A few weeks ago, I had a conversation with a friend who shared my first name, Kevin. “Why do you go by Bowen, anyways?” he asked. At the time, I gave him a simple answer — “Honestly, I like my middle name better,” — but I knew there was so much more to it.
American names may carry meaning, but they rarely live up to the beauty and intention that goes into choosing a Chinese name. When handwriting Chinese characters, each stroke must be in a specific order. Not only must phonetics and tone complement each other, but every character is also attached to a deeper meaning or value associated with the person. My sister’s name, 美昕, symbolizes the light and beauty she would bring to the world, like the sun of a new day rising from beneath the horizon. Two names can sound the same but mean entirely different things: In her case, swap out 昕 for the similar-sounding 心, and you have someone with a beautiful heart. My parents gave me my English first name, Kevin, but left my Chinese name to my maternal grandfather. Envisioning someone with a passion for learning, he chose the characters 博闻 from the phrase 博学多闻 — knowledgeable and well read. This is also on my birth certificate, just in an anglicized form that combines the pinyin to make up my middle name: Bowen.
For as long as I can remember, I have gone by Bowen. I am not sure how it started, but once it did, Bowen stuck. The meaning behind my name definitely helped, but to be completely honest, younger me probably thought it sounded cooler than “Kevin” (even today, I still believe that). I never found it odd that almost all my other friends preferred their English name. Perhaps a childhood spent in Hong Kong softened that difference; between faces like mine and voices that switched seamlessly between Mandarin, English and Cantonese, my choice seemed unremarkable in that context.
When I moved back to the United States, however, Bowen suddenly felt out of place in an East Coast community oozing with old money. I was acutely aware of how different my name sounded compared to the “American” names of the people around me. It did not help that people would initially mistake my name for “Boeing” and would have to be corrected, to my great annoyance. I still called myself Bowen, but also began distancing myself from it whenever I could, as using “Kevin” gave me various advantages in social situations. When I placed an online order from Chipotle, I did so under “Kevin.” At the golf course I frequented, people at the pro shop knew me as “Kevin.” During college interviews, my interviewers all greeted me with “Hi, Kevin!” When I got my first job as a caddie at a country club, I tried coming to a middle ground, calling myself “Bo.” By retaining a piece of my middle name, I thought I could have the best of both worlds.
I was wrong. Despite the money I made, I hated being “Bo.” Whenever I introduced myself to a golfer, I inwardly cringed. The disingenuous feeling that came along with using “Kevin” remained, but now with the knowledge that I was making a Chinese name sound more white. The name felt empty.
Truthfully, “Bowen” used to believe he would not be accepted. “Bowen” held many insecurities, and the need for validation and fear of exclusion was the summation of all of them. By experimenting with other names, I tried to hide them and be perfect. I am not inherently opposed to either of these names, but I felt like I was killing a part of me to gain others’ acceptance. I told myself these name changes were about trying something new, but looking back on it now, that was a lie. My main motive was presenting a version of myself that was free from insecurity.
Insecurities suck, but pretending to be someone I was not felt even worse. As much as I tried, Bowen shone through. I am always looking to expand my horizons, just like my Chinese name suggests. My Chinese name, which represents a passion for learning, is not just only a name, but also embodies everything that I am. When I am passionate about something, I make sure to know everything possible about the subject. In conversations, I bug my friends with persistent questions, letting my curiosity seek out a detailed picture, but sometimes I wonder if they find me annoying or too much. Out in nature, I opt for unpaved dirt over concrete trails, exploring every slope and stream, but I also worry that the adventurous side of me is simply running from the things that make me uncomfortable.
As I have grown, I have come to believe that insecurity reveals the beauty of being human. I still remember the knot in my gut after the first time I truly shared my fears with someone. Thoughts swirled in my head: “Did I share too much? Will they think less of me?” Yet, I was met with a warm smile and one of their own vulnerable moments following a short (but comfortable) silence. Chasing perfection leaves no room for the vulnerability and authenticity that makes us unique. My insecurities made me real, offering a moment of connection with a human being just like me.
While the Midwest may not necessarily be more tolerant of cultural differences than the East Coast, college presented a fresh start, and with that, I was determined to present the most genuine version of myself to others. After all, if I did not recognize myself for who I was, how could I expect others to do the same? As I became more comfortable in my own skin, I finally came to appreciate — and love — my middle name. Being Bowen means taking the good with the bad; it means accepting the thoughts that keep me up at night, rather than trying to push them aside. It means sitting with my fears but not letting them define me. Bowen embodies who I really am — my ethnicity, my values, my small quirks, insecurities and most importantly, my humanity. I go by Bowen because I love the name and everything it represents: my true self.
So, to answer my friend in more detail: I call myself Bowen because I love the mantra my grandfather gave me. I call myself Bowen because — as hard as it may be — I want to unconditionally accept who I was, who I am now and who I will be. I call myself Bowen because I want to embrace my fractures, look my fears in their eyes and honor the vulnerability within me.
MiC Columnist Bowen Deng can be reached at kbdeng@umich.edu
The post Defining myself in pinyin: Accepting who I am appeared first on The Michigan Daily.
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