Arin Yoon
N/A
Arin Yoon, self-portrait - Lansing, Kansas. Asian photographers share the stories behind their names/NPR. May 2022.
PROMPT:
We asked AAPI photographers, "What is the story of your name? What does it mean to you?" In considering photographers for this project, we did not factor in who has American citizenship or permanent residency status, but rather who calls the U.S. home at this moment.
CAPTION:
Before coming to America at the age of five, my mom translated my name from Korean to English from 아린 to A-Rin for my passport, honoring each character, separating them with a dash. I soon realized that the dash created a chasm in my name and between me and the other kids in my rural Missouri town whose names were not divided by dashes. I don't remember when people started calling me uh-RIN when my name is phonetically closer to AH-lhin. Did I stumble shyly saying "uhh ah-lhin" when someone first asked me my name? To native speakers, I am AH-lhin, but to non-native speakers, I am uh-RIN; they are both a part of me now. In sixth grade, I decided to take that dash out and I became Arin. Even though I did this discreetly, without telling anyone — not even my parents — a boy in my class picked up on it. He'd call me "A-took the dash out in sixth grade-Rin" whenever he felt the urge to provoke me. In my attempt to transcend othering, I ended up shining a spotlight on my otherness.
Despite these cross-cultural growing pains, I've always felt my name embodied my true nature. It fit me. My name comes from my mother's conception dream, called 태몽 "taemong" in Korean. Conception dreams are common in Asian cultures, usually dreamt by the mother or someone close to her before or while she is pregnant that foretells the coming of a child. It is the relationship between the dreamer and the symbols in the dream that is meaningful. Common symbols are those found in nature, animals, fruits and jewels. My mom had her taemong as I was growing in her belly but she didn't know it yet. When the doctor told her she was already four months along, she started thinking of names and then remembered her dream. For my wedding, I asked my mom to write a poem and she wrote about her taemong. When she read me her poem, I felt even more connected to my name.
One day on my dream path
I walked by a stream in the forest
I saw jewels sparkling in the clear water
I scooped up a handful
And held them to the light
Soon after a baby girl arrived
아 (Ah) is beauty
린 (Lhin) is the sparkle of a jade
She grew up like her name
Lighting up different paths
