Mispronunciations, misspellings, and the hidden stories behind unique identities.
In a multicultural hub like Singapore, names are often a reflection of diverse identities. While some carry familiar surnames or straightforward pronunciations, others bear unique names that become daily tests of patience. For individuals with names that are harder to pronounce or spell, introductions can turn into lessons, and corrections into a routine. Here, Singaporeans share their experiences with names that frequently trip people up.
Deirdre:
“Back in primary school, a classmate kept teasing me by calling me ‘veggie’ or ‘daddy’ instead of pronouncing my name correctly as ‘there-dre.’ One day, I snapped and pushed him into the school pond. Funny thing—we were already in our swimming costumes, waiting for swimming lessons. I feel bad about it now, but it was a moment of frustration.”
Even as an adult, Deirdre still faces mispronunciations and misspellings. “I’ve been called ‘Diardre,’ ‘they-dre,’ and even ‘they-dra.’ I’ve had certificates, report books, and emails with my name written incorrectly, even when I’ve introduced myself properly. On a happier note, once I was mentioned in a speech at the Istana, and the former president’s team took the time to ask about the pronunciation. Hearing my name pronounced perfectly felt amazing.”
Kannan:
“My name isn’t complicated—it’s just ‘Kannan.’ Yet, people often spell it like they’re solving a Rubik’s cube and gave up halfway. I don’t mind if someone mispronounces it after hearing it for the first time, but if it’s written in front of them and they still mess it up, it feels like they’re not even trying.”
Kannan has started documenting the various misspellings of his name. “It’s almost funny now, seeing the creative liberties people take. Still, a little effort would go a long way—it’s basic decency.”
Darcel:
“My mum got my name from a character in Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: The Movie. She misheard it as ‘Darcel,’ and thought it sounded sweet. My name is pronounced ‘dar-sell,’ but most people say ‘dar-cel,’ rhyming with ‘parcel.’ Some even think I’m pronouncing my own name wrong.”
In school, Darcel’s name became the subject of teasing. “Some classmates called me ‘da xiao’ or ‘da sao,’ which means ‘big small’ and ‘sister-in-law’ in Chinese. Teachers and others often assumed I was a boy until they met me because my last name, Anthony, is more commonly associated with men here. These assumptions can get tiring, but I try to be patient and laugh it off.”
Hanni:
“My full name, Nang Theint Hanni, often catches people off guard. During award ceremonies in primary school, emcees would approach me to confirm the pronunciation. I appreciated the effort, but there were also times when they didn’t check, and I had to walk onstage to the sound of a mispronounced name.”
Hanni finds that navigating name-related challenges is part of a broader experience of being a minority in Singapore. “It’s not the worst thing in the world, but sometimes you wish you didn’t have to explain so much. Still, these moments often spark conversations about diversity and visibility.”
For those with unique names, these experiences are not just about correcting others—they’re about navigating identity in a world that doesn’t always make room for differences. While some moments are frustrating, others lead to understanding, connection, and sometimes even laughter. After all, our names carry more than just letters—they hold stories worth sharing.
