PARADOXICAL

This offbeat arrangement has some sort of a precedent in my father’s side of the family. His eldest brother Anastacio, together with his wife Emilia, named their seven children after the first seven letters of the alphabet. Maybe they did it for better recall at senile age, or maybe not, but that’s how they got naming their brood Amy, Beto, Celia, Delia, Elsa, Flor, and Gigi/Geraldine. As expected, this bit of family lore has entertained everyone who has ever heard it.

My mother said I was named Resty after my cousin Aristotle, who is the son of her elder sister. Since naming one’s child is of much import, I figure she held my cousin in high regard for some reason (though I am too shy to ask), or else why would she choose such a name? I never really liked my name because it sounded either like “rusty” or as though I was always resting. I would have preferred Jake or something, but I’ve learned to embrace it.

Similarly, my brother Ricky was named after Ricardo, my cousin who came after Aristotle. I have the same speculation as above, except with this addition: I wonder if my mother and her sister had some kind of a pact.

As for my sister, I am not sure where they got her name Miriam, except that it is Biblical in origin (Aaron’s and Moses’ complaining sister).

My next brother Ronnie was originally named Geronimo allegedly due to the intervention of my paternal grandmother (my father’s mother) who lived with us and ruled the house like a queen. Despite being sickly with tuberculosis and thus had special health and food needs, she got what she wanted, always voiced out her preferences, which were largely followed. When Ronnie was born and was immediately given up for adoption by my father’s youngest brother (my uncle) Felipe and his wife Arsenia, who were childless, it was allegedly my grandmother’s idea too. Out of superstitious fear about fourth children (they did the same thing with my cousin Delia, the fourth child of Anastacio and Emilia), Geronimo became an adopted child, while my grandmother got away with the violation of naming the baby Geronimo. Maybe Geronimo was the name of a childhood crush – who knows? But the R rule prevailed in the long run because the boy was named Ronnie for short in everyday life and up to this day.

My brother Rommel is like the love child of our parents. Based on nomenclature at least, he’s the runaway favorite because Rommel is a combination of my father’s and mother’s names: Rom-y + Mil-dred = Romm(e)l. Rommel was conceived at a time of  material prosperity in the family, when my father found a job in Saudi Arabia and earned big money. As a baby, Rommel was also the most beautiful child we have ever seen, so it was very easy to love him.

My brother Robert’s name has the most interesting history. Luckily, I was there are the time of naming, being old enough to be consulted for my opinion. The other 'consultants' present in the deliberations were, of course, my mother, plus my grandmother, and a visiting aunt, Ronnie’s adoptive mother Arsenia. While my mother was clueless, my grandmother was sure and insistent. No other name sounded more beautiful to her ears than Macario. I was so incredulous at what I was hearing that I couldn’t contain myself. I revolted against the old-fashioned name, so I consulted our calendar then which contained the names of the saints for the day for other ideas. However, listed under Robert’s birth date was a name I found equally unappetizing: Policarpio. As to my aunt’s suggestion, I can no longer remember it, but I am sure I dismissed it right away because it must have sounded equally awful, because it sounded like Porferio or Emerenciano. I remember her echoing my grandmother in upbraiding our own choices: “Oh, you have no idea what a nice name for a boy should be!”

The impasse ended when my father, returning home from abroad, had the last say. It was to be Ibrahim. As it turned out, he happened to have a close Pakistani friend with that name back in his work quarters in Jeddah. So that is that, despite it being a violation of his own rule. But, as expected, no one ever called the boy Ibrahim. Ever. He was only called that by peers in school but only in jest. Because he had a ready nickname of Boying, everyone called him Boying instead, which is after the name of one of his godfathers whom my mother carefully chose for the christening. The nickname, needless to say, was another open violation.

Too bad Boying was a sickly baby. He often ran high fevers and cried aloud well into the night, so in panic, my superstitious folks, perhaps listening to some neighbors’ advice, decided to have an emergency renaming. Ibrahim a.k.a. Boying had to go, so he was renamed Robert. The R rule for boys had to be restored for some reason. I’m not sure where they got the name (from Robert Redford?), however, but that’s how we call the guy up to this day.

When my second sister was born, her name was somewhat another violation: Salome, another biblical character, though unfortunately one of ill repute, and the family must have been ignorant of that. But someone (I am not sure who) gave this bright idea of adding Maria before Salome, so she became Maria Salome. But all of us in the family preferred to call her May or Mayong. The rule for M for girls was neatly restored.

I had another brother, who was named Johani, but he was born with hydrocephalus, and he died soon after seeing this world. He didn’t even survive long enough for me to see the poor thing in person, because I was away in Baguio City for college. I haven’t inquired yet into why he had that name. Maybe the rule is not meant to be violated, ever.