“Luh-ris-uuh”.

I speak slowly and try to get the pronunciation of my own name “right”. And by “right”, I mean the most anglicized way possible. I know this is a complete deviation from the way my parents actually named me, but I don’t care. I’m at a Starbucks during the rush hour, with a growing line of people behind me. I can do a little identity morphing for the sake of efficiency.

Most of the time I get a cup named “Laura” anyway.

The real way to pronounce my name would be something like Laa-ree-sah, with a “rolling ‘r’” (the one people do a lot in Spanish). The two versions in this video will give you the idea.

I rarely hear the “true” version of my name, except when I’m with Brazilian friends. In the beginning, when I had just moved to Canada, I’d still try to introduce myself using the original pronunciation. That would usually prompt the person in front of me to try to “get it right” as a form of courtesy, which then led to a dance of me pronouncing it right and they pronouncing it wrong until after some 5 attempts we’d give up and settle on a middle-ground that was neither their version or mine’s.

I’ve probably saved hours of my life just giving into the anglicized pronunciation. And honestly, to me, that doesn’t make much of a difference. People know who I am, regardless of which sound they use to call me.

But I know that’s not the case for everybody, and some people feel a little stab in their guts every time someone “butchers” their name. In a book I read this year, Nightbloom, the main character is a woman from Ghana, and she complains about people getting her name (Akorfa) wrong in the U.S. I wonder if the character or even the author would get my name right. Or a Chinese name, or a French one. Nobody can possibly get every pronunciation right, so why do they have to get yours?

Actually, the whole concept of the “right” or “wrong” way to say a word doesn’t make much sense. My name is a great example. “Larissa” actually has a Greek origin, and was either the name of a nymph or the name of an ancient city. According to Wikipedia, in a pre-Greek language, it meant “citadel”. The Greek origin explains why one of the moons of Neptune is named Larissa, like the other Greco-Roman names given to planets.

Somewhere along the lines the Russians adopted it, and it became a classic Slavic name – so much so that some people ask me if I’m Russian when I say my name. Many years later, in the 1980’s, the name Larissa became well-known in Brazil thanks to a movie called Doctor Zhivago. The main character’s name was Lara Antipova, a short version of Larissa. The name became so popular during that time that up until this day, whenever I meet a Brazilian woman named Larissa who was born in the 80’s, I just ask – Dr. Zhivago?

The answer is usually a silent nod. We know our kind.

Considering this convoluted origin, which one is actually the right way to pronounce “Larissa”? Is it the Greek version, with a short R? Is it the Russian version, with more emphasis on the I? Or is it the Brazilian version, with a last A almost inexistent? Hey, maybe my parents and I have been pronouncing this word wrong all along.

As complicated as it sounds, “Larissa” is not even a really hard name to translate (try Saoirse, for instance) and I could get people pronouncing it the way I want if we all made an effort. But then what? Every time they need to call me they need to make a mental contortion and second-guessing to get it right? I think people underestimate how hard it is for you to remember how to make a sound you have no familiarity with.

And what’s worse – I’m not getting anyone’s name “right” since I moved to Canada. Honestly, if you’re not a Carla or an Ana, I’m probably saying it wrong, including my own partner’s name. And it’s ok. I feel like if I force people to say the Brazilian pronunciation of my name, I’m forcing them to give up their own pronunciation, which is part of their identity as well. In the same way, I have my own way of calling my partner which is unique to my identity, and he also has his way of calling me, which is built on top of his experiences and the person he is.

Name-contorting is one of the many skills that we learn while living in a multicultural city. And that’s ok. I don’t mind the fact that people don’t call me by the exact sound that I was known for when I lived in Brazil. I’m a different person, and my relationships are different. We don’t need for everything to be exactly the same to feel at home.