Long pause…“Give it a try.”
“No. It’s ok…(awkward chuckle) I don’t want to say this wrong.”
“You’ll say it wrong but try. I won’t die or explode… c’mon… just try it.”
“Ok….Saah joke ka gee?”
“See! I’m fine. (Smiling) Also that’s wrong. It’s pronounced ‘shoek’ya’”
This has been the beginning of every single conversation I’ve had with people since the moment I had to introduce myself.
There have been a few modifications to this dialogue over the years. I have spared teachers the agony by saying my name first… unless I didn’t like the teacher… then they can power through it. When people look at my name tag, I tell them “it’s useless… just call me Suki” a nickname I acquired after the 500th failed attempt ending with “Suki?” “Yeah ok… it’s Suki.” I was 6 at that time.
I learned early on that if someone can’t pronounce your name nor tries, you are either completely avoided or completely focused upon as the point of unwarranted attention.
But you know what? My name is very special as it holds a wealth of history that has allowed me to educate everyone in my path about Friesland, the Moluccan Islands, Dutch Indonesian people, the history of World War II (WWII) fought in Southeast Asia and about my ancestors who live through me.
My name is Sjoekje Frederika Sasbone.
“Shoek’ya? Oh! That’s not that hard when you say it. Shoek’ya… That’s pretty! What is that?”
“Sjoekje is actually a Friesian name. Friesland is a province in Holland. My mom is Dutch and my dad is Indonesian.”
“It’s Dutch.”
“Oh…” (I know this look… the look of “you don’t look Dutch”). . Specifically, from the Moluccan Islands, known to you as the ‘Spice Islands’ where all your spices come from.”