My name plate found in a store in Chile, something that NEVER happens in the US.
This essay was written by Ximena Gonzalez, Marketing Assistant, Penguin Press Marketing.
I knew I was different before I even knew why. My name made me stand out. It was a conversation piece and immediately separated me from anyone else. When I was growing up in school, there may have been three Ashleys in a classroom, but there would only be one Ximena. In the US, my name is something to be perplexed by. It’s what caused teachers to stop and stare at the paper in front of them while taking roll call, or it forced people to make a Z sound, when there was no Z in sight. When I was younger, I felt jaded from having my name butchered to no end. As I got older, I’ve developed deep affection for my name and its uniqueness, and most importantly—its origins.