A Name Rooted in Identity and Heritage
Choosing a name for a child is a profound responsibility, especially when that child embodies multiple cultures. For many parents, the process involves careful consideration of meaning, heritage, and the potential impact on their child’s future. In Hong Kong, where the city's birth registry gives new parents 42 days to finalize their child’s name, this task can feel both urgent and deeply symbolic. For one mother, the challenge was even greater—her daughter’s identity was shaped by a rich blend of Han Chinese, Hui, and Yoruba heritage.
The decision to name her child was not made lightly. Months before her daughter’s arrival, the mother had already chosen a Chinese name meaning "dwell in peace." This name came from a psalm, reflecting the deep sense of calm she found during pregnancy despite life’s challenges. The English name, however, required more time and thought. She wanted to wait until she could meet her daughter, to ensure the name truly resonated with her identity.
In Hong Kong, it is common for parents to list both English and Chinese names on a child’s birth certificate. This practice reflects the city’s dual linguistic heritage. While some families opt for a Western name or use Jyutping to romanize their child’s Chinese name, others choose names that bridge cultural divides. The mother’s stepfather had once insisted on keeping her own childhood name, Mimi, as a way to connect with both worlds and avoid an identity struggle. That experience influenced her thinking about her daughter’s name.
When the daughter was born, the mother took time to study her features. She arrived after three intense hours of labor, with flushed skin, deep brown eyes, and a crown of straight black hair. On her first day in the neonatal intensive care unit, the mother had time to reflect on her daughter’s uniqueness. When she finally held her, she knew with certainty that her daughter was perfect exactly as she was.
The initial reactions from friends were positive. “She looks just like you!” was a common comment. At first, that was true. But as the days passed, her features began to change. Her straight hair turned into soft coils, her skin developed a deeper glow, and she became a neighborhood favorite. Aunties and uncles would stop them on walks, cooing over her Cabbage Patch doll’s curls and dubbing her “Min Din Gung Zyu,” or “Princess Myanmar” (a Cantonese pun meaning she will never need a perm).
With the attention came questions, some curious, others more pointed. “Where is she from?” “What is her nationality?” “Is her dad a foreigner?” “Why is she so dark?” The mother answered patiently at first, stating that her daughter was a Hongkonger, but it wasn’t the answer people were looking for. “Yes, but where is she really from?”
She learned to deflect these questions by asking others to take a guess instead. This often worked, but it could also lead to endless guessing games. Once, a waiter nearly pulled up Google Maps mid-conversation.
Even the local GP attributed her early walking to “those genes.” The mother bit her tongue. Not all Chinese babies are frail, and not all Black babies are athletes. The comment stung, but it wasn’t malicious—it was the quiet bias of a society that still sorts people by appearance.
As the birth certificate deadline loomed, the mother scrambled to finalize her daughter’s English name. She sifted through biblical names for girls that also mean “peace,” then lists of Western names, feeling like she was trying on one ill-fitting garment after another. On platforms like RedNote (Xiaohongshu), countless posts advise Chinese parents to choose “elegant” English names that signal old money. But something felt wrong about giving her daughter a Western name when she didn’t look like an Eleanor, Alexandra, or Charlotte.
Then it dawned on her: the identity of a child of multiple cultures should not be diluted and cannot be defined by a Western name. Hong Kong bills itself as “Asia’s World City,” yet anyone who doesn’t look East Asian is forever seen as a foreigner, even if they have lived here for decades and speak better Cantonese than many locals. She didn’t know if Hong Kong would ever learn to appreciate diversity, but she didn’t want her daughter to spend her life explaining herself or having her identity diluted with a convenient Western name.
So she chose a Yoruba name meaning “gift from God.” Together, her two names—represented by the initials O.O.—tell the story of a child from a diverse cultural background who is grounded in peace and was given to her mama as a divine gift.
At just 13 months, the daughter is already prancing around the neighborhood like she owns it. While the mother is grateful she has met more love than malice so far, she knows the road ahead may not always be smooth.
As a mother, she dreams of a Hong Kong that sees her child for her vibrant spirit and talents rather than her curls and color. She dreams of a Hong Kong that sees her daughter as a girl who belongs there wholly and unapologetically.
Until then, she is teaching her daughter that her identity isn’t something to explain or make an excuse for. They will celebrate her heritage by reminding her that she is enough, just as she is.
And lastly, some advice for inquisitive aunties and uncles: rather than get curious about someone’s nationality, try to notice what makes a person special without making assumptions about their abilities and career options based on their race.