The Name That Wasn’t Mine – But Followed Me for Years

🔹 The Beginning of It All

These days, it feels like a trend—students who are quiet or not very mischievous are often the ones picked on. They become easy targets. Today, I’m sharing a personal story—one that brought me pain, isolation, and left behind a scar I still carry.

It started back in Grade 6, during the winter session. My older brother had kindly bought me a new school jacket. Since I wasn’t with him at the time, he chose the size randomly. When I tried it at home, it was a little big, but not in an awkward way. My mother, understanding our financial situation, said:

> “It’s good. When you grow up a bit, it will fit you perfectly. Buying a smaller size now would only mean buying another one next year. We can’t afford that.”

So, I wore the jacket with pride, even if it wasn’t a perfect fit. At first, nobody noticed.


🔹 The Day Everything Changed

One day in class, something unexpected happened. The teacher asked me to stand and answer a question. But instead of calling me by my name, he looked at me and made a joke.
He called me a funny nickname based on my jacket — a name I still can’t write because it hurts too much.

The entire class laughed.
I froze.
That moment? It shattered something inside me.

Even today, I hold deep respect for that teacher. But whenever I remember that moment, it burns inside. A teacher—a figure meant to support, to uplift—was the first to laugh at me in front of the whole class.

He probably thought it was a lighthearted joke. But for me, it became a painful identity I never asked for.

🔹 The Name That Stuck

From that day onward, my classmates started using that nickname.
They forgot my real name.
Even my friends—yes, the ones I trusted—began calling me by that name. It spread like wildfire.

I tried to complain.
I gathered courage to speak up.
But the teacher brushed it off:

> “Oh come on, it was just for fun.”

But it wasn’t fun for me.
Not that day. Not the next. Not for years.

🔹 Five Years of Silent Pain

That silly nickname followed me from Grade 6 to Grade 10. Five years. I kept waiting—hoping that one day someone would stop, someone would say, “Hey, that’s not his name.” But no one did.

And so, I slowly distanced myself. I let go of friends, avoided conversations, and accepted my silence as a shield.

Now, I’ve completed my graduation. Life moved on. But that pain? It still lives quietly inside me.

Why?
Because that joke wasn’t just a joke.
It became my identity for others… but never for me.

🔹 A Message to Teachers and Students

To every teacher out there:
Please be careful. Your words can stick longer than you imagine. A simple comment, said in front of a class, can live in a student’s mind for years.

To every student who’s ever been mocked or labeled:
You’re not alone.
Your name is yours.
Your silence doesn’t make you weak.
And one day, your voice will matter.

Final Thoughts

It’s easy for others to say, “It was just a name,” or “You should’ve ignored it.” But the truth is — some wounds don’t bleed, they echo. They echo in your silence, in your hesitation to speak up, in the friends you walk away from, and in the laughter that no longer feels safe.

We often talk about physical bullying, but emotional bullying — especially when it’s rooted in mockery and humiliation — can leave deeper scars. What hurts the most is not just the name, but the feeling of being seen as a joke, even by people you respected. When a teacher, a person who should be a guide and protector, becomes the one who starts the joke — the pain multiplies.

Years later, I’ve grown. I’ve healed — partially. But that version of me, standing silently in a classroom filled with laughter that wasn’t kind, still lives somewhere in me.

If you’re a teacher reading this: Be careful with your words.
If you’re a student: Be kind to the quiet ones.
And if you’ve ever been in my place — please know:
You are not alone. Your voice still matters. And your real name still deserves to be heard.