“Can I get your name for your Starbucks order?”

“Uhm, sure. It’s Ana.”

No, no one calls me Ana and never will. This is just a random identity I created for myself one day because I can’t help but feel that my name is an inconvenience at times for people.

My biggest childhood fear growing up was trying to figure out how I could introduce myself in the coolest way possible because, to be quite honest, the name “Gayana,” isn’t exactly the most common name you’ll come across.

When I tell people my name, there is almost always a comment that goes along with it:

“Oh wow, what an exotic name!”

“Where are you from again?”

“I’m sorry I won’t remember that, do you have any nicknames you go by?”

And my personal favorite that I heard a few weeks ago: “That’s interesting, Gayana. Kinda like that country in South America right? That’s what your parents were going for?”

Of course. My Armenian parents named me after the country in South America. That makes perfect sense right? No. None whatsoever.

I thought back to the history of my cultural roots and what my name meant in the first place. My name, originally being Gayane in Armenian, was a Saint in the Armenian Apostolic church who played a significant role within Christianity. She was a strong woman, who had been the leader of a group of nuns who fled to Rome for safety; ultimately becoming refugees, but protected by Saint Gayane’s courageous acts.

Oddly enough, my parents’ story is quite similar. My parents,  grandparents and everyone else in my family, were forced to leave their home country of Azerbaijan due to persecution in 1989 and made it safely to Moscow, where they had lived for a few years.

Unfortunately, once more, they were forced to leave again in 1991 after the USSR had collapsed and were, thankfully, sent by the will of God to beautiful San Diego, where my brother and I were born.

Nothing brings my heart more admiration and gratitude towards my parents than the gift of such an honorable and historic name. With this name, Gayane, I not only hold the story of a tremendous Saint, but the story of my parents daunting travels and the heart of a devoted God-fearing woman as well.

Indeed, my name may be difficult to pronounce and hard to remember for some but to me, my name is so much more than something to write down on a Starbucks cup.