The restrictions of language

My partner’s middle name is “JM”—but there is far more meaning in those two letters than anticipated.

“JM” stands for “jung-ming.” A Chinese name. My partner’s family uses generational names, meaning the names of children born in the same generation share a Chinese character. In my partner’s case, he and his brother share “jung.”

My partner was born close to the new millennium, on December 29, 1999. His parents wanted to signify the coming of the 2000s, and so, the meaning of his middle name was intended to be “bell ringing in the new millennium.” Due to influences that can only be guessed at, the true meaning of his middle name is—“dinner bell.” Meanwhile, his brother’s middle name means “unicorn.”

One theory for the middle name mix-up is that my partner’s mom, a second generation Chinese American, lost command of Mandarin as she became more assimilated. If this were true it would echo nay’s experience voiced in the blog post “Do you even know how smart I am in another language.”

Behind the letters “JM” that appear on my partner’s passport, there is a story, a misconception, and a connection to Chinese culture and his brother. There is a similar story behind the passed down initials of ACM.

I believe these stories demonstrate some of the gaps in experience language cannot cover. Labels alone are not reliable conduits in conveying an entire story.

I feel this tension in my own life, because my life experiences do not cleanly fit within many typically labeled traits. I grew up low income, but I am comfortable now. I fall within the LGBTQ community, but I realized quite late and have been dating a man for years. I am a first-generation law student, but I do not claim “first-generation” because my parents made it through my hometown CSU. In my mom’s case, after three tries—and in my dad’s, after breaking away from intermittent homelessness and parents with drug addiction.

I believe this feeling of tension deriving from the simplicity of labels and the complexity of lived experience is common.

One instance of this tension can be seen in an anecdote from the New Yorker article by Leslie Jamison. The article speaks mostly about whether the term “imposter syndrome” is flawed and whether it draws attention away from pressing societal issues regarding equity in academic and work spaces. However, it includes a story about Stephanie Land, the author of the “Maid:” a memoir recounting Land’s experiences as a maid, a job undertaken to support her unexpected pregnancy. The anecdote described a moment in which a stranger thanked Land for her writing. At the time of the conversation, Land was flying first class with her teenage daughter to see a Lizzo concert. Land described that she felt “she’d been caught somewhere she didn’t belong—as if flying first class made her current self a fraud, or else her past self a fraud…” because of the tension between the struggles she faced and voiced in Maid and the circumstances of the conversation.

My partner and other multiracial friends have similarly voiced that on any given day they may feel that they do not belong to any part of their identity.

What is to be done about the inadequacy of language in capturing someone’s essence within one or two words?

Personally, I try not to identify myself using the labels you might find on an employment form. Instead, I speak to who I am by being open about my experiences and the events and people who have shaped me.

AKJ wrote about the village it takes to raise and send a child to law school. I believe every person seeks and wants community, but sometimes it may not be clear where you will find the people critical to your “village.” Due to insecurity related to claiming parts of my identity that may lend itself more to built-in community, I never know where I may find kinship or support. So, I open myself to the world and leave it in the hands of individuals to decide whether the cloth from which we are cut bears any resemblance.

I know for others labels can be empowering, and I almost envy those who confidently wield them. From these individuals, though, I would ask for open-mindedness. It may surprise you who you end up having a lot in common with.

Writing to past me and future me

Partially inspired by Michaela, I decided to write a letter to 1L me, but also include some advice for 3L me.


Dear 1L me,

Welcome to your new journey. You have worked so hard to be where you are today. The road ahead may be scary, but it's yours.

I know when you received your acceptance letter from UC Davis, you didn’t think it would be where you ended up. But after putting down your seat deposit and seeing that your student ID number was the same 9-digit confirmation code you had received when you applied to undergrad at UC Davis, it felt like fate.

You were scared when you packed up your childhood bedroom to move to Davis. Scared doesn’t even cover it – you were downright panicked, but you made it. From day one, you convinced yourself that you didn’t belong. You watched your professors and classmates use words and talk about things you didn’t even know existed.

But you adapted.

That’s always been your strong suit. You took your first proctored exam (besides the LSAT), took part in your first law school competition, you interviewed for your first legal job, and you networked! Networking, even today, the thought of having to go to a networking event keeps you up at night, but you did it. You went to your first networking event and came home with at least two business cards. You accomplished so much, even if you were scared.

Lastly, because I know you didn’t say it enough to yourself throughout 1L, I want to tell you I am so proud of you. You wanted to run away so many times, especially when they handed you that insane class/sample study schedule during orientation week, but you didn’t. For that, I’m proud of you.

 


Image Description: Photo of Sample Weekly Calendar given to incoming 1Ls during orientation. 


Dear 3L me,

Right now, I am feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. I am so ready to be done with law school. I love my friends and my life, but I can’t wait to actually figure out if all this was worth it.

As I write this letter to you and think about graduating, I can’t help but remember what one of the panelists said during FGASB culture week. He said “I loved law school; I actually miss it.” Those words seem unreal to me right now, but putting myself in your shoes, I can understand why he might miss law school. It was difficult, but you got to learn so much and make lifelong friends. I hope you look back and feel pride in the journey you went on.

Also, I wish you come back to this post when you’re about to graduate from law school. I hope reading this and your other blog posts makes you feel ready to tackle the journey of being a lawyer. As Alejandra Campoverdi said in First Gen: A Memoir, you’ll be joining an “elite group” once you’re done with law school. You’ll be stepping into a whole new world, one that is even shinier than the one you entered when graduated from college.

Are you ready? I know that’s a loaded question and you probably don’t want to answer it, but I want to tell you that I know you can do it. You conquered college and then law school, you can conquer being a lawyer. Look to the people who helped you through law school; these are the same ones who will stand by your side as your navigate your journey to becoming a lawyer. 

I know it’s daunting to close this chapter of your life, but I wish you nothing but the best on your new adventure!