Love, marriage and surnames

When I was younger, my dad said I could change my first name to whatever I wanted. I desperately wanted to fit in, and thought having a more American name that people wouldn’t butcher would make my third-grade life easier. I ended up not finding something I liked (didn’t want to be another Christina or Jennifer or even Connie), but it still took me a long time to become proud of my heritage. 

So when my civil wedding ceremony was around the corner, I called my immigrant dad for advice.

“Daddy, should I change my last name?” I asked in Korean over KakaoTalk, the Korean chat app. 

His sparse yet bushy eyebrows collided as his mouth opened to burst a declaration.

“No,” he insisted from the other side of the world. “You are an Im!” 

Dad’s answer threw me off. I was so focused on planning my wedding and becoming a wife, I had forgotten — for a moment — I was his daughter. I was an Im, descendant of the mat-gil Im clan, of which I’m told there are not many descendants. Im in hanja, or Chinese characters, roughly translates to responsibility. Would it be irresponsible to lose a part of my Korean identity? 

A lot of my understanding of our culture came from personal experience and through several Korean dramas, where I witnessed or vicariously lived through how when a woman marries into a man’s family, she ends up serving as a dutiful wife and subservient daughter-in-law.

Yet not all Korean women changed their name to the man’s. Turns out, because the woman is not really family by blood, and therefore does not take the husband’s family name. But the children always take the father’s name, just like most heterosexual couples in America. And because I have a brother, the pressure is off to keep the family name going. 

My fiancé is German. He fits some of the stereotypes: rational, reasonable and modern. We met through Bumble on a crisp winter night during the pandemic, bundled up and seated outdoors in a heated patio. We bonded over our shared values of family and quickly realized we shared the same humor.

He walked me to my door in Fremont and we bridged the COVID-19 gap by kissing. After almost exclusively hanging out with each other every other day, we moved into a Ballard apartment about nine months later, and he proposed over breakfast croissants with the sapphire ring we had shopped for together in the University District.

We love to talk about, rate and debate things, including our future. A few months ago, I was grateful he brought the name change for discussion.

“How do you feel about your last name?” he asked. “Are you changing it? Should I change my last name to yours?” 

I hadn’t even considered the latter option.

Many people consider how their last name sounds and looks. The perfect combination of a first and last name can be seamless, even impactful. Hope Powers. Jon Bon Jovi. Johnson Johnson. My surname is short, and it technically is a German proposition (“in”), but I thought it might sound weird or more confusing as a hip, hyphenated name — not that there’s anything wrong with bringing two cultures together. 

Alex shared a practical example. His brother used to have his mother’s last name, but a hospital incident changed everything. His dad was unable to prove on the spot they were related so his dad couldn’t tend to the emergency. So, everyone became one by name. Would my partner or I have to carry a birth certificate around in the future for verification?

I’ve also thought about how our future children would be affected by a more ethnic last name, whether it’s affirmative action or unconscious bias. I guess it will also depend who they end up looking like, but minorities will make up the majority by 2050 anyway. And while Seattle ranks highly across America for its mixed-race population, I’ve still heard stories about women of color annoyingly being mistaken as the nanny. 

I am thrilled to get married to a wonderful person after a merry-go-round of yearslong dating, but there’s a part of me that’s nostalgic about metaphorically leaving my nuclear family I’ve become closer to, and proud of.

Besides, it turns out that today more women are embracing keeping their maiden names. My partner and I live together, and I’m already on his health insurance. While our wedding is a “life event,” we almost don’t have anything to declare or change except the drop-down selection in our W-4. Ultimately, I feel more passionate about where I come from. It’s important to keep a sense of self inside a relationship, and I know in my heart we will still function as a unit — and we will as a family. 

On Feb. 6, I signed my original name on my wedding certificate as Person A. Person B and I kissed and sealed the deal. In Washington, we still have time to change our names later.