As the first gift a parent gives their child, a person’s name becomes a cornerstone of their identity. From being instinctively answered to when called from afar to shaping first impressions, a name holds the power to jumpstart one’s self-discovery. Many names are drawn from favorite flowers or biblical characters, but what happens when this novel feature is shared among one’s family ancestry?
Namesaking is the practice of naming a child after an older relative—either completely or partially lifted, or slightly modified. Employed as a strategy for a family’s promotion of personal and group identity, this tradition has carried on across many generations, having served as a cultural signifier within both the family unit and the community it is a part of.
The LaSallian sits down with students from the University who exemplify this phenomenon, proving that names are beyond mere words on a birth certificate but can also be ways to preserve the values that one’s family embodies.
“What the heck?! That’s me!”
The tradition of names being passed down has been built upon the legacy of respected family members, whether to uphold the memories of loved ones or to simply continue familial customs. This unique link, rooted in respect and heritage, allows stories to flow and memories to persist.
For many, unearthing the origins of their names is often an “Aha!” moment. Xiana Lizette Flores’ (III, AB-SOC) name stems from her late great-grandmother Emeryn Ciana. The discovery of her name’s origin came abruptly when, as a kid, she pronounced the name written on her late great-grandmother’s gravestone during a cemetery visit: “What the heck?! That’s me!”
Xiana shares, “I think it also kind of affected me in a way, knowing I’m her namesake of some sort,” recalling how she eventually began to understand and embrace her namesake, “I wanted to be that great of a person as well.” Her name was even consulted with a Chinese numerologist, who tells of how a child’s birth date and name are related to their future life path. In her case, they spell out strength.
Meanwhile, Jose Lorenzo Pablo “Jolo” Crespo (III, AB-ISA) carries the names of both his Lolo Jose from his mother’s side and Lolo Pablo from his father’s side. Jolo shares that he could have been the fourth Pablo in his family line. His father was meant to be named after his own father, whom he closely resembled, but the name Pablo Jr. had already been given to his older brother (Jolo’s uncle).
Jolo originally found his name a little old-fashioned, but later learned to accept it. “There’s a sense of honor and prestige in carrying their name [and] legacy. But at the same time, it also challenges me to have my own identity and carve my own path,” he opines. Coming from a family of businessmen from Sorsogon and politicians in Laguna, Jolo’s interests consequently lie in classroom political debates and international law.
Kim Williame Jra. Lee (V, BSMSCS) takes from her father William. The rather unconventional Jra. suffix is a feminization of the Jr. suffix. Her grandfather and her dad, both Chinese immigrants, were once William Sr. and Jr., respectively. But while undertaking the President Marcos Sr.-era naturalization process through the Letter of Instructions (LOI) No. 270, both suffixes were dropped during a name change decreed by the supplementary LOI No. 292.
Kim is the youngest of three sisters, but she divulges that her parents were gunning for a son to pass on the William name. To “compensate,” she inherited the name and adapted the Jra. suffix. Despite their difference in gender, Kim and her dad still share their inquisitiveness and innate curiosity. “Nung bata [ako], madalas kasi siyang nanonood ng mga National Geographic, Discovery Channel…minsan makikinood din ako,” Kim recounts.
(When I was a child, my dad would often watch National Geographic or Discovery Channel… sometimes I’d watch with him.)
Pride, no prejudice
Being a namesake can bring pride, yet it can also cast a quiet shadow. For Kim, it took shape over stressful layers of technical occurrences: mismatched documents, incorrect records, and delayed government clearances. “Up until now, when I fill out forms, I still overthink which variation of my name to use.”
A clerical misunderstanding of Kim’s Jra. suffix became a puzzle she constantly had to piece together, leading to years of inconsistency between her school records and legal identification. To resolve it, she had to undergo a legal name correction to move her suffix to her first name, which not only demanded time and energy but also forced her to reckon with the unintended weight that a name can carry.
Tracing a name’s lineage, especially in a combination of successful ones, elders’ reputations can precede the young namesake. “I think I disassociate myself a little bit…from them or even from my parents because they’re [all] pretty much successful,” Jolo opens. Though there was no explicit pressure to follow in their footsteps, their towering legacies left a long silhouette that is hard to ignore. For him, the challenge was not to fill their shoes but to walk his own road—with their stories echoing behind him, not directing him.
Beyond this, the hard part is learning how to navigate what remains in their namesake’s absence. For Xiana, the challenge lay in grief. Her family’s reluctance to discuss death and loss led her where she had to seek counseling and therapy. “One [piece of] advice was [that] you have to talk to your family about the experiences you had with these people…to keep their memory alive and to let the young ones know who they were as a person,” she shares. Her effort to connect with her ancestors became a step toward self-actualization apart from her great-grandmother.
Quiet inheritance
Being a namesake is never about simply carrying a name; it’s about confronting the legacy it holds, the silences it inherits, and the systems it disrupts. Even derivations of names or some unconventional means like numerology can bridge connections between generations.
Whether through grief, expectations, or bureaucracy, each namesake finds their own way forward in honoring the past while making space for who they are becoming. In the end, a name is not a destination but a point of origin and a journey—a quiet inheritance that each one must learn to ultimately make their own.
This article was published in The LaSallian‘s June 2025 issue. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSJune2025.
