The names: family traditions.

Journal # 1.

The names: family traditions.

 

   There are a few known ways to name a child in China. Elder people like to name their kids by genealogical charts that were passed on through a number of generations, and determine the middle name their ancestors had stipulated for them, which is scarcely used today. Some parents go to a naming specialist, aka fortune tellers who look at you palm prints and start blabbing nonsense about how many car accident you might have in your future and how you could prevent these by paying him. They get well paid for fooling superstitious and desperate people. And normally the names they choose are pretty suckish, get your tongue tied and orbit the earth zillion times. There are also websites to help you, this is an example: http://www.cidu.name/ As for others, I guess if they cannot trust those “naming experts”, which they shouldn’t, could go through a dictionary and find random words and make up a name.

 

  See, Chinese names aren’t all that easy to decide on. They are not ready for you to pick, like “Alice” or “Eleanor”. Chinese names consist of two or three parts. A B and C. The A part is your family name, which is always at the front. B is optional, kind of equivalent to middle name (the part where one may, if they want to, follow their genealogical charts.) C is your only part, where you may choose whatever you want. So when people ask you what your name was, you would say AB and C all together. But there are also lots of other things to consider. Many people want their names to be unique, a name no one else thought of and used. They may also want consider if the name would sound nice in ‘pinyin’ form (The English alphabet form. In my case, it’s Jinglu), and make sure foreigners are able to pronounce it. Most importantly, they need to think about whether the B and C part (since A part is not up to them to decide) had a good meaning, and whether it doesn’t mean something strange or tacky all together. They way words (which we call ‘characters’ in Chinese) are combined and ordered is very important. For instance, if I had the Family name “wu”, which means “nothing, none.” I probably don’t want a positive sounding noun for my B and C part, since there will be none of that, according to what my family name means. 

   

   So much about the naming tradition. Now I’ll talk about my name, and I’ll try to remain positive about that. My parents were not stupid enough to go to a foreign teller, so they trusted the dictionary instead. Well, my name is Jinglu Sun; actually it’s Sun Jing lu in Chinese. Now can you see the ABC parts? Sun did not mean the star earth spins around, it actually meant “grandchild”, which is often teased about, since we have a tradition thinking that importance are determined by how high one’s position is in the family tree. So being a grandchild is kind of humiliating. Jing meant a female with talents, it was a rare word for illiterate villagers, so some couldn’t pronounce my name properly, but my parents were proud they thought of that (actually they had to look it up in a dictionary first). Lu meant pretty jade, you know the green stones for jewelry. Yeah, that made up my name. A good meaning is not always enough, my name sounded like “chang jing lu”. (BC parts where the same), and that meant giraffe. So I was called a couple of names in my elementary school. And when I was in Sweden, I was called “Jinglu the poo” I had no idea why but they seem to find it rhyming. When it comes to Christmas, I was jingle-bells. Later this Korean jerk made up a long twisted name: Ding-Dong-Jinga-Lua-Sun-Shina. Alright I feel I have to stop talking about my name if I don’t want to blow up.

 

   As for my family history I really don’t know much. Probably just the same process every family go through. Born. Get married. Have kids. Sometimes kids die. Born. Get married. Sometimes get divorced. Born. Get married. Ok you get my point. My grandpa had been to US for three times, he was a physics professor. And both my aunt and uncle are at Chicago. As far as can I remember, I think I am here at the US too. When? I think 9 months ago, but it seemed soooooooooo long a time. What? Exactly, that’s the kinda question I have been asking my self every single morning when I wake up. Who? Me. America happened to me. How? My dad was smart enough to get here; I had brain damage and was too stupid so I came with him. Why? Heck knows.