His passport still bears the name “Angelos Postekos”. It was the name legally given to him by his parents, eager for their children to fit into their adopted home, aware that they would face enough obstacles – a different language, a different culture, a different skin tone – without throwing a long name into the bargain.
But he always hated the name Postekos. To him it smelled too much of embarrassment. Of apologising for who you were. Of changing your essence to please others. Of compromise. And so, as soon as he had any say in the matter, he resolved he would be known by the name his father had used, and those who came before him, back in the old country. Before everything changed forever.
