“It’s just a dumb name, don’t let it bother you”.
I was standing in a Chinese shop, half unsure of whether I should get Chinese or just pretend to have plans to cook then get pizza later. Some drunk asshole kept bothering every female that came in, especially a purple haired woman decked out in winter gear, who looked tired of and disinterested with his bs.
She was clearly unhappy with what the drunk guy was saying, and I felt like I should do something. Lord knows I wasn’t going to get in some drunk punk’s face (long day, really hungry, and I had no plans of being stabbed by some maniac). So I figured I’d just try to make her feel better.
“It’s just a dumb name, don’t let it bother you”.
She looked over at me, taking her food from the guy on the other side of the counter at the same time. She half chuckled under her breath, spinning around and facing the door.
“I know it is, and it doesn’t. Not as much as it should, or could’ve”. She walked away quickly as she talked, happy to leave the restaurant. Her hands were full, and as she pushed through the door, and looking over her shoulder, she gave me something to think muse about.
“But you’d be surprised how much power a name could have”.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Eyeshadow”
It wasn’t the least bit imaginative, not by a long shot. In fact, it was downright idiotic to my 10th grade mind. Back then, I presumed eyeshadow had to look like an actual shadow, so I didn't get why my white patches were looked at as eyeshadow
“Lipstick”
Frustratingly, this one made quite a bit of sense. I did happen to look like I had tried to apply lipstick and failed oh-so-horribly. A little on the top lip, a lot on the bottom, like a little kid trying on mom’s makeup when she goes to work during vacation.
Oh, I probably should have led with this;
I have vitiligo.
I’ve had it since 2008, smack dab in the middle of school, and there is nary a thing that could be crueler than schoolchildren, except maybe their words.
Scratch that, DEFINITELY their words.
I witnessed this first hand when I was the oppressor. I was about 8 years old, and I had a friend whose name in my local dialect, Azu, could also mean fish in the same language, Igbo. So I called her fish for the entire day, laughing with glee even when she started crying.
Childhood…wasn’t one of my best moments.
I got punished though, for what it’s worth. None of that fancy “detention” stuff either. Corporal punishment, of a rather brutal variety. I apologized, but it didn’t seem like a big deal to me then. It was just a dumb name. Who was I hurting? She knew she wasn’t a fish, so no biggie.
That’s just it though…did she?
Wait, no. Obviously she knew she wasn’t a fish. What I meant to say was back then, was her mind and certainty strong enough to withstand the hurtful words of someone who she knew and was friends with? Heck, even a random stranger? Maybe, maybe not.
All I’m certain of, is that when I was the one looking down the barrel of the name-game gun, I was far from prepared.
I appeared to be. I talked a big game about how the things they were saying didn’t bother me. Of course, my armor kinda showed its gaps when I descended on a class mate with my sandals after he called me “pink lips”.
Eventually I grew past it. I met great people who shone a very different, and extremely positive light on my vitiligo. With that and a lot of working on myself on the inside, I came to terms with the fact that, shockingly, I was the decider of who I was, by my purposeful and accidental actions.
Every once in a while though, I hear something. Something that threatens my peaceful world view and bites at my soul a little bit. But that’s okay. What’s life without a little adversity? Or Superman without a wee bit of kryptonite? The important thing is to rise above it and treat it as what it is; a plot point, solely present to lift you up.
So, seeing I’ve spent a lot of this calling myself names I DON’T approve of, I’ll say some I do.
“Batman”
Bearing the award of the best vitiligo derived nickname, this has been with me since the beginning of college. With many origin stories, ranging from my love of the dark to a mystery involving my underwear drawer and an old friend, the name stuck because my vitiligo patterns are like the uncovered parts of Batman’s face when his cowl is on.
Plus, the upper lip pattern kinda looks like a bat.
“ChocoStrawBear”
I guess this is self-explanatory, the bear part being the only place people who don’t know me in real life might be confused by (I’m a big dude).
There’s tons more, all with my stamp of approval; Bat, Toks, Trin, TrinKevin, Sergius, Toch, Two-Tone-Toks; it goes on and on. The important thing is, I won’t respond to anything that I’m not comfortable with.
And neither should you. Worse so if it's something that hurts you. Even worse still if it's something the person says to hurt or disrespect you, on purpose. Life's too short to let crap like that bother you. Global warming is turning the world into one big hot box, Game of Thrones isn't done, Infinity War is almost out, those are the things worth our time, not some wino with the home training of an orphaned donkey.
So now;
What Should We Call You?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I’ve been drawing inspiration from the Steemit community lately.
This was inspired by a post by 
It’s less an SBD prize kinda challenge, and more like a self-empowerment thing, so feel free to join in. What d’you have to lose?
Until next time!
Image Courtesy: Pixabay, and Yours truly!