What’s in a (Nick)name?
Introducing myself has been an elaborate dance: “It’s Karryl. Like Darryl, but with a K.”
I still remember my first day of primary school: my tiny feet shuffling towards the microphone in our school hall, heart racing.
“Karryl,” I said, my voice oddly deep in the echo chamber.
“Hi Karleen!” the principal chirped.
At six years old, I was already learning that my name would be a constant source of anxiety.
Growing up, introducing myself became an elaborate dance. “It’s Karryl. Like Darryl, but with a K,” I’d explain, watching people’s faces scrunch in confusion.
Despite my efforts, people have been creative with my name.
Karen.
Kara.
Karrly (so close but not quite!).
And the most common one: Karylle (ka-REEL), because of the Filipino actress-singer.
On Facebook Messenger, you’d think people would get it right because your name is right next to your photo. But one classmate called me “Kate” in a casual exchange about a makeup competition.
My family fondly called me by my nickname “Karr.” And I loved it.
Despite the one syllable alternative, even relatives still misnamed me. An aunt insisted on calling me “Karl” despite my corrections. “Ok na yan,” she said, waving her hand like she was swatting away a fly. As if my preference for my own name was an inconvenience.
Eventually, I stopped correcting people. Learned to laugh it off. Thank God for my true friends who put in the effort to say and spell my name right.
But the misnamings felt like tiny paper cuts — minor and perhaps unintentional — but chipping away at my confidence. When people don’t bother to learn your name correctly, it sends a message: You’re not important enough to remember.
Then came my college internship, and with it, an unexpected shift.
My sister introduced me to a video production house through a family friend who also called me “Karr.”
To my surprise, it stuck.
Hearing coworkers call me Karr felt like carrying a piece of home into the workplace, a warm familiarity in a professional space.
In that internship, my confidence started to bloom. I met talented TV producers who let me tag along in their shoots, and included me in off-cam chit-chat with business founders. The company even entrusted me — an awkward 20-year-old college student — to direct my very own show segment.
A year later, the CEO sent me an email. A job offer that opened with “Hi, Karr.”
10 years, 3 companies, and many freelance jobs have passed since then. But I’ve carried the “Karr” name preference with me, though with a tinge of self-consciousness.
My girlfriend later pointed out something I’d never considered: “Karr Katigbak” has a nice ring to it. The alliteration, the punch of those K’s — it’s distinct, memorable.
What I once saw as an odd name that drew puzzled looks and car-related jokes — “Karr? Like *steering wheel gesture*? — became something I embraced.
Now, I introduce myself as Karr in every new space I enter.
One syllable, impossible to mispronounce, and carries both family history and professional presence. In choosing this name, I’ve found my stride. No more accepting misnamings, no more people-pleasing.
It’s funny how names mark the chapters of our lives.
If you knew me in school, you probably still call me Karryl.
If we’re old friends who’ve reconnected, you’ve likely adapted to Karr. These variations have become timestamps of sorts, marking when and how people entered my life.
Shakespeare once said, “What’s in a name?”
For me, the answer is everything: identity, confidence, growth, and the courage to choose how the world addresses you.
So yes, you can call me Karr — and now you know why.
Note: This essay was refined with AI assistance. All ideas, anecdotes, and final editing are entirely my own.
