing a name isn’t always a rejection of the past (although, for some, it is and completely valid); it’s an affirmation of the present and an investment in the future we’re shaping. We must create a world where every person feels empowered to choose and embrace their name, free from the weight of societal norms or judgment. After all, names are not just words; they are the stories of our lives, waiting to be written on our own terms! In embracing Myung Jin, I claim my whole self— past, present, and all I am yet to become.