Embracing my identity through the power of my name

Kiswa Khan ’23 Associate Managing Editor

I’ve never found my name on keychains, but I love it just the same. My name, Kiswa, was inspired by a sacred black cloth that covers the Kaba in Mecca. This cloth has verses from the Quran embroidered on it with gold threads. I like how, when I introduce myself, an initial discussion about my name will often lead to bigger conversations, ones that involve the places I come from and the cultures that have shaped me.

But my name has also caused some difficulties.

When I moved to the U.S. from India in eighth grade, I faced a huge cultural shift. As a person who has moved a lot, I’ve never been a stranger to the sense of not belonging. Nevertheless, this move felt different.

At some point in the tumultuous first year, a teacher who had been struggling with pronouncing and remembering my name asked if there was a nickname that I wanted to go by. At first, I was shocked and appalled by this question. Partly because my name has only two syllables that are easy to pronounce, and also because I couldn’t fathom how I would be able to shorten it.

I certainly didn’t want to go by a name that did not even correlate to the one that my parents gave me and of which I was proud.

Kiswa was always a unique name, even in India. In fact, my parents have told me that when my grandparents learned I had been named Kiswa, they were horrified and urged my parents to reconsid er. After all, naming a child “Kiswa” in India would be the equivalent of naming your kid “Blanket” in America.

But I grew into my name and it became part of my identity. So, wher ever I moved, I was proud to be addressed by the name my parents gave me.

So when my new teacher asked for a nickname, I had to pause and consider my options. I knew that changing my name might make it easier for her to ad dress me. But when I thought about it further, I realized that I had already left behind a large part of myself to make room for a new Kiswa—one who I believed would better fit into the Westport commu nity. I had adjusted to every other part of my life and just couldn’t change my name, too.

So I refused my teacher’s request. I had already given up enough, and I wouldn’t give up anything else. I did not want to drift away from ev erything I knew about myself until I couldn’t recognize who I was or even my own name.

My name helped me stay grounded and be true to my self. Taking back ownership of my name allowed me to embrace my culture and my differences. I will probably never find a keychain with my name on it, and that’s just fine with me.