That’s my name. A personal essay.

When people ask me if I wanted to be called Mahlet or Molly. I tend to go with Molly. I had an uncle who called me Mahaleta when I was young. He was a great guy. I always knew it was him calling when I heard that name. Just about everyone else called me Molly. I liked it because I didn’t have to hear the mispronunciation.

Although I have heard various pronunciation that made me smile. Mahoho was one so I shortened it more to Misty. That went well actually. It was the abbreviation of my full name. I used that my senior year when I wanted to be normal or in my case unique. My aunt used to ride motorcycles and that became my biker name. Who would imagine me on the back of a Harley or Gold Wing?

These days I get the funny looks of people trying to figure out if I am a foreigner or Habasha. It gets annoying until people accept me for who I am. An Ethiopian American. I don’t claim a region or language. It was my choice. Nobody pushed me. When people ask why don’t I speak Amharic or Oromo I have a simple answer. I had to learn the grammar of English. You try it sometime and let me know how that goes.

I think my grandparents would have loved me just the way I am. I love helping others that is the universal language. They probably be shocked with how much I have achieved so far. Plus I know how to pour a good cup of coffee that is the entry fee. Hospitality is another universal language that I speak. Can’t beat that! I give my experience in Customer Service the boast it needs. God knew I needed somewhere to be accepted.

So that’s my story and I am sticking to it!

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