A tan paper etched with black ink, reading the words that would define me for the rest of my life: Hermoigne Simone. My birth certificate burdened me with two first names, both of which would weigh me down for years to come. It was the first day of second grade when my teacher, Ms. Scott, was calling for attendance. I despised attendance. A shadow was always looming over me, and I knew abashment would be headed my way. Her voice bellowed through the room, “Ethan, Sarah, Macy…” She paused. This pause would haunt me for several years. I would nervously countdown people’s names, mentally preparing for mine as I fidgeted on my nails.“Herm-my? Simone? Just–Sarmiento.” Heat raced to my cheeks as I darted my eyes away from my teacher. Every teacher in my primary grades would do this. Ms. Cole, on the first day of school, resorted to “Sarmiento,” disregarding my mouthful of a first name. Mr. Haunt was notable for pronouncing my name unheard-of way: Her-moy-gene. Interesting. Regardless, a pattern of sheepish looks would appear across their face as my peers shot laser stares my way. This embarrassment continued until the summer of 2020 when I met my friends Mel, Corey, and Jason, who drastically altered my negative view.

After second grade, I have asked everyone to call me Shem. My parents gave me this nickname when I was younger, and it soon became who I am. All my friends would call me this nickname, and when referred to as Hermoigne, it felt unrecognizable. When quarantine struck, mostly everyone was confined at home. This restriction of social interaction caused me to spend time with myself. During quarantine, I met people from online games like Minecraft, and we connected over what felt like never-ending calls,  jokes, telling stories, etc. One night, we were binge-watching Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone when the character Hermione Granger came on screen. Suddenly, my friends were blasting their microphones, exclaiming how cool it was that I shared the same name as this sassy wizard. Although this moment was brief, my perspective on my name was permanently altered. As we continued to watch the movie, I realized how beautiful the name Hermoigne sounded. My hands didn’t get clammy anymore. I defeated this tyrant of embarrassment. Our spelling was different, but it made Ms. Granger and my name our own—this moment erased my six years of stigmatization towards myself.

My name, Hermoigne Simone, carries on the name of my ancestors. My grandfathers' names, Herminio and Simon, were the origins of “Hermoigne Simone.” It unknowingly connected me to my culture and family.

Hermoigne Simone serves as a representative name to strangers. For those close to me, Shem is the name that resonates with my personality. Although my identity will only be partially complete with Hermoigne Simone or Shem, I have a newfound appreciation for both names. One does not diminish the other. Instead, they are complimentary. “Shem” was initially a mask. Naive me was embarrassed about my cultural name, fearing the judgment of my peers. The deafening silence that followed the pause haunted the deepest corner of my mind—pulling out an infinite twine of anxiety that wrapped around my insecurities.

Through this realization, I overcame battles that tormented my name. Inching closer to discovering who I am, I have become more in tune with myself. I am only seventeen and still have much to learn, but my name is an excellent place to start. I am not bound to my name on my birth certificate, nor is anyone. The extraordinary thing about a name is that it can change. They can be shortened or turned into something new. Its importance is that it belongs to me— at the end of the day, a birth certificate is just a piece of paper with ink, and I, Shem, Hermoigne Simone, am much more than that.

© Hermoigne Simone . All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.