http://personas.media.mit.edu/personasWeb
Day 02 – The meaning behind your blog name
Ben, that’s my “Starbucks” name. I put Starbucks in quotes because it’s not just the name I give to Baristas when they ask me for my name to put on my cup so they know who to call when my drink is ready. It’s also my Chick-fil-A name, my Juice it Up name, my whatever-fuckin-food-service-needs-your-name-name.
The neighborhood I grew up in wasn’t populated with Koreans. I didn’t know many other Koreans outside of my parents’ friends’ kids, who I saw once a month and even they weren’t very “Korean” given that they grew up in the same situation I did. I didn’t grow up in K-town, nor did I speak with that weird distinct Korean, “punt,” that most Koreans I know today, who grew up speaking Korean, have. I grew up with a different flock of people.
The Mexicans called me “Ching Chong Chang” and any other thing that sounded Chinese to them. I know, I tried explaining to them many times that I wasn’t Chinese, but they didn’t get it. The skin heads that always hung out at the 7-Eleven called me Bruce. For years I had no idea why, I thought it was because they couldn’t say Byong. I also thought it was odd that they always wanted me to make Kung Fu sounds. I told them I knew Tae Kwon Do, they didn’t care, they just wanted me to do my moves. I was also a fat kid who grew up latchkey, eager for validation and attention. The only ones who liked my name were the Black folk. It reminded them of Deon (and currently, Beyonce).
Imagine my surprise when I started befriending more Koreans that not only was my name fucked up in English, but in Korean as well. My first name, by itself can mean either “bottle” or “disease.” Combine that with another word, and you get, “retard.”
My poor grandfather, who took much effort in providing his legacy with a strong name, “Child of Fire” (as it is written in Chinese characters) was now relegated to “bong” in English or “retard” in Korean.
So when the time came for me to choose my American name, in a fit of childhood wisdom and majesty, as if the fates had swept their hands and caressed my future, I chose not to change my name despite the ridicule I faced all the time. I was definitely imbued with the Triforce of Courage. I am proud to say that my American name is Byong Bark.
It’s the name I was given when I was born and it’s the name that will be on my tombstone when I die.
Here lies Byong Bark, he lived his life, unabashedly.
