My name-changing process has taken another step, as the new name has been approved of by the Ministry of Justice’s Names Board. This means that in a few weeks, the local Register Office will be marking the name change down as official, and I’ll be able to get on with my life. What this means is that I’ll be getting cards, ID’s and other stuff marked with the name I’ve chosen, not one chosen for me.
(I talked about this with my mother, and we seem to agree that while it’s important for people to have names they like living with, there must also be some starting point, a name a person can be called with until they know if it’s the right name for them or not. I’m OK with having had a name that identified me with a specific binary gender. That’s just not something I want to go on having.)
What I really would love is for people to know me well enough to invent their own names for me, names that mean something to them and to me, making each naming an acknowledgment of the other person and the relationship between us. Like between my love and me: we can call each other any name at all, because the name always means: I love you as yourself.
But realizing this is maybe a bit much to ask (it will happen spontaneously with some people), I have chosen for myself the name I now (most often) use. And it’s a name I like a lot. Just, please, don’t think Enne equals me equals Enne. I am me, not a name, even a great one. A name is only a symbol, a finger pointing to the sky, not the sky itself.