N a m e s
are undoubtedly an interesting concept. If
you think about it, they are something we all passively inherit. You don’t get
to choose it, even though you can legally modify it later in life. They are
something that everyone knows you by. They become not only a title, something
used to get someone’s attention, but they are then associated with a memory, a
personality, and a soul. It’s like a word in the English language that becomes
the word for that person; in a way, the names begin to take on a personality of
their own. In that sense, they are not “merely” titles, they mean so much more
about who we are. There’s something sacred about parents choosing a name for
their child. It shows the anticipation they had for 9 months (or longer),
waiting for this soul to come into the world. It reveals their hopes for that
child’s life and their love in painstakingly choosing the perfect name; most
often they will choose names that are dear to them, adored even, and make their
heart soft. They think of nicknames they will want to use for that child.
Sometimes they will even name their child after someone else that was important
to them to protect the memory and legacy of that person.
I
was fortunate enough to inherit not just any name, but a name shared by my
mother and my grandmother, who is Estonian. Growing up, it was hard for me to
understand what an incredible woman my grandmother was. She escaped her
homeland -- Estonia, during World War II just before the Nazi’s invaded, met my
grandfather -- an American soldier in Germany, and moved to America to start a
family with him.
Her courage and bravery were unmatchable. She made the
connections and arrangements for her and her family to leave, she braved her
circumstances like a fearless leader, and her sacrifices were the only way that
our family could even come to be. She could be feisty and lively, vibrant and
full of life, but always kind and loving. Her strong statements always
collapsed into laughter and made her nothing less than adored by all of us. She
would talk about your life far more than she would talk about her own, and
like any good Estonian, she would not dwell on communicating the emotional
aspects of any story. The answers were always plain and simple. That’s the way
it was. We had to flee, we had no choice. And things turned out how they did,
what else do you want to know? Most of us in that situation might ask ourselves, "Why is this happening to me?" and it amazes me that she always seemed to see past her own comforts and even the life she might have "deserved"; rather than questioning why this enormous uprooting was happening in her life, she persisted through it and found a solution; she refused to dwell on the emotional aspects of this change and rather keep her chin raised, eyes on the horizon, and keep a fierce determination by her side, and all at such a young age.
It’s
especially meaningful to me to share her name this week because we are
celebrating her memorial, celebrating her life and the family she started. She
became the matriarch of a large family and
we owe her our history and our heritage. Because so many citizens had to flee during World War II and Estonia
lost so much of their population, generations like me were granted citizenship
so that the culture of Estonia might not be lost. It feels like a free and
undeserved all-access pass, since I don’t speak a wick of Estonian and have only
spent one week there in my entire life. But it is not something I take lightly;
it is a true privilege, a way for me to carry my heritage and the sacrifice my
grandmother made for our family, and I hope that I can make the most of that
honor.
I would like to think I inherited some of these
traits from her. I can’t say that
I recognize them, but I would be honored if I had an ounce of her courage, a
small dose of her resilience, and even a taste of her joy. She was always
enjoying herself, and she meant more than she may ever have recognized to those
around her. She called me
Kaia Kena
, which is an Estonian name meaning “little
sweetie.” I was her only granddaughter, and I savor the little Estonian we
could get out of her. The most important thing she left me was her name and the
legacy she started with it. When considering a name to go with my new music,
Kaia Kena became an obvious choice, because of all that it represents in my
heritage and the traits my grandmother had that I aspire to embody.
As
a young child, my family reminds me how I saw my grandpa visit us as Santa Claus
on Christmas. Not recognizing him, but realizing he was late for the party, I
rushed under the Christmas tree to give him a present. I didn’t understand the
concept of Santa or even really that I had picked up someone else’s present to
give away ;) but from an early age, she saw something in me that compelled her
to call me an Estonian “little sweetie.” The official definition of the word is
“nice,” “lovely,” and “kind.” I can only aspire to live up to the name she has
given me and the nickname that will define me my whole life. My whole family knows me
as Kaia Kena (as we had to distinguish between me and my mom who also shares
the same). I am Kaia Kena. It’s natural. It’s organic. It’s how I identify. And
I’m excited to share not only this personal name, but more of my self and more
of my heart in my music.
Cheers
to a new season, a new name, a new start.
With love,
KK
If I'm gonna tell a real story, I'm gonna start with my name.
-Kendrick Lamar
