of roses and kalatsutsi

09.13.2005

A rose by any other name smells as sweet…--W. Shakespeare

It is most certainly not in your nature to compare thyself with a rose, or anything too girly for that matter. Then again, you thought, Shakespeare’s words captured the essence of your current ponderings… So you gave in to momentarily relating with a rose.

Some people believe that the name given to a person actually has some bearing on his/her personality. Others think it’s just a matter of a name sounding right.

With all due respect, you remember your grade school teacher. She was also your sister’s teacher so you’ve heard sister mention your teacher’s family name around the house even before you actually met the lady. She was called Ms. Bulala. Immediately, you imagined a big-boned, full-figured, stern looking lady in her mid-40s. When she became your class adviser in grade 6, you were only too surprised to find out the exact opposite of what you thought she looked like. She was thin, even svelte and far from the mean picture you had of her. Funny eh, you hear: don’t judge my brother, he’s not a book!—and you make that, don’t judge a book by how nice its title rings in your ear. That teacher as it turned out, was one of the best you ever had. In high school, as in elem, your sister already gave you bits and pieces of what your teachers were like. And there was Ms. Tequia. Her name sounded like Ms. Tapia, and you automatically thought of a strict-lanky-bespectacled-lonely-middle-aged gal who seemed to have turned away from smiling altogether and kept decanting all her frustrations (guess what?) to her juvenile students. Once again, you were mistaken, for Miss Tequia was not at all like that. She was strict yes, but very reasonable, and she was pretty chubby, so unlike Ms. Tapia.

Even as you’ve had your share of mistaken identities, so to speak, you still couldn’t help estimating what kind of person someone you know, just by the sound of his/her name. Perhaps you shouldn’t, come to think of it, your president doesn’t even come close to what her name stands for. What can you say? Life is packed with irony.

Call it the knack for making associations. Say, Bruno! and you suddenly find yourself sitting beside a burly physique, very mannish…until you hear him speak. Haha! Then there is Belle…what a beauty…Bianca…always with an air of sophistication…Jeri…for a girl, sounds really sporty…Earnest sounds rather, well, earnest…Petra, a supermodel is named Petra…Jimmy, you think of St. Jimmy…Alex sounds a cool name for a girl too…Noel…Robert…Marion…Mayumi…what do you think?

This chickabiddy-trying-hard-to-be-grown-up-but-comes-out-a-small-fry Mean, was supposed to be named Yvette or Ronette. If you knew her, nobody would stop you from laughing at the idea of Mean being named Ronette. Perhaps she would’ve been the sporty kid she always wished she was (major frustration attack!!!) had she been baptized Ronette Bautista. With Yvette, you’re thinking, it sounds too feminine for her. Haha!

So, the universe must have conspired with her lolo who insisted on naming her Mary Ann. The name is okay…at least she thinks it is. And her name is not without variations, her family and friends can tell. She’s Ann and Bunso to her mama, Mean to most of her friends, Ea to her family, Me or Meanbesh to other friends. An interesting variation is Meantot, interesting but not exactly pleasing eh? Just the same, no matter how you call any person…a rose by any other name, should smell as sweet, otherwise, you must be smelling kalatsutsi and not know it…