There’s nothing interesting about how I got my name. My parents just liked it. I don’t mind my name, but I used to hate it, with a passion. This is why:
That’s what they used to call me. I never found it funny, but everyone else did. We were in primary school, just starting to learn letters and how to pronounce them. Learning that C can be pronounced with both a K sound and a S sound.
Camilla. Kamilla. Samilla.
Mrs. Johansen, our teacher, used to do this thing at the end of each day where she would say a letter, for example M, and everyone with a name starting with the letter M could leave. She would go on like that until we were all gone.
“Everyone with a name starting with C can go” she would say. I would get up, ready to leave, and Simen, a boy in my class, always in some sort of trouble, would laugh and shout at me.
“Why are you leaving, Samilla?”
“You have to wait for your letter, Samilla”
“Samilla. Samilla. Samilla.”
All the kids would laugh. I would too. I didn’t want them to know how much I hated them making fun of my name.