Does Your Name Mean Anything?

Yes, yes it actually does mean something. My name is Twinny. I get compliments about how my name is different, unique and cute. I don’t know exactly how to react to this statement considering the thoughts I have on the story behind it. Sometimes I want to change my name to a more generic name but most times I like how my name is different.

It’s part of my identity and has many meanings behind it. My mom, when she told me the story of how I got my name she dated it all the way back to when I was born. The story is extensive and I’ve shortened it up to a sweet and discreet description saying, “yes I had a twin. She was my sister. No, we weren’t identical. I did not grow up with her.” At times I think of being creative and making a business card out of it just for the laughs but I’d rather it be said verbatim. I suppose it’s a sad story and not many people like hearing sad stories, but it’s the harsh truth and I’m more than comfortable telling because it’s the biggest factor of my identity.

The night my mom told me the story of my whole existence, I couldn’t believe her. I didn’t want to believe her. It was as if it were a folk tale and nobody wants to listen to any of that. But as she told her friends, I was right next to her bluntly listening and realizing that the name I was given is significant.

My father left to the United States the night before I was born for an opportunity to be closer to his family, as well as getting a job that pays better than what he was making in the Philippines. My mom had just said goodbye to him and was 8 months pregnant with my sister and I. She started having complications and went to a doctor come to find out the first of the news. The doctor gave her two choices: either choose her life or continue her pregnancy to full term but will have to suffer through the health hindrance. Of course she chose herself, she chose to live on and discontinue her pregnancy.

Shortly after this decision she had to go through a cesarean birth, commonly shortened to a “c-section” birth. A gruesome but necessary form of delivery. Long story short she wasn’t expecting for I to be live and healthy. But there I was alive and crying for dear life because man the world is a cold place.

She called my dad right away as it was the most relevant thing to do at the time. With luck he’s landed safely and was well on his way to making things more comfortable in the new life he had to pursue. He was delighted by my birth and was the creative genius to call me Twinny, because it connects to me having had a twin at one point and i guess both my parents wanted to remind me that it’s special to be a twin.

The story of my birth has significance in both my parents eyes and mine because of the untold story behind it. Only some can guess but most don’t bother to care. I think this part of my identity is the most significant because its the backbone of my existence.


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