Ever since I was young I’ve had a disdain for my name because nobody around me could understand it. Throughout my life I’d had to deal with the question that came attached with it: “What does it mean?” 

The problem is, I never understood it either. Names come with meanings and backstories attached with them; some people are named after great-grandparents, or their names mean something interesting that define them as a person. My name didn’t have one. It made me feel like an anomaly- like eating a pie and finding it has no filling. Whenever I’d feel alienated from my peers due to my unique name, I tried to find the meaning to fall back on, but I had nothing. All I could give was the unsatisfying answer of “it’s just what my parents named me.”

Near the end of my junior year, I decided to ask my mother the question. She answered me as she was emptying the contents of the bathroom’s hamper into the laundry basket that’s been around longer than I have.

“Your name is a combination of our names,” she told me, and left to head to the washer. 

That was all the explanation I was given, and I had no clue what to do with it for a while. My name had no intricate backstory or a special meaning—it was just a mixup of my family’s names. This left me conflicted. Our names are the foundation of our identity. If I couldn’t define my own name, then how could I possibly define who I am as a person? 

Not only that, but if there was an explanation behind my name, one I could impress others with, I would be able to face the reactions, the way teachers would pause when getting to my name in attendance, the way friends would giggle while purposely mispronouncing my name. But there wasn’t. There’s no meaning to my name other than the one thing that’s always been with me: my family.

My family is filled with unique names. My sisters are named Rosermy (ro-SER-mee) and Gereline (gere-REH-lean), I have an aunt named Sorally (zo-ROHN-gee), my dad’s name is Genaro (heh-NAH-row) and my mom’s is Juana (HWA-na)—which are probably the most ‘normal’ sounding names in my family. I’ve never known the origin of these names, nor have I ever asked; I had always assumed it was just my family’s quirk. My sisters, who are both older than me, didn’t seem to have the same turmoil over their names. In fact, they would joke about the way teachers would pronounce their names, and we’d playfully refer to one another as the butchered version. 

Thinking back, I realize it’s because they understood something that’s taken me seventeen years to understand. 

That everywhere I go, I carry around parts of my family with me: My mother—the Ju—gave me her gentleness, my tendency of always forgiving and caring for others.  From my sister—the ry—I have her boldness, how she’s never one to be silenced, never afraid to say what’s on her mind to anyone. My hunger for knowledge stems from my older sister—the ge—who I’ve always followed in her footsteps. And then, there’s my father, who is not connected to my name, but is still an integral part of me nonetheless. I imagine that he is the i, and he gives me my independence, always encouraging me to succeed out in the world, to never let anyone get in the way of my dreams.

Now, I have a fond appreciation for my name. When I introduce myself to new people, I say it with a genuine smile, and when it’s mispronounced, I correct it with the proper pronunciation: you-HEY-dee. My name may not have an intricate backstory, but it doesn’t need one. It is an accumulation of all of the people I love, and that, more than anything, is who I am. 

Here’s what Jugeiry had to say about her essay: 

I had a very hard time writing my college essay. It wasn’t actually writing it that stumped me, but rather what I was going to write about. I had a million ideas—ranging from things that I enjoyed, to childhood memories, to literally anything I could think of. Because of my indecisiveness, I began to hate every single draft that I wrote no matter the topic. College essays are meant to be a reflection of who you are as a person, but nothing I wrote made me feel that way. Except for one: my name. It’s always been an integral part of my identity and it was one of the first ideas I came up with, but I was very hesitant to use it as a topic simply because it felt boring and unoriginal. 

So instead, I read countless college essay examples online, watched even more tip videos, and despite that I worried that no colleges would enjoy my essay because I had nothing interesting to say. All of the examples I saw were of amazing stories of perseverance and incredible experiences or of skills that I didn’t have. Eventually I had to do the one thing I hate doing: ask for help. But seeking out that help was what led me to finishing it. For a few weeks, every Monday I would sit with Ms. Ledoux during her bathroom duty and we would go over whatever I had written out and discuss what worked and what didn’t. I explained to her my dilemma with using my name as a topic, and she helped me see that my idea WAS good—I just needed to refine it. From there I was able to finish my essay in December, just in time for all my application deadlines. Fast forward a couple of months later, and I’ve been accepted into 7 out of the 10 colleges I applied to! 

My advice to any soon-to-be seniors reading is this: Write about something that makes you, YOU. that may sound cliche and obvious, but for ages I was trying to write a college essay that was very pandering and ‘interesting’, and not about myself. My essay may not be the most unique, or intense, or gripping, but it’s mine and I think it reflects who I am perfectly, which is exactly what colleges are looking for!