A growing number of Malaysians are officially shortening their names to simplify daily tasks like filling forms and signing documents.
SO apparently, 1,575 people have marched themselves to the National Registration Department since 2024 to officially shorten their names. One thousand, five hundred and seventy-five. That is not a statistic, that is a confession.
And this Makcik? She stood in primary school absolutely seething with envy at her friends with their long, elaborate, rolling-off-the-tongue names.
Meanwhile, my name – bless it – could fit on a post-it note with room left over for a grocery list. Less than 10 letters – short, sweet and sudah.
Did I appreciate this gift? Absolutely not. I wanted a LONG name – I wanted drama. I wanted people to pause, collect themselves and take a proper breath before calling me.
I wanted my name announced at assembly and have it echo down the corridor like a royal proclamation. I grieved my short name quietly, the way you grieve the last piece of kuih that someone else took before you could get to it. Sedih tau.
And signatures! Don’t even get me started on that. Those with long names had these magnificent, sweeping, telenovela-worthy signatures – all loops and flourishes and dramatic curves, as though personally commissioned by the royal house. Mine looked like I sneezed on the paper, shrugged and called it a day. There was simply not enough name to work with.
So yes, I sulked – with full commitment. Grudgingly – very grudgingly – I accepted my short name, tucked my wounded pride away somewhere near the back of my heart alongside other unresolved childhood grievances and got on with life.
But then… I got older, wiser and more sabar. And I started filling in forms – government forms, bank forms, insurance forms. Borang after borang – the absolute joy-stealing, soul-crushing kind with tiny individual boxes, one letter per box, staring at you like a personal challenge issued by the universe. The kind where the font is so small you need reading glasses, a torch and possibly a brief motivational speech from your spouse before you even uncap your pen.
And suddenly – I saw the light. My short name is not a consolation prize. It is not something to be mourned over with a warm Milo and a Marie biscuit. My short name is a SUPERPOWER. A nikmat, even. One that I was too young and too foolish to recognise.
While my long-named friends are still hunched over box 14, carefully transferring the fourteenth letter of their name into that tiny, unforgiving square, I am already done – pen capped, form submitted. Sitting back with the quiet, dignified satisfaction of someone who has just won something without making a scene about it.
And travel documents! Passports, boarding passes, hotel check-ins – every single one a fresh obstacle course for those blessed with lengthy names. Their names get cut off, truncated, hyphenated into something completely unrecognisable. They spend 10 minutes at every counter explaining that yes, that is indeed their name, and no, the missing portion is not a clerical error.
Meanwhile, this Makcik sails through like she has absolutely nothing to declare and nowhere to be except the departure lounge.
I used to envy the long names. I truly did. There is something undeniably grand about a name that takes up half a line. Something that says: this person arrived. This person has lineage, history and probably a kampung named after their great-grandfather. I respect it. Seriously, I do.
But I no longer covet it. Here is what nobody tells you when you are young, silly and busy wishing for more letters: a long name is not just a name; it is a whole commitment. It is a lifestyle. Every borang, every registration, every kedai mamak loyalty card sign-up becomes a minor ordeal.
You develop a dramatic signature not out of elegance but out of pure survival – because writing your full name 40 times a day would finish you off completely.
And now, 1,575 of them have had enough. They looked at their names – long, beautiful, lovingly chosen names that their parents bestowed with full ceremony and doa – and thought: you know what, I cannot be doing this anymore. Not for another borang. Not for another tiny box. Not for another bank officer who squints at the screen, looks up slowly and asks them to spell it out – again. From the beginning. Slowly please.
So off they went to the National Registration Department, applications in hand, tired wrists and absolute determination to finally, FINALLY fit neatly into the allotted space.
And this Makcik – who once stood in primary school burning with jealousy over those grand, sweeping, magnificent names – now watches all of this unfold with nothing but warmth, understanding and a small, knowing smile.
Welcome, darlings. Welcome to the short-name club.
We have kuih. We finish our borang first. And our signatures may be humble but they are done in under three seconds and nobody has ever asked us to spell them out.
No offence to those with long names – this Makcik wishes you strength, good lighting and a pen that does not run out halfway through Box seven. You are brave and resilient. You are everything this Makcik never had the stamina to be. Kudos to you all.
Azura Abas is the executive editor of theSun. Comments: letters@thesundaily.com
