If I move to a city where no one knows me, I'm going to change my name. If I entered a monastery, I'd get a new dharma name anyway. But if I don't go to a monastery and move to a city where no one knows me, maybe I'll revert to the name my parents gave me.

My current name, what I consider my real name, I took when I was 13. My older cousin in Japan offered it (that branch of family is Taiwanese living in Japan). She suggested some other names, too, but I can't even imagine being called any of those names. They just don't fit. They were Japanese names. I don't think of my name as a Japanese name, it's just my real name.

I took my name because it was special, and it rendered me special. It was a rejection of the mundane life my parents expected me to live. My life was my dreams, and my name enabled me to pursue them. It was attitude. It was cocky. It was wonder twin powers activated.

(Oddly enough, when I found out the Japanese characters for the name, the first character was almost exactly the same as the first character of my Chinese name, which my parents gave me (or some fortune teller rendered), but without the three "water drop" marks. Yea, whoa!) (NB: the Chinese pronunciation of the first character in my name turns out to be the same as the first character in my Chinese name! -ed.)

But now? I don't deserve it anymore. I'm not special anymore. The name is just a vanity now. It's a comb-over. It's a red sports car. Reverting to my parents' idea of my name puts me in my place. It makes me ordinary. It makes me nobody. It's appropriate.

Only if I move somewhere where no one knew me.