“In English my name means hope.In Spanish it means too many letters.It means sadness,it means waiting.It is like the number nine.A muddy color.It is the Mexican records my father plays on Sunday mornings when he is shaving,songs like sobbing.
“It was my great-grandmother's name and now it is mine.She was a horse woman too,born like me in the Chinese year of the horse—which is supposed to be bad luck if you're born female—but I think this is a Chinese lie because the Chinese,like the Mexicans,don't like their woman strong.
“At school they say my name funny as if the syllables were made out of tin and hurt the roof of your mouth.But in Spanish my name is made out of a softer something,like silver,not quite as thick as sister's name—Magdalena—which is uglier than mine.Magdalena who as least can come home and become Nenny.But I am always Esperanza.
“I would like to baptize myself under a new name,a name more like real me,the one nobody sees.Esperanza as Lisandra or Maritza or Zeze the X.Yes.Something like Zeze the X will do.”