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What is my name? It's a question I ask myself every day

A young woman in a black dress embroidered with the face of a tiger, smiles at a fairground.
Huimian is now proud of being someone who doesn't have a common English name.()
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After moving to Australia a few years ago, I found myself constantly switching between four different names every day.

Huimian, Cotton, Mian, and Mia.

As far as I know, I'm not alone.

A name I once felt afraid to use

Huimian is my legal name, which is also the Pinyin — Romanisation of the Chinese characters based on their Mandarin pronunciation — of my original Chinese name.

On occasions when I feel it's important for others to know who I really am — for example, right now as I write this article — I use Huimian.

It's the most authentic name for me because it keeps the complete and original sound of my real name. It speaks to my cultural identity.

However, I avoided using Huimian when I first came to Australia. I felt bad about "forcing" others to remember this hard to pronounce, and spell, name.

So I gave myself a shortened name: Mian. I don't mind this name, as we Chinese people also shorten our names sometimes. It's also not unusual to see us adopting a common English name when moving to an English-speaking country out of ease.

A young woman poses in front of a wall featuring a mural of a tiger.
Huimian likes to go to cultural festivals in Australia to celebrate her culture, but was also afraid to use her Chinese name when she first came here.()

A name for the ease

When we first started learning English at school in China, most of the English teachers would give us a generic English name.

As a kid, I just thought it was a necessity if we were to have a life in an English-speaking country. As a result, I had unconsciously "stereotyped" the English speakers as a group of people who can't pronounce our names correctly (of course I was wrong).

Now Mia is still my coffee-buying name, my restaurant-booking name, my online surveys to win lottery name … the name I use for the occasions that are "not a big deal".

I'd also introduce myself as Mia to the real estate agents when inspecting countless rental properties over a weekend. Because they don't need to know me; what they need is my rental reference and income statement.

Mia was also my resume name for obvious reasons. Research has found that having Chinese, Middle Eastern and Indigenous sounding names could be a disadvantage when applying for jobs.

But I stopped using the name Mia on job applications recently. I just don't respond to this name as much as all my other names. And it doesn't carry any personal meaning — unlike Cotton.

A name with a meaning

The Chinese characters of my name, "Hui-Mian", mean "Aloe Vera and Cotton" in simplified Chinese and Mandarin. That means when it's Romanised, the meaning is lost.

Most of the Chinese names come with good meanings, for example, my dad's name means "Big Success" (I won't blame you if you laughed). My dad picked this name for me after reading a long list of books about [the] Chinese five elements and birthday horoscopes.

Although we are both not big believers of feng shui or fortune telling, when it comes to blessing your kids by picking a good name for them I understand and really appreciate my dad's effort.

According to my dad's (not-that-scientific) research, cotton is a "lucky element". It's almost like a powerful totem that could guard me and empower me. Cotton is a useful material and a soft, fluffy, beautiful flower, and it's not as tacky as "Big Success" (sorry, dad) or "super-rich" (it's a real name too).

Still, Cotton is a weird English name. I sometimes still wish Cotton was a common English name just like Lily and Rose, so people don't have to double check it as if my name is Huimian. But at least the annoying red underlines are gone!

So, what is my name now?

One of my Chinese friends, who I admire a lot because of her career success, has kindly (also strongly) advised me to just accept Mia as my new identity in Australia.

According to her own experience as someone who's in a senior position in a white, male-dominated industry, it's very difficult to close a deal over a business conversation if the other person can't even remember your name.

"There are too many battles ahead as an immigrant trying to survive and thrive in a new country, you don't want to be spending too much energy on fighting this," she told me.

I agree with the first half of this statement.

The thing is, I think I do have the energy to fight for normalising keeping our original names in an English-speaking country. And I am glad to see more and more people are doing this nowadays.

And after a naming workshop with a few friends who come from the same cultural background as me, I think my full name should be Cotton Wang Huimian.

I'd like to keep the meaning, the original sound and the right order of writing my name (surname first).

In fact, in daily conversations, Cotton, Huimian or Mian are all fine. The important thing is to embrace the idea of having a long and "weird" name, or having multiple names in different scenarios because we all like a bit of ease in life.

Most importantly, I learned to appreciate the opportunities to explain my name to the others, repeatedly and daily.

After all, there is nothing wrong with having a longer-than-average self-intro. I am someone who doesn't come with a common English name, and that's who I am.

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