R________________________
By Rippinpal Sindher
I was sixteen years old and at the time, The Crucible seemed to be a simple English requirement, something I needed to read, so I could get on with my life. It seems though that John Proctor’s famous line, “It is my name and I shall not have another” had a different plan; a plan to haunt me. I am not crazy, but rather a victim of letters jumbled up in the form of a word, MY NAME. Rippinpal––the one word that means everything to me, but appears unpronounceable to others. Some professors call out Rubenthal. Others say Ribbonbal and I ask myself how do the Bs transform into Ps? Then there are those who fear the challenge altogether and they come to a halt. They say, Miss Sindher. Who am I? I want to scream to others: THIS IS MY NAME! Instead, I sit in class, fear the first day of instruction, fear the probability that if I raise my hand, I will get called on and there will be an awkward pause. This is the pause of uneasiness; one that conveys to the world that my name is incomprehensible. Am I a foreign creature? I understand that I am not a Katy, a Jessica, an Ashley or a Sara, but I am a somebody who feels like a nobody when others fail to recognize that I am more than just a Miss Sindher. I am Rippinpal; someone who has had to compensate with the world for twenty-years because others inabilities to pronounce the word was simply too much to handle. In a sense, I have had to neglect the name, so that I could raise my hand without fear. Reinvent myself with my nickname, Ruby. There was a point in my life where I was convinced that I needed to go down to the courthouse and exchange names as if they were a piece of clothing that did not fit right. I was trying for so long to squeeze into the Rippinpal, that by the time I got to kindergarten, my parents superimposed a new identity on me. I was now Ruby Sindher, a precious gem that when looked at closely, was discolored. Should I blame my parents for the wrongdoing or should I acknowledge their efforts for giving me a name that is recognized in my hometown? I was the girl who acted in musicals, advocated for the community, had her own column in the school paper, but I ask myself now, what good are those accomplishments if people who know me as Rippinpal have no knowledge that I existed as a Ruby Sindher?
I knew I would walk on thin water with this whole issue when I entered college, but I was at a point in my life where I wanted to take the risk. Maybe a part of me wanted to leave behind one identity, so that I could feel a sense of liberation. I also wonder if wanting to be addressed by another name had anything to do with the fact that a few friends thought it was a rad name. Rad, I thought. Rippinpal, the RAD girl. There was irony in this, though, because I was never going to be Rippinpal in their eyes. I was NEVER going to be anything other than Ruby, so why now did I want to do this? Was it really for myself? I still cannot explain this whole transition and it could very well be wanting what you know you cannot have, but I have never wanted, more than now, to be known as Rippinpal Sindher. In fact, I cannot remember why I made the decision to write Rippin Sindher as my Facebook profile name. I did not want to confuse others, but this was a step for me to come to terms with who I wanted to be.
You may argue that there is not much in a name, but I will tell you that there certainly is a type of aura that surrounds you, surrounds everything you do and this becomes especially present in college. As a person, you assimilate amongst groups of people by taking on different identities. Whether it is the connotation or the fact that you are born with a blank slate, every action you take becomes denoted on that slate. With each passing day, more adds to that and soon enough, a profile is constructed. By naming something, society establishes links. At that point, you are no longer a nine-digit college identification number. No. You are a student. You crave knowledge. You are an activist. A partaker in your college community. A member of a team. A writer for the paper. Whatever those actions are, they are the clause that follow your name, and precede your actions. They are offset by two commas, and you can take out the clause, but why do that when they have become identifiers of the pronoun, of YOU? That is your slate. That is your name, and you know you will not have another. You are a construction of letters put in the form of a word, so that you can have a purpose that can be correlated with your identifier. Sure there are other Katys, Jessicas, Ashleys or Saras, but no two are alike because what comes after their name differs. You see, college is the blank slate, a time for invention or reinvention. This is a fresh start to become who you want to, present yourself to others in a way that you wish. At the end of the day, though, you should be pleased with the image that coincides with your name, because you have been its creator all along. And do not fear the first day of instruction. Make your name inescapable; a word that is imperative in any sentence.