Chosen as a label that could assimilate into differing languages, my first name, Daniel, fittingly represents my own cultural struggle, one between the culture that I subscribe to and the one from which our familial customs originate. Literally, it is a Hebrew name lifted straight from the pages of the Bible to mean “God is my judge.” Daniel — a holy symbol of fearlessness, the man in the lion’s den. More personally, my parents swear they opted for Daniel simply because they found it was a name that would harmonize with both their native language and English. It was for this same reason that my parents gifted me with one last name instead of the standard two in Spanish-speaking countries. Disappointing, in a way, since a point could be made that a more purely Hispanic name would have connected me even more to my family history and Venezuelan background.

My middle name, though usually hidden by a single initial or absent altogether, comes straight from my father. Alberto, meaning “bright, brilliant” — two traits I would modestly attribute more to my father than to my own character. This name I never connected with, hiding its presence only on attendance sheets and formal papers simply because I found it to sound tacky. In a way, I always felt that the problem my parents had tried to avoid in my first name had then been plagued my second. Alberto? “You mean Albert?” It bothered me how off and unheard of it sounded in English, despite it sounding perfectly competent in my parents’ native tongue. It wasn’t until recently that I realized how hypocritical it was to dislike one name for sounding too exotic and the other for not sounding exotic enough.

Any complaints I had about the unoriginality of my first name are surely relieved with my last, the name Martinez being and sounding particularly Hispanic. Martinez—“Son of Mars,” the name stands bold and bright, ending with a rare, yet powerful ‘z’ — referring to Mars, the Roman god of war. This name is fierce, embracing each vowel and surrounding it with equally powerful consonants. Stern, assertive — traits that might not necessarily apply to my own personality, but two qualities I aspire to achieve and build towards. The name Martinez represents a confident embrace of my Venezuelan heritage and familial roots, a firm reminder of the culture my parents had been raised in, and one that I have been raised around.

My name, though marked by a predestined meaning and significance, is how I’ll be known, and eventually, how I’ll be remembered. It is reassuring to know that the name I’ll bear for the rest of my life accurately reflects the fusion of the two cultures that pervade my life so significantly. Much like my own personality, my name is not by any means perfect, nor is it noticeably striking at first glance, but it carries a profound aura of boldness and courage, and I do believe a name should reflect the person who wears it.