I’m officially no longer J M—ana.
My brother and I no longer have the same initials. When they called me to pick up my amended passport, it took me a minute to register that it was me they were calling. I was in fact Mrs.XXX. I don’t really like being a Mrs.XXX, I like Ms. Massana. I like the way it rolls off my tongue. Thousands of women disappear every day when they take their husband’s name. I never wanted to be one of them. Alas…
We’ve been married for a while, but I made excuses for oh… a year and a half as to why I couldn’t change my name. First, it was that I needed a new passport so I would need a new picture. To get a new picture I would need a better hairstyle. Then I needed to lose weight before I got a new picture because the old picture was cute and I didn’t want a new ugly picture. Then it was that the US issues new passports with chips. I didn’t want to be chipped.
Now, since I have to register permanently and stop pussy footing around with temporary extensions, I had to bite the bullet. And they just added the data to my old chipless, good pictured passport.
If there were a “von” somewhere in Markus’ name, I might have changed it earlier. A “von Blank” is way cooler than Massana. Otherwise, Massana is way cooler than anything German. Markus claims that the German government frowns upon adding a von where there was never a von to begin with. I say we buck the system and just start telling people our new name. He says no and since he’s the husband and I’m simply chattel, I don’t have
a choice, a voice, the option.
Anyway it’s over and done. Should I mourn the loss of Jennifer M—ana or should I celebrate my newfound identity as someone’s wife?
Markus sent me this to help me with my transition.