I was probably around 16 or 17 when I first realized that I didn’t really like my name. Why? Because it was the name my family—especially my parents—used to call me, and at that point in my life, I wanted to distance myself from them as much as I could. I think that’s when I first began to experience an identity crisis. I started questioning who I really was and what my existence meant.

My birth name is Kawsar, often shortened to Kawa, which means crow. Many people used to tease me because of it, and over time, that name became something I wanted to escape. I decided to search for a new name—something that I could choose for myself. I’d always been fascinated by names and how they shape who we are.

That’s when I discovered the name Sami—the name of an Indigenous people living in the far north of Scandinavia. Something about it resonated deeply with me: it felt free, unique, simple, and connected to nature. What began as a small experiment slowly turned into a second identity. Most people who met me after I turned 18 know me as Sami.

Do I still hate the name Kawsar? No, not at all. In fact, I’ve grown to appreciate it—and I don’t mind being called Kawa anymore either. The name Kawsar was given to me by someone I deeply admire, and it carries a meaning that’s part of who I am.

So, you can call me by either name. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from this journey, it’s this: never mock a child for their name. A name is a powerful part of identity—and making fun of it can leave lasting scars on someone’s confidence and sense of self.