Hello, my name is M(A)E(L)

Our names are a massive part of how we communicate with the world. In one sense, they’re just sounds we make to get each other’s attention –it would get pretty confusing if we all called each other, “Hey, you!” Yet, on the other hand, our names provide a sense of identity and belonging –they set us apart from everyone else. Even when we meet someone with the same first name as us, our middle and last names will differ, and even the reason that name was chosen for us.

For instance, the name David is very common, yet the feeling I have is different, depending on the individual person I’m referring to –my Uncle Dave, or my Grandpa named Dave, or my nephew with David as his middle name, or my best friend named David. Talking with and about these individuals can elicit different emotional responses, even though we refer to them by the same sound.

Names have always been something I’ve thought a lot about –for more than half my life, I’ve been brainstorming beautiful names that I could gift to my children one day. And since the titles we give each other have played in my mind and on my heart for so long, it should be no surprise that I’ve gone on my own name journey.

You see, the name I identify with today is not the name that I was given at birth. Without going into too much detail, I will say that as a child, I was thoroughly amused by the fact that my initials were M.W.A.H –how would you spell the sound of a kiss?

It has taken a few steps to arrive at the name I’ve chosen for myself, and it all started when I rejected my last name. Let’s just say, it wasn’t the prettiest name for a little girl, so I legally changed it when I was thirteen, to match my mother’s maiden name. And I remember the exact moment I realized that my initials would no longer be M.W.A.H –I ran up the stairs to my mom and said, “Oh no! Now my initials are M.F, like Mother F*cker!”

And then the time came when I rejected my first name, as well. You see, I have always been more of a tomboy than a girly-girl, and I found that Melissa felt a little too feminine for me. So, by the time I was sixteen, I insisted that everyone call me Mel, instead. And it stuck. As I switched schools, made new friends and eventually attended University, everyone I met came to know me as Mel, and my full name became a mystery. In fact, there aren’t many women my age named Melissa, so it’s usually assumed that Mel is short for Melanie. And over time, I even shorted my last name like I had my first; so for quite some time, I was known only was Mel Four.

To be completely honest, all of my names over the years continue to have an impact on me, and although I don’t always respond to them, they still play a part in the history of me. Even though I’ve come to reject the name my parents gave me, it will literally always have a mark on me.

As I’m sure you’ve noticed, my name is not Melissa, or even Mel, anymore. I had spent years believing that I’d chosen my own name, and I was ignoring the fact that something still didn’t feel quite right. Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoy the name Mel, and there are those that will always call me by this name –I don’t expect my niece and nephew to stop calling me Auntie Mel. However, as I’ve dreamed of the names for my future children, I finally realized that I could choose one for myself, as well.

I had become quite fond of one name in particular, and then I came to find that it had already been used in my family before. My dear Gramma passed away eight years ago, far too young, and her great-grandmother’s name was that which I had been drawn to. After learning of this history and the connection to a woman I miss dearly, everything fell into place, and I found my new name. After sitting with it for some time, I eventually revealed to those closest to me that my name is now Mae.

But I couldn’t stop there, of course.

I had always been jealous of my older sister’s name; it seemed so unique, especially compared to mine. Again, without going into too much detail, her name is Latin for Earth, and is spelled differently from most women identifying with the same sound. We also have different dads, and because of her Indigenous (to Turtle Island) heritage, her last name is beautiful, natural and tribal. With her name shadowing over mine my whole life, I felt that Melissa was just a jumble of letters –and indeed the only name my parents could agree on. It never felt like an adequate description for me –it made me blend in with the masses.

And so, I wanted to find a full name that was equally unique to my sister’s; but more importantly, I needed to find what felt right for me.

A crucial aspect in navigating what feels right is the meaning behind the word. Although Melissa means Honey Bee, that knowledge isn’t quickly retrieved when we hear the word –as opposed to a name like Fox or Phoenix. And so, I knew that my name needed to elicit an image of something meaningful –an image of the natural world.

With this realization, Mae became Maeple, and Four became Fourest.

Even with all this said, there is one name I was given that I cannot walk away from. The A in MWAH stands for Ann, and although it’s a conventional name and goes against my desire for uniqueness, I can’t let it go. You see, I share that middle name with my dear Gramma, so I will leave that tribute to her untouched.

If you were to ask me what my full name is, I would tell you that it is Maeple Ann Fourest.