I Love My Mother and I Share Her Name
I’ll just have to deal with people getting us confused for the rest of my life.
“Can I call you Bernie?”
No, you absolutely may not. My mom’s name is Bernie.
Out of all of the names in the world she could’ve chosen when she had me, she calls me Bernice. Cue a lifetime of utter confusion and people giving a little chuckle when we’re both introduced.
“Oh, it’s Bernie and Bernice, hahaha!”
It was frustrating, to always be tied to her because of my name. Especially when I was growing up and trying to carve out my own identity.
But while we have similar names, my mother always encouraged me to discover who I was.
When she graduated from college, she took a leap of faith and applied to be a flight attendant, much to my grandfather’s dismay. He wanted her to pursue a sensible career in business or finance.
She had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. All she knew was that she did not want to work in a bank.
My mom left her tiny town in the Philippines and travelled all over the world, taking ten-day trips to South Africa or Italy or Bahrain. Even after she settled down…
