When I moved to the United States from Korea at 25, I brought my Korean name with me.
Officially, it remained my name for years.
But in everyday life, I introduced myself as Katie.
Not because I disliked my Korean name.
Not because I wanted to become less Korean.
And certainly not because I was trying to erase where I came from.
The reason was much simpler.
People couldn't remember it.
Or more accurately, many people didn't try.
Some Americans were wonderful about it. They asked how to pronounce my name and made an effort to remember it.
But America is a country of immigrants. Not everyone I met had experience with Korean names, and not everyone cared enough to learn.
As a healthcare provider, I noticed something strange.
Patients would come looking for me and say things like:
"Where's that Korean girl?"
Or they would describe my appearance because they couldn't remember my name.
At first, it felt ridiculous.
Then it became exhausting.
Eventually, I realized that if I wanted to build relationships with patients and establish myself professionally, I needed a name people could easily remember.
So I used Katie.
And life became easier.
People remembered me.
Patients asked for me by name.
Conversations started more smoothly.
Nothing about my identity changed.
I was still Korean.
I still spoke Korean.
I still thought in Korean.
The name was simply a practical tool.
That's why, when I became a U.S. citizen in 2017, changing my first name felt like an obvious decision.
I chose Katie as my legal first name and moved my Korean name to my middle name.
For me, it wasn't a loss.
It was an addition.
My Korean name tells the story of where I came from.
My English name helps me navigate where I live now.
Both are me.
And after all these years, that balance feels exactly right.



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