I have a confession. My name is not Debbie. It’s not even Deborah. Well, not really. Actually, I have three names – first came my Korean name, then an American name, and lastly, another American name. I usually skirt the issue when someone asks me about my name situation because it’s a complicated story that I’m not sure they will be interested in hearing. But the answers tell a rich story of my cultural heritage. This story weaves in with the multi-colored and -textured thread of the beautiful tapestry that is our country.

Legally, my name is Esther Hanju Lee. That’s what you’ll see on my driver’s license and passport. My maiden name is Kim.

“What Kim are you?”

That is a question I am often asked by other Korean-Americans and first generation Koreans in America. This seemingly simple question actually holds deep significance in terms of our heritage and ancestry. While I’ve been asked by many Americans (term used loosely) if I’m related to other “Kims” they know, there are actually 300+ different clans of just Kims alone. My Kim clan is the Gwangsan Kim Clan. To put it very simply, we descended from Heung Gwang (흥광) who was the third prince of the 45th monarch of the Silla Dynasty (57 BC – 935 AD). My clan is typically known for having produced many national scholars for the Joseon Dynasty, which ruled Korea from 1392 to 1897, but has recently become considerably more well-known for producing two BTS members. #btsarmy

Names hold a great deal of significance in Korean culture. Simply put, traditionally, choosing a child’s name takes into consideration a family’s hopes and dreams for that child and his/her generationally designated character (돌림자). My generation’s 돌림자 is “Han” (한), so my brothers’ and my names all share that character – Hansung, Hankyo, Hanju. In addition we share this character with all members of our generation in the Gwangsan Kim Clan all across the world.

My name, 김한주 (Kim, Hanju), and the characters of many Korean names have a corresponding meaning in the Chinese. Usually, Korean names have three characters, the family name preceding the given name; a reflection of the culture – family before individual. In my name, the 김 / Kim / 金 means “gold” but, more importantly, is the fact that I belong to the Gwangsan Kim Clan, a family of scholars. Although “한”/Han could have many different meanings, the Chinese character in my name 翰 means “writing”. Lastly, 주 / Ju / 主 means royalty. 김한주. 金翰主. Royal Scholar. I was named to be set apart from others, destined to be a royal scholar following a legacy of many scholars before me. As an adult, I am inspired by the history and the cultural depth of all of this; however, I haven’t always been proud of this name. I spent many years feeling embarrassed that it sounded so different than my friends’ names. All I wanted was to have my teachers be able to pronounce my name correctly and for my name to be called by the magic mirror on Romper Room. Simple wishes, really. But “Hanju” was never seen, I was never seen.

So how did I get my American name? In contrast to my Korean name which carries both history and the future, my American name, Debbie or Deborah, was picked by 6-year-old me who wished for the kind of name that might blend in.

I was born in Queens, NY. My parents, who had emigrated from South Korea to America, named me Esther after Queen Esther from the Bible.  But while my birth certificate says, “Esther Kim,” I have never actually used that name. In fact, they never even told me I had that name until much later in life. After realizing how old fashioned that name sounded in the mid-70s and how different it sounded from other kids’ names, they had me use my Korean name when I started school. But when I moved from Queens, where there were a lot of Koreans, to Nassau County, Long Island, less Koreans, my parents told me to choose an American name. (I want to add here that this is a fairly common experience for Korean-American children, along with writing our own notes to our teachers, and translating for our parents.) So because a fearful six-year-old moving to a new school was commissioned to choose her own name, I chose the name that sounded like everyone else’s name and one that didn’t rhyme with anything. No one could tease me for my name and no one would think I was different. I chose a name that was…invisible – “Debbie.” Unlike 한주, the name that preserves a long and rich history and one that has quite frankly helped carve out my future for me. No one has ever made fun of “Debbie”, every teacher has been able to pronounce that name during roll call, and on one fateful day, I was finally called by that magic mirror.  Mission accomplished.  

One might say that this is a compromise, and others might say this is a rejection of my heritage. Daily, I choose not to believe that my American name is an erasure of the destiny my family lovingly and thoughtfully designed for me. I live with a mission to weave together the old and the new, the aspirations of generations before me and the hope of the generations to come in a new country with new traditions and values. My life and especially my generation in America is the fruit of two opposing cultures joining together to reconcile and form something new. That struggle and the strength that comes from living in this tension is the unique contribution of Korean-Americans to the tapestry of America. It’s hard to believe a simple name could hold so much human experience but that’s what my culture understood long before I could truly appreciate it.