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English
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2021-05-14
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Name

Summary:

Zoro's name is important to him. It's just not important enough to pick fights over pronunciations.

Notes:

This is inspired by this video.

The lines in the beginning are taken from the video too.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

For our full names
Past and present
May they be pronounced
May they be respected

His name was Zoro.  The "r" in there was supposed to be a clean and crisp flick behind the teeth, not as hard as a real "l", but not nearly as messy as the way people liked to roll it on their tongues.  The name was actually important to him, the only thing he had left of his biological parents.

"My name is Nami.  What's yours?"  The witch asked when Luffy sent Buggy flying in Orange Town.

"Zoro."

"Zorro."  She rolled it. "You have a cute accent."

How could it be an accent when all he said was his name?  How could he be wrong in the pronunciation of something in which he was the only living expert?

She called him "Zorro" since then, and he didn't correct her.  He didn't pick petty fights.  His name was not a petty matter to him, but insisting that others knew this, or any part of him, was.  As much as his ambition was built on the ideas of strength and power and dominance, his understanding of those was rooted in his culture.  He knew the strength of meekness.  He knew the power of restraint.  He knew the dominance of harmony.  Harmony with his spirit, harmony with his surroundings, with his blades, his nakama.  Harmony was what his culture was about, a culture from a faraway land called Wano Kuni, the Land of Harmony.

For the sake of harmony, he was willing to bend and fold himself to fit into the place that a nakama allowed for him.  For the sake of harmony, he was willing to take a step back when a nakama pushed into his space.  For this, he was willing to take on "Zorro" as a nickname to save a nakama the trouble of learning the language from his perspective, to make it easier for a nakama to know him.  That was what she was, a nakama.

Luffy took the time and effort to properly and painstakingly learn his name by constantly pestering him to repeat it.  Zoro put on his annoyed face whenever the boy did it, but the gesture made him happy from the deepest corner of his heart.

Those who joined since then had more or less decided that Nami was the one to be trusted when it came to pronunciations, so they rolled the "r" and called him Zorro.  He didn't correct them.  Trying to convince someone of the importance of your name when they didn't bother trying to get it right was a petty matter, much like trying to convince the thugs in Mock Town of the existence of Sky Island when they didn't have the will to look for it.  That was why Zoro understood it perfectly when Luffy told him not to attack in that little bar.  That was why Nami didn't.

Robin was the only one who picked up on the distinction from the way Zoro responded.  Nothing escaped that damn woman.

The Shit Cook forwent calling him by name entirely.  Zoro returned in kind.

He was under the impression that the blond was avoiding using his name because he too couldn't get it right, but then came one of their moments in the crow's nest at night, with the cook's breaths on the tip of his nose, those precious hands tangled in his green hair, the visible blue eye lidded with want.

His name fell from those cigarette flavoured lips, unintentionally it seemed, with a perfectly clean flick behind the teeth.  Zoro's breath caught in his throat.

"Zoro."  The cook breathed, and the swordsman leaned in with a kiss, silently wishing his lips conveyed how much it meant to him.

Because it wasn't a petty thing after all.

Notes:

I've never been much of a social justice warrior. As an Asian, I never liked talking about racism against Asians because it's not nearly as simple as "don't discriminate" and "don't assume". We as a culture tend to swallow our discontentment instead of voicing them because we value harmony where western society value justice, and we value collective well being where western society value individual perspectives. As a system it works when everyone is on the same page about valuing harmony and the collective, but when we are placed in a western society, the system becomes flawed. We leave the others in a difficult position where they either have to go out of their way to GUESS what we're unhappy about or they go about stepping on our toes and being called inconsiderate.

That's why it's often said that racism towards Asians is subtle. It's subtle because the offenders don't even know that we're offended, and we don't talk about it.

So you know an Asian is REALLY upset when you finally hear them speak up. I was quite shaken by the video linked above when I realized that I haven't really used my real name since the start of high school. I had to pick an English name to make it easy for people to know me and to interact with me. It's not that we mind doing that. We're quite willing as a culture to bend and fold and stretch and roll to fit whatever space we're given. We stay small and lie low and keep out of trouble. But just because we're quiet and willing to accommodate doesn't mean we don't have feelings. It doesn't mean we're not bothered by mistreatments and accusations and open malice.

The next time you come across a name that you're not confident you can learn to pronounce on the spot, try asking about the meaning of the name instead.