March 12, 2021


My name is Vega. I have to tell myself that a lot, reminding myself of who I am.

I know that may sound weird, but, if it wen’t already obvious, it isn’t my legal name. (yet.)

Despite my best efforts, my parents still call me by my ‘old’ name. I’m hesitant to call it a dead name, as I’m not trans. I don’t think it’s the same or that it’s fair to claim that it is.

My old name, ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒, is a chain.

It holds me to a past. It’s a Christian name, a common name. In highschool there were three other people with my same name at my lunch table.

My mom told me she nammed me ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ because it was normal. She thought it might stop me from getting teased or bullied at school.

It didn't.

To me the name represents holding onto the past, continuing familial traditions for no reason other than tradition. The same force that brings so many bad things into the world, doing things ‘because that’s how it’s always been done’. Normalcy as poison.

And it represents fear.
That's not who I am.

I go by Vega ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ in ‘real life’. I keep my family’s last name (for now.)

But that chain is really the one that scares me the most.

The links above me might have some redeaming value, I mean, hey, I wouldn’t be here without them. Still, both chains that have led to the link that is me have been full of abusive. fucking. assholes.

So by choosing my own name, I'm choosing to break that fucking chain.
I choose courage.

Alright, some points I think need clearing up:

The chain is full of abusive assholes, but my parents themselves have actually done a really good job of breaking their own chains, better than I think I could have done if put in their shoes. They’re not perfect, but they are pretty damn close and I love them despite their faults. My Mother has been a true inspiration to me and is my best friend.

I’ve found going by Vega difficult for a number of reasons, not the least of which is those familial ties. Unsurprisingly, not everybody is willing to to call me by the name I like (cough ᵐʸ ᵈᵃᵈ cough). It’s sorta ironic, because I think if I was trans they’d actually respect it more? Then again, from the way they’ve talked about my one trans family member I’m not so sure. It’s… complicated. I suppose things always are.

I also typed the word ‘Christian’ above with some bitterness, but that isn’t because I have anything against Chirstians outright. I have everything against the crazy, abusive, kidde-diddling (directly or just turning a blind eye), emotionally and physically abusive fucks that make up the church cult that my mother was raised in. That has nothing to do with being Christian. I have the utmost respect for people that find something meaningful in the Bible that inpsires them to do good - love thy neighbor and all that jazz. It’s just not my cup of jesus-flavored tea, so I espically don’t want my name to be of that religion.

The biggest point I wanted to make though is that I don’t like my old name because of the baggage. When I meet a Mitch, or a Ron, or a David, I carry with those names certain assumptions. Should I? Absolutely not. Do I? Yes. I think to the other Mitches and Rons and Davids that I’ve know. I think about the era in which parents were naming their kids such things. There’s a reason there’s the whole ‘Karen’ joke right now (on that note, I have a Grandma Karen who is the definitive Karen, in every respect: from the haircut right down to the entitled behavior). I. Don’t. Want. That. Baggage. I want the independnace of my own name. I think I, and everyone else, deserves that right- the right to be who they want to be.

To not be held down by a chain, or remembered as just another link in one.

I want to be will be remembered as Vega. I will not forget the past, but I will not be chained to it or be a link in it either.

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