What is in a Name? That which we call a rose

Something I wrote a while back on an old blog, which is probably floating about on the internet.

What's in a name? That which we call a rose," Juliet said to Romeo

What is in a name, I wonder. I find myself even today in literature studies examining how a name defines a person.
How one can be 6 feet tall, yet expected to be only 4 feet in length, simply because their name was deemed Mister Small.
Even I am guilty of charge in preparing a friendly greeting in Chinese [in my mind], a language which I am terribly lacking in, for an instructor whom I assumed was a Chinese man, only because his surname read Wang.
Well, when I finally encountered the gentleman by the name of Wang, I found myself suppressing the broken Chinese, attempting to free itself from my throat. I could only stand there in guilt, for I allowed myself to judge before acknowledging the actual character of the man. At that moment even English became foreign to me. It is not to say English is my first language, for it is not. I speak languages from English to Hindi to Tibetan fluently; 3 to be exact. But at that moment, all languages were foreign, while I swallowed down the guilt within my heart.

If one must know the conclusion of my tale, the man by the name of Wang was actually an African American gent who had not the faintest knowledge what I would have said in Chinese or why I carried a remorseful look on my face as I spoke to him. Yet, like any other person, whether his name be Wang, or the Dalai Lama, he had a heart of snow. Pure and white, melting away all stress by the kindness in the manner of his speech.

What is in a name? Well a name is simply a name. Let's attempt not to judge, but to take the moments in life to learn from others, and about them as well. From that, we might more or less learn about ourselves.

Forever Learning,

moi