I was the kid in the yearbook who had many names. At the end of each row that held portraits of six or so students, my name would appear as “Johnathan Ryan Francisco Escobar Kuna Quezada.” I can’t help but feel sorry for the younger me who had to endure instability when it came to names.
At birth, I was named after my father, a man whose presence would be so faint in my life, it would only exist as a far-off memory. My mother and grandmother called me J.R., influenced by one of the main antagonists in the show “Dallas.”
When my mom married and remarried, she bestowed upon me many last names that didn’t feel like they belonged to me. That is until she married the man who would always show up for me in times of need. A man who quickly changed his homophobic ways to make it safe for me to be myself when I was 14 and came out as bisexual. I chose to use his last name as a form of tribute.
From age 13 to now, my identity has undergone a vast evolution. Although not complete, I feel that everyday I continue to align with my inner truth the more vividly it is displayed.
“J.R.” eventually evolved into “JayAre,” the name I held until I was around 27 and came into contact with the recurrence of “Orlando.” The inspiration came from Virginia Woolf’s 1928 novel with the same name. Considered one of the earliest novels that touched upon the idea of transness, we meet the titular character as a man who, through the middle of the novel, happens to become a woman.
Once I had finished reading the novel, I couldn’t shake the name. It had completely latched on to me. I’d spend nights reflecting on the name and what it meant to me. The way it would slip off the tongue held an aftertaste of sweetness. The name “Orlando” comes from Italian and Spanish and means the fame of the land. I began to feel clarity of home in the name.
It was me.
Names are important. When presenting ourselves to the world, names become the main acknowledgement of our existence. However, the names we are given aren’t always aligned with who we really are. Some of us love our birth names. Then there are those of us who have to sift through experiences and meanings to find ourselves on the other end.
For me, JayAre still holds the legacy and connection to my blood family, as it was my introduction into the journey of a name. I now give life and existence to Orlando, which represents the vitality of how my own queerness has taken center stage in my life.
To Orlando, I promise to remain true to what it represents. A sense of home in the world at large.
Read more of the April 17–23, 2024 issue.