Say My Name, Say My Name

Words by Dani Dayanghirang (she/they)

Dayanghirang. [Da-yang-hi-rang]. My last name. Not so hard to pronounce when you break it down phonetically. But for most people, it’s one of the more intimidating last names they’ll come across. Philosopher Charles Mills once said, “I never know who I am until someone tells me who I am.” I never became aware of how complicated my last name was until I moved to Aotearoa. When other people see my last name, the responses are either “wow that’s a mouthful awkward chuckle,” or as a WINZ employee exclaimed, “Exotic!” 

In high school, only one or two teachers would actually come up to me before prize-givings to double-check how my name is pronounced. And then they’d butcher it anyway. Even though my sister and brother literally went to the same school, their prize-givings would have the same moment of internal cringe. The most striking response I have ever had to my last name was during my first trimester here at the Victoria University of Wellington as I was about to take my Sociology exam in person. Queuing up with the other students, I noticed that two of the exam moderators were taking a roll. At first I thought “sweet,” but as I got closer to the end of the queue, I overheard one of the moderators asking for last names. I felt myself tense up as I handed the moderator my ID. I learned this tensing-up technique from my dad to avoid having to spell it out and it’s saved me a lot of breath. The person in front of me walks off, I say hi to the moderators, and I hand them my ID. The moderator with the list looks at my ID, looks at her colleague, then says, “I’m not even gonna try and say that.” 

You’d think that at this point I’d be tempted to find ways to change my last name, shorten it, or marry someone with less syllables. The thing is, I have never felt that need. My last name—my family name—has heritage, history, and, most importantly, it connects me to my family. Especially living in Aotearoa, I feel like my relationship with my parents and grandparents are stronger because I have this part of my identity that belongs to me. The word Dayang means “lady” or “princess,” and Hirang means “chosen.” Put together, my last name means “chosen lady” or “chosen princess.” I’d like to imagine the origins of this name, to whom it was bestowed upon first, and the stories associated with it. To take pride in my name, to let it stand as it is and be spoken is an act of rebellion and self-love. I have been pushed to hate my last name by a white-washed society, but I only love it more and more. If you feel the same way as I do, if you’ve experienced this sense of tension whenever your name is approached, I hope this inspires you to love your name too.