My Name Is Not Willy

I am unsure if you have experienced something similar like I do.  Day in, day out, I do the same thing, travel the same set of roads, see the same group of people, the same set of buildings; the very sameness that is reinforced by the routine activities that burned inside my head like the burn-in of an old plasma television.  People’s names, bus numbers, addresses, telephone numbers, voicemail passwords, floor numbers, colour of the lifts, decoration of the lobbies, layouts of the office, of the shops, of where I live – everything that seems impossible to forget today.  Fast forward to decades in the future, how much detail would I remember?  Hardly any, I reckon.  But I think memory leak is not the only culprit.  ‘I forgot’ implies that a piece of my memory has vanished.  Yet, memories do not vanish.  Memories get overwritten by memories of similar nature.  Memories get distorted by the dreams that we generate while we are sleeping.  In short, some past memories get buried so deep over time that the more we attempt to peel away the layers, the more distorted they become, which in turn being moulded into something of our imagination.  Perhaps that explains why ex-lovers and past crushes always look exceptionally stunning and beautiful – in our minds.

Here is what I remember when I think of my secondary school in Hong Kong: Through the wooden front entrance, on the right was a row of windows.  On the left was a stall that sold snacks and beverages.  Beyond the stall was an open air spiral staircase that led to an indoor playground at a lower level.  Inside the playground, on the far end was a stage.  On the right was teachers’ office.  I might have been inside for several occasions but I only remember two significant ones.  One time I was being caned.  I forgot what crime I had committed but I remember what punishment I had received.  Another time I wanted to see the vice principal.  Thanking him for helping me to get the scholarship to study in UK.  To express my thanks in a more tangible way, I gave him the honour to give me an English name because I had this concern that British people would find it difficult to remember my Chinese name.  I could see from his glittering eyes that he was happy.  He asked if I wanted a common name or a rare one.  I asked for a rare one in a heartbeat.

Why did I do that?!

So my vice principal opened up a Catholic dictionary for names and picked one for me.  To ensure that I remember where my name comes from, he made a copy of the relevant page for my future reference.  That was before the days of Internet whereby almost anything under the moon and sun is just a Google away.  Till today, I still like the uniqueness of my English given name.  But I cannot deny that it has confused the living hell out of everyone around me.  People have tried to adapt.  Some insist in spelling my name the way they think it should be.  Like Wilfred.  One has taken the liberty to create a nickname for me.

You know how working is like.  There is one task you need to do.  And you have become so focused that people’s chatting around you no longer bothers you, how loud your neighbour types no longer bothers you, even the vacuum machine or the coffee making machine nearby no longer bothers you.  These sources of sound do not vanish.  They are merely overwritten by the internal thinking and dialogues inside your head.  One day while I was totally absorbed in my work, there was a small voice nearby that had become louder and louder until this new colleague of mine had to come really close to me, wave at me, and distract me.  He said, “Willy, I was calling you!”.  WHO?!  To give a bit of background here, he is one great guy at work.  The problem is that I am not trained to response to the name Willy.  I am amused in a sense that I get to relive the journey of how a baby learns to respond to his or her name called by others.  I am also amused in a sense that I could take the opportunity to assume another persona during working hours.  Willy to me is like Sasha Fierce to Beyoncé Knowles.  Wilfrid has integrity, he would not do certain things at work.  But what about Willy?  Perhaps Willy is a retard at work because retards do not need to do much but yet have a role to play.  Or perhaps Willy should be someone ruthless, brutal, who has the mindset of winning is everything, whatever the cost, whatever it takes.  Wilfrid could never be a CEO but perhaps Willy may have a shot?

Now how about that?