So asked Shakespeare's Juliet..."That which we call a rose,
By any other word would smell as sweet."
Juliet was saying that the name of a thing doesn't define what it is - her "Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that sweet perfection which he owes without that title." I have always loved the balcony scene from Romeo & Juliet - poetic, romantic, and quite philosophical, too.
There's also something beautifully serendipitous about what Juliet is saying here, which I shall now explicate for you dear reader.
My name - Elloa Barbour - is one that today, for the most part, I'm comfortable with. Upon hearing my name for the first time, people often ask where it is from, sometimes adding that it sounds Irish, or Swiss or Swedish, perhaps. I'm guessing then that my first name evokes images of Celtic faeries, or occasionally perhaps a female warrior not dissimilar to Moder Svea of Sweden.
I tell people that it's basically just the name 'Ella', with an 'O' thrown in - and that is exactly how you pronounce it, in case you were wondering (emphasis on the first syllable please, not the second one): Eh-low-a, not Eh-low-a.
When I was a child, I remember receiving birthday and Christmas cards with all sorts of strange and curious mis-spellings of my name inside... "Dear Ellowa" was a common one, or sometimes "Eloua" and even "Allowah". Sensitive bairn that I was, I took these incorrect namings quite seriously and used to get quite upset about them. Why didn't I just have a normal name, like the other girls in my class?! I wanted to be a Becky, a Vicky or a Sophie, like my friends.
Instead, I was a skinny little kid, with two dads and a weird name.
My 'biological' dad, I didn't know. I'd met him once, when I was five, but that was just a fleeting moment, pivotal and ultimately, I discovered aged 19, extremely consequential in how I saw myself and what I believed about myself.
My 'real' dad, aka Papa Bear, has brought me up since I was two years old, and is to this day my dad, my papa, and I his 'Tellie'. Nowadays, I've got a lovely relationship with Dan, my biological dad, too, but back then, my dad wasn't my dad, and my other dad wasn't really my dad, either.
Confused? How do you think I felt?!
I think it's best if we now fast-forward to the year two thousand and ten. It's summertime. Skies are mostly blue with occasional downpours and devastating floods in Pakistan. And I'm in Ireland, on my first ever family trip with my biological dad, who I've now known for about 13 years.
The holiday is in Rosscarbery, a beautiful little part of West Cork, in Ireland. And it's not just me and my dad there, oh no. There's dad's beautiful, strong wife, the matriarch of the family, Nicola. There's my half-siblings, Bill (18) and Edie (14, and with a staggering 890 friends on Facebook) who I come to think of as simply being my siblings on this holiday.
And there's also:
Grandma - we're at her cottage
Bob - her husband
Rachel - my aunty
Fran - my aunty, too
Steve - her husband
Jacob - my cousin (aged 9)
Finton - my cousin (aged 7)
Adam - my uncle
Jane - his wife
Georgia - my cousin (aged twentysomething)
Louise - my cousin (aged 15 I think)
Sally - my cousin too
The photo shows just a few of us. I'll leave it to you to guess who they all are. Answers on a postcard to whatastunningfamily@elloabarbour.com
(Just to say that Josh, my other brother, along with Uncle Matthew, cousin Patrick, cousin Jackson, baby Grace and Matthew's lovely wife whose name I've forgotten were not able to be there this year. Like I said, big family).
The holiday is very poignant for me. I'd been to Ireland a number of times as a child, only ever with Grandma, Bob and Rachel, Uncle Matthew and cousin Patrick. I'd never been there with dad or any siblings. Returning there this year was almost a rite of passage, and I experienced lots of moments with my dad for the first time - walking along the Long Strand, going to Barley Cove, simply being in the cottage, playing table tennis, eating suppers together, watching him dance with Nicola at the party on Saturday evening.
I cried more than once, laughed more than I cried, and something clicked into place inside of me. I got that wonderful feeling of belonging and feeling love and loved.
And then, the name came. A few days after returning from Ireland, I stopped dead in the middle of a conversation with my gorgeous, courageous, talented, creative boyfriend Nige, and texted a single word to Dan, my dad - the word was "Juliet".
For quite a few months now, Dan and I have been in discussions about giving me a middle name. I don't have a middle name, and always wanted one, and coming to a place of deepening my relationship with him has brought up the possibility of him choosing a middle name for me. Again, it's a highly symbolic, almost ritualistic event that has somehow just emerged.
Between us, we've thought of lots of names - I love Lily, but it's Edie, my sister's, middle name. Then there's Jupiter, which Dan had wanted to call Edie, and which I quite like. But Jupiter has quite negative connotations, being the planet otherwise known as the 'Gas Giant'. Whatever you might say about my bodily functions, I certainly don't want to be known as the Gas Giant, thank you very much. Bed hogger perhaps, but Gas Giant? It's just not very Elloa-ish.
And then, suddenly, Juliet.
And guess what - Dan loves it. Neither he, nor I, nor Nicola, nor my siblings, can think of any reason why I shouldn't have Juliet as my middle name. I only have positive associations with it, other than the fact that Juliet kills herself in Romeo and Juliet. A minor point, I think you'll agree.
What's not such a minor point is my other dad - my Dad Dad. He's never given me a middle name, and I don't have his surname, so I'm slightly wary of blazing ahead with all cylinders firing until I am comfortable with whether he will be involved in this in some way, or not. Changing your name by deed poll is very easy in England, and costs just a few pounds. But taking all of the important people in my life into consideration is a bit more complex.
And I'm also trying to get used to the idea of being Elloa Juliet Barbour. I think it has a nice ring to it, but it is a change, and it is a bit scary for me.
Considering becoming 'Elloa Juliet Barbour' is intricately related to my connection with the other members of my family, as well as all of my past experiences of simply being Elloa Barbour - although it's never been simple being me! - and all the connotations I have with that. Suddenly, the introduction of a third name is quite unnerving, bringing up questions for me about whether I'll lose a part of myself, or gain a part I didn't know was missing.
If I decide to change my name, ultimately it will be a personal decision, symbolizing something probably quite unnameable that has happened inside of me. At the moment, I'm just not quite ready.
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