Two Names, One Person

When I was twelve, my family moved from a small town in Vietnam to a cold city in Canada.

My first winter there felt endless, and I missed the warm streets where I used to play.

At school, my teacher could not say my real name, so she called me "Anna" instead.

I did not correct her because I was too shy.

For two years, I answered to Anna while my family still called me Lan at home.

It was like living two separate lives.

One afternoon, a classmate asked why my lunch looked different from hers.

I explained that it was my mother's cooking, and she asked me to share.

That small moment made me feel less strange.

Later, I started writing my real name on my homework, and nobody laughed.

Now I understand that I do not have to choose between Lan and Anna.

Both of them are me, and both belong to my story.