“If you’ll be my bodyguard, I can be your long lost pal”
Unless you accidentally shoot me of course.
What started out as a post to prevent people from calling me Alfred, Alvin, Calvin, Kelvin or Kevin has turned into a sweeping saga of my evolved moniker. So be forewarned that this is longer than my other posts and, yes, get used to the fact that I write most of my body first and then attempt to create a somewhat coherent introduction.
I’ve been called a lot of things during my 26 years on this planet. I’ll stick with the names that weren’t directed at me as insults. The light-hearted tales of the irreparable damage inflicted on me as a misguided child shall be saved for future musings! I don’t want to overwhelm you with warm feelings and fuzzy thoughts.
So, in order of occurrence if memory serves me correctly:
Albert is the name that my parents blessed me at birth. Embarrassing confession number 1: my father named me after Albert Einstein. This might explain a little bit about my upbringing and how that makes me the person I am today. Albert is what my family uses. Unless my parents, in vain, try to speak to me in Vietnamese and call me Khoa. Embarrassing confession number 2: I have always had difficulty pronouncing my name. As far as I can remember, I’ve never had a lisp or stutter as a child but I’m sure the lack of my two front teeth didn’t help. The bitch of the situation still haunts me as an adult, especially under lubrication and despite the ful hed o’ teef. The two syllables in my name are unbelievably awkward to say out loud. For those of you playing at home, have a go with me: AAllllb-b-berrrtttt. It requires so much damn effort. It’s the kind of word you give to fluffers so they can exercise their mouth to prevent them developing lock-jaw on set.
But despite all this, I’ve never felt inclined to change my name, no matter how many times I need to repeat myself as I struggle to introduce myself. If I have been heard correctly, my name is simple enough to not need correction. I don’t need to point out that “It’s spelt with two Ts, three Ls and an F thank you very much. Please remember this in future”. I can at least be thankful for that.
In primary school, the kids shortened my name to Alby, possibly because people were sick of watching me squirm as I tackled with my incurable inability to enunciate my syllables. I was fine with that. Nicknames are never my doing. I just go along with them.
Then I progressed to high school where nobody knew of my naming history and I had a fresh start. That’s where I would be known as bui. It was easy to remember and say, and the lack of originality conformed with all the other lazy nicknames ending in an eeee sound. Again I didn’t mind it because as long as you people weren’t using your full Christian name, it meant that you at least had some level of social acceptance.
One variation from high school I remember that never took off was bui-b. Boy bands were popular at the time which meant that stupid band member names like Howie D and Stevie G were something to imitated. I asked why I wouldn’t be called Alby B instead but they shot down because nobody knew me as Alby. Go figure. The flourish of the internet in the late 90s also meant that bui is what I used to squat on the best user names, email addresses and websites. Most of the time I was successful. One exception was the era of ICQ (Remember that time people? Yes, I WAS THERE) where I used my 8 digit UIN with bui to create a horrid Hotmail account (Yes, THERE TOO). Those were dark times.
Then I moved on to uni, where I retained some high school friends who continued to call me bui. But the new uni friends needed to come up with something completely different. So they chose Albo. I have no idea why. Possibly because it sounded like elbow and I have been known to write nasty words on other people’s arms to detract attention away from the unholy worship that my biblically sexy joints commanded from others.
Following uni, another variation to Alb that work colleagues invented was Albi. This was clearly distinguishable from Alby because it was repeatedly written so that the ‘I’ could be dotted with various cute symbols like circles, stars and hearts. It was quite gay and ‘turn-ing me ON’.
Surprisingly, it took over 20 years for anyone to ever call me Al. Again, because I never tell anyone to call me a nickname. I don’t pretend to be all chummy with anyone I don’t know. Meeting new people is squirmy and icky. Faux familiarisation is fucked. And I like to use awkward alliteration wherever possible. I also never wanted people to mistake me for an Alastair. But when I think about it, it would be better for them to call me Al and then, if they’re curious, ask me what it was short for so they should remember that I’m not an Alfred.
The last incarnation of my identity has become @bui. Don’t ask me to explain it. It’s a long story.
Why the fuck does all of this matter? Well, I may not pretend to be your mate when I introduce myself but I’ll also never be so anally retentive as to tell you to call me Albert and nothing else. I’ve met far too many people who insist on being called their birth name and will tie your balls to your toes (apparently ‘jump down your throat’ is a WordPress cliché) if you shorten their name in any way. “My name is DeBOREah and her name is DiANE. We are NOT nor have we ever been Deb, Debbie or Di. Please use them correctly in future. Thank you for your co-operation.” I detest these despicable demons of defining designation. That one was a bit of a stretch but I’m no fucking poet. Awkward I said, AWKWARD, and I used two D names too! I’m trying and still learning (no Ian, not the Art of Love).
So in closing (yes, I had a stint in the debating team too), the immortal words of the adorably cute Paul Simon said it best with “I can call you Betty, Betty when you call me..”
