I put “story” in quotation marks because my parents are known for stretching the truth a little. Or for not telling me the truth. Or for telling me a joke instead of the real story. Okay, that’s more my dad than my mom. My mom doesn’t tell me much about anything. Yes, I’ve tried. I suppose I’ll keep trying.
Anyway, my name. My name wasn’t supposed to be C____. April was supposedly, my chosen namel. But my aunt, who was also pregnant when had her baby early and named her, you guessed it, April. I’m not sure if my mom was livid that my aunt stole her name. I’m sure she was mad.
Anyway, my dad tells me that my name was C_____ Moana Marie. He then proceeds to sing to me the song that he got the name from. It’s from some Filipino torch singer lamenting that he cannot be with this woman he sings so plaintively about. If I were her, I wouldn’t want to be with the singer either. He doesn’t seem to do anything but long after the woman. No thanks. The nurse taking my name down didn’t either hear my parents or was too lazy to put the entire name down. I don’t know which is true, nor do I care. I like my name just fine, thanks. It’s not attached to that song. If they were really gung-ho about it, they could have changed it.
I’m glad they didn’t.
The other story that my dad tells me is that I was named after a super model of the seventies. I know one model of the seventies with my name. So, it’s actually quite plausible. The other C____ is an actress from the same era. She could also be plausible.
I generally like my name. Growing up, I wanted my name to e Charlotte. Charlotte seemed like an elegant name. I had a dream when I was younger of having a blond-haired, blue-eyed twin sister named Charlotte. Charlotte looked nothing like me. I suppose this is a story for a different post.
It seems that I am a person that people need to give a nickname to. Growing up, the neighborhood kids couldn’t pronounce my name properly. No, it’s not a hard name to pronounce, I promise. But they couldn’t get their mouths around my name and thus called me something else that was similar to my name. My fifth grade teacher lived in my subdivision and from there cemented that particular nickname for me. If I went back to my parents house, people there would still call me by that particular nickname. I can’t shake it and I suppose it’s a large part of my identity.
My husband has also called me many nicknames in the past. The one that stuck for a while was Flibba Flabba. And yes, I know, it’s not a very attractive nickname. But it was one that I couldn’t shake for a while. There’s a story in that nickname, but for the life of me, I just can’t remember it. I’m sorry.
Currently, most people know me by CC or CeeCee. That’s a nickname that I don’t mind at all. My husband often calls me by that nickname. All coworkers call me CC. The story behind that nickname isn’t very interesting and really not worth mentioning.
Oh, my parents also have a semi-nickname for me as well, in case you were wondering. If my parents are particularly annoyed with me they will call me “anak mo yan” or “your child;” as in, she’s your child. It’s a rough translation, I admit. It’s aking anak if I am “their child.”
Okay, admittedly, it doesn’t sound good per se, but it’s meant with aggravated affection…
Fine. I’m going now. 🙂
Now, tell me…what’s your favorite nickname? I promise I won’t use it unless you tell me that it’s okay.