My parents weren’t expecting a baby. My mom found out she was pregnant with me while going to my uncle's funeral. My parents had been close to my dad’s brother before he was killed in the motorcycle accident. They were devastated when he passed. But after finding out about me, they saw it as a sign. I was a reincarnation of my uncle, a gift from God. As a child, I wore my name proudly, never ashamed to correct people when they spelled it wrong, adding extra r’s and random e’s. Their versions looked so ugly. Mine was special, fitting me only, however, when bothered to be spelled correctly

Ironically, my name was meant to alleviate problems with spelling and minimize my encounters with racism. My parents didn't want me to experience the nuisances of having an ethnic name: people mispronouncing it, having to constantly repeat or annunciate it, and struggling to get an interview. They wanted to ensure my name was “white passing” so I would have an easier time growing up and looking for jobs. Afterall, my mom’s named Sharon and even though my dad’s name is a more unusual Hazlitt, it is pronounced just like it looks. I think that’s the reason why I grew to hate people that would pronounce it funny after looking at me: DARE-in, not DHAR-een.

Entering my teenage years, I began questioning my identity and who I was, not who my parents wanted me to be. I was raised Catholic with a “white” name, though I grew up around other Indians with “proper” Indian names, like Aditya and Bhavesh, with more “traditional” Hindu upbringings. I always felt a slight disconnect with them, left on the outskirts, since I wasn’t a part of their religious community. I was called “whitewashed” despite the fact that I grew up in an Indian house with Indian parenting and Indian values. 

It was only after I met my now best friend Justin, who is  Chinese, that I began truly reconciling the relationship between my name and my identity. For similar reasons, he too was given a white name. Unlike me though, Justin never struggled with his name or identity. He was comfortable with who he was. That’s when I realized his name didn’t provide him with his identity. He did. My whole life I was trying to prove to people that my name was not representative of who I was. 

I am the experiences I’ve lived through, the people I love, the dreams I have, and all the interests and insights I have collected. 

Works Cited

Works Cited 

“Darin.” 9, Updated  June. “Baby Names.” Family Education, www.familyeducation.com/baby-names/name-meaning/darin. Accessed 8 Feb. 2024.