22 Aug Please don’t read.

Hi, my name is Jon. – Jon. – It’s Jon. – No, not John (ʤɑn), it’s Jon (jɑn).
– No, as I said, it’s Jon (jɑn). Like “Yon”. – Yeah, there you go!

I have this exact conversation basically every time I introduce myself to a person whose mother tongue is English. But why do I actually bother about people not getting my name right? Probably it’s because where I’m from only a very few people actually have this name. My name! And if you leave the very east of Switzerland, you won’t basically come across it at all. Never. Until you meet me. The one-of-a-kind.

Anyways, you have to know I grew up with the unshakable belief, my name was special. Very special. So special, indeed, that I didn’t like it for 21 years – but that’s a different story.
Plus, it got more special the further away from home I went. Until I went to live in Australia and Cape Town. All of a sudden I was not special anymore. Not even close to special. I was common-place. Absolutely average. Very exchangeable, in fact. Horrible!

You can imagine this hurt my conceited self-perception. A lot. My once so extravagant and highly recognised name didn’t get any recognition at all anymore. By no one. Zero. Nil. In truth it was worse, actually. They weren’t even able to pronounce it rightly anymore. Not even after I spelt it out – very carefully, so as not to make any mistake. Hard work. But, and despite my utterly professional conduct (that’s how I role, y’know!), it rather seemed to affirm them in their misapprehension. How could that be? All idiots? Probably. One never knows. Especially not my lightning-quick self.

– JP