¨Do- Dos… Santoes… Fig… Figawhat? Figawhen? Figawho?¨ People would ask as if they were trying to comprehend an ancient manuscript, trying to not seem offensive and at the same time, trying to show some effort. I understand my name might not have originated here, and I am completely ok with someone at least attempting to understand and pronounce the letters. However, I have had my share of experiences with different people who were just opposed to trying to comprehend my name or how to pronounce it correctly. It grinds my gears when they purposefully say my name differently or call me something else as if my name doesn’t deserve respect.
From the first day, I came here to America, as I was walking past the metal detectors and taken to a room where they made sure my citizenship was valid. I realized how problematic my name would be. The poor attempt, if I was to even call it that, on my last name, was something that stuck to me to this day; his pronunciation sounded more like a combination of strange sounds than Dos Santos Figueiredo. The start of my life in this country was also affected by my last name, especially in schools, as the teacher’s attempt was the source of laughter throughout the class. One attempt at my last name made a person wonder if it was a stand-up joke.
When the first day of high school started something amazing happened. I no longer needed to say my full last name and instead, I could just write and say Figueiredo, and although it was still a mouthful, it was less of a mouthful than the full thing. The disappearance of the extra two words of my last name changed me, I was much more confident and unafraid of saying my last name, however, as time passed I felt strange. Although Figueiredo is part of my last name it was still not the full last name, and the two words which had been removed felt like a part of me that was lost. Whenever I said William Figueiredo, I felt a sharp pain in my chest, knowing I was hiding who I really was and my roots. In the book, “The Namesake” by Jhumpa Lahiri, Gogol, the main character, was trying to change his name to Nikhil, felt something similar to what I felt as it states, “He is afraid to be Nikhil, someone he doesn’t know. Who doesn’t know him.” Like Gogol, I was afraid of myself, as I felt like I was in a stranger’s body. My last name is one of the things that makes me unique, one of the things that allows me to feel closer to the place I once lived.
In the summer of 2017, I took back the missing two letters of my last name, I found it lost and abandoned, like a negligent owner that has left its pet to fend for itself. I took it with love and care, and from that day onward I vowed to myself to be prideful of where I came from, to be prideful of my name, to be prideful of me; William Dos Santos Figueiredo.
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