You're Unique: Here's How to Humble-Brag

Aarthi Lokram authored a searing piece about the importance of understanding one's identity. She moves from passive to poignant to powerful, pushing the reader through the paces alongside her. (She's also deftly woven in a few key items from her resume.)

And when Aarthi throws down a mic drop at the end, you're standing on your chair cheering for her, Kleenex in hand.

This piece is so lovely and aching, I suggested she publish it for pay. Then, I sent it off to my reporter friends. (With her permission, of course.)

Aarthi will study veterinary science at Texas A&M this fall. Congrats, girl. Nobody will ever forget your name again.

Here you go, fans.

I was invisible to a person staring right at me. My teacher repeatedly looked through me as she searched around the room for a sophomore to read the finance lesson off the board.

It was the same story every day that first week of school. And by Friday, Ms. Timmons had called on everyone but me—some people more than once. I assumed I was just lucky that week.

Another week passed. I remained “lucky.” Was I being...ignored?

I sat in the front row inches from the teacher’s desk always in a gray sweatshirt and knock-off Birkenstocks. I was the one with a backpack stuffed full of rainbow pens. It was like my name was stolen from the class vocabulary. I didn’t exist.

My name is Aarthi. It’s derived from Sanskrit. It’s actually not hard to pronounce: “Rrr-thee.”

A month passed.

And suddenly, “Aarthi?” a voice whispered.

I turned around apprehensively. Ms. Timmons leaned over her desk. I could see every wrinkle on her forehead.

“I know I haven’t been saying your name right,” she said.

“No, that’s right,” I said, bailing her out.

I should have let her squirm but I was confused…and furious.

Here Ms. Timmons took the time to learn every other student’s name in our 25-person class yet waited weeks to ask mine.

I’ve always dismissed my name: Aarthi. I never thought of it as an important piece of my identity. I knew who I was: a girl who loved clothes fresh out of the dryer, the smell of morning rain, the way my dog smiled at me.

I’m Aarthi.

I made the mistake of not requiring my gymnastics students to know my name. I didn’t think it mattered. Now, after working at this job for over a year, I’ve become forgotten. I saw some of the same kids for 12 hours every week one summer. Students still don’t remember my name--or me. The impact I’m making on these kids and the effort I put into coaching them is lost without my name attached to it.

I have no legacy.

It took years of aggravating passiveness on the part of all kinds of people for me to realize that by not having a name, I’ll become part of the background. My name is more than six letters strung together: It’s my hallmark, a home to store my personality, ideas, emotions. If I want to stand out and have an impact in life, people need to know my name.

My gymnastics coach, J., however, knows names are important.

An announcer at a gymnastics competition awards ceremony once called me up to accept an achievement, butchering my name in the process. I’ve grown numb to this, so the mispronunciation didn't phase me. J., however, stood up for me.

He called out the correct pronunciation.

“It’s Aarthi,” he said. “Rrr-thee.”

I looked at him in dismay.

“What?” he asked. “You won. They should say your name right.”

I understand that he saw: He wanted everyone to know who was beating them. He wanted my name to be synonymous with “gold medal.”

I learned this: If someone else saw the impact of my six letters, why shouldn’t I?

Now I’ve finally grasped its value.

“Aarthi” means “to worship with fire” in my family’s native language.

It’s a definition I never really identified with until now: I saw myself as a timid person, one who never even corrects others when they mispronounce my name.

Today I have a newfound fire within me. I’m determined to make people know my name--and how to pronounce it--because my name is worthy.

Aarthi is a gold medalist. Aarthi is a friend. Aarthi is kind. Aarthi is persistent.

Aarthi is worthy.

I.

Am.

Worthy.