Ellen means light or bright one. It symbolizes brilliance and illumination, and dates back to medieval Europe. Used across cultures and transcended from Greek and French heritage, Ellen is a name that has belonged to millions of women.

I viewed it as archaic, old-fashioned, boring, and disliked my name since my toddler years. I recall preschoolers saying my name sounded nerdy, perfect to suit my meticulously curated wardrobe and neatly sharpened colored pencils. However, I never had a serious identity crisis with my name until middle school.

In primary school, I had a few good friends who played tennis and volleyball with me. We used to race each other in the pool. I liked ice skating. We were always fast: on ice, snow, in water, and on grass. There was once a girl who scraped her knees on grass, laughed it off, and participated in field day (the best day ever). The friends did not share my love for the Harry Potter series or worship of philosophers, yet we got along in the sense that we were all buoyant dreamers.

Middle school was when my personas shifted. Subconsciously, I did not want people to get too close because I disliked being vulnerable. I took a page out of Paris Hilton’s story. I ripped away the innocent, pure, spirited child version of me. I grew up through tribulation after tribulation. I cut strings before they cut me.

One quote I repeated to myself was, “The only way out of hell is through misery.”

There is a mother who spent the second half of her adulthood tending to her image. There is a toddler daughter who taught herself English by poring over Latin and English books at the New York Public Library.

There is a little girl who learned to read English before she learned enunciation and pronunciation by watching thousands of American, British, and Australian television series and films. There is a miniature, scrawny tomboy who was raised watching MTV, Bravo, TNT, Cartoon Network, Disney, Nickelodeon, ION, ABC, HBO, and Telemundo. Each evening after school and tennis, this girl watched American television while reading novels to experience the American lifestyle.

If she could not be born into an American family, she could write herself into it by expanding her knowledge of the world. She entered an alternate world, fueled with a rigorous desire to be part of something great.

She had zero restrictions on television time because it was viewed as educational. She knew her father was often absent and worked around the clock to keep the lights on and supplied HBO for her entertainment and escapism.

She had zero restrictions on which books she chose to read at the libraries she spent countless hours at when she was not at the athletic club or piano class. Her mother and father were rarely present and paid little attention to her real life. Even nearby, they were always distracted by adult conundrums, financial instability, and vibrational discussions.

Those novels opened her eyes to taboo subjects such as sexual assault, human trafficking, Jeffrey Epstein, intimate relations, caste systems, wars, the atomic bombs, classism, sexism, the One Child Policy in China, Communism, Socialism, neurodivergence, AIDS, STDS, amorous versus loveless polygamous relationships, mulattos, slavery, indentured servants, curse words, and depraved behavior.

She utilized an expansive range of words in her vocabulary: colloquial, appraisal, deterrent, degenerate, imbecile, repulsive, redundant, replicative, asinine, torrential, tortuous, solidify, and so on.

The disparity led to emotional outbursts because it was difficult to tolerate or accept her parents’ limited English, the universal language of America and beyond.

Damn it, she contributed adult patience past an average child’s breaking point.

Why was it impossible for them to be like her? It did not have to be this way. “Other children had it easier,” she thought to herself.

Ellen was enlightened in her youth, a rare glimpse of a supernova, determined to make it out of this small town, to buy the penthouse of her dreams in her home city. She clawed her way out of the ordinary life her mother did her best to provide.

Nobody understands the pains of growing up between two worlds you will never solely belong to.

Never American enough. Never Chinese enough.

Only a quarter Singaporean and a quarter Malaysian.

Never brilliant enough to erase the ever-growing grief that infiltrated her wounded family.

Never a star, always a bystander.

The good one; the responsible one; the dutiful one; the talented one; the gifted child; the last hope; the blinding light.

The only daughter of two adults who were both less successful than their parents, marked as failures by some. The couple was given a redirection after the birth of a girl, someone who passionately desired the extraordinary.

This baby would have everything they did not have. This baby traveled to twenty countries before she turned twenty. This baby skied each winter, swam, surfed, ice skated, rollerbladed, folded origami, enjoyed the small luxuries of gelato and sea urchin sushi, prayed in Buddhist temples that some only saw in textbook photographs, broke a bone, danced, discovered her love of pasteis de nata, and conquered her fear of not experiencing the world she fantasized about.

Nothing is impossible. The very word says I am possible.

Pain realigns our vision. It was necessary to become kind. Only those who have been through it know what those who are going through it now.

I forgive it all. I pieced together the remnants of my former life and stitched the foundation to become wiser and compassionate. Yes, I relinquish the fury. I am setting it free.

We lived to tell the tall tales. We breathed for the gossip before we practiced empathy. We survived the whirlwind of turbulent adolescence.

I kept their secrets for better or for worse. Integrity is a brand pillar, quieting my hectic mind, showing me peace. If I never see you again, I wish you well. You didn’t gain an enemy from losing me.

I think Ellen means forgiveness because light defeats cynicism, demonstrating the influence optimism has. Breaking patterns and paving fresh footsteps is a relief.

I will always think of them in their best light, the way I hope they remember my first genuine smile.

-The Brunette Who Got Away