Saburah. It has been misspelled and mispronounced for my entire life. I’ve been called many things including Siobhan, Sabrina, Cebolla, and have received emails in which my name has been misspelled or even written as Simba. Growing up in this area, I remember hearing names like “Naomi” or “Kyle” for the first time and thinking they sounded so strange and foreign to me. I had to repeat my name constantly while muscling through the giggles and judgmental faces with which I was met throughout my childhood. I never understood why I couldn’t find my name on any keychains or mugs in souvenir shops. For most of my childhood, I longed for a simpler name, like Sarah or Stacy, to avoid the unpleasant interactions and because of my internal struggle with celebrating my name.
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