My name, Haruko, means “spring child” in a direct translation. It is not an unusual name though girl names with -ko at the end are becoming less and less popular in Japan these days. I have always liked my name. Spring is the time of the year everything comes alive: plants, animals, people. The world suddenly becomes more vivid in color and the warmth in the air makes you smile. Well, at least it makes me smile. I was born in May, so naturally, I love spring. Yet, there is another meaning in my name. Most Japanese kids get Chinese characters for their names. The sound of the name, as well as the Chinese characters for it, gives the extra meaning to your name. Almost all people think of my name as 春子 when they hear my name. 春 simply means spring. Yet, my parents decided not to use this character but used 東 instead. 東 means east. It also means orient. It is pretty rare to use this character and read as Haru, so most of the time I meet Japanese people who have only saw my name in Chinese characters, they read it wrong. I once asked my mother why she had named me with this character. I think she was at the terrace, putting up the fresh laundry. Simply out of curiosity, I turned to her and asked. She said, "because when the first wind blows from the east, it means the spring is near." Then she smiled. I am not sure how long ago it was, how old I was, or which season it was. But in my memory, it was always spring, with soft sunlight bouncing on my mother's face and the towel she was putting up. I just loved how she said it. Whenever someone asks why I have an unusual character for my name, I proudly tell this story. With a smile. After I moved to the U.S., the first reaction I got whenever I told my name to people has always been “huh?” Many people misheard my name as Erika. I cannot tell you how many times I've told my name at Starbucks and got my drink in a cup named Erika. Nowadays I just tell my name as Erika at Starbucks. Maybe I should just pick a random name, such as Elizabeth or Beyoncé. Still, when I write down my name, especially in Japanese, I feel a little sense of pride. I remember the thought my parents put into naming my name. I remember my mother's smile. I remember the slight feel of triumph when non-Japanese people remembered my name perfectly. As I write this in freezing winter, I long for spring. I long for my season. I would love to see the soft sunlight bouncing on the fresh towel at the terrace. I long to feel the warm east wind on my face and to know the spring is near.