Penang Mufti Wan Salim Mohd Noor recently advised Muslim parents to consult ulamas before naming their children. According to him, a child would cultivate the characteristics associated with the meaning of his name.

He said this while commenting on an application by a parent to change the name of his daughter from Nur Damia Sufiyya to Putri Nur Safiyya, an issue that has gone viral on WhatsApp. He confirmed that “Damia” is Arabic for “source of bleeding”.

The mufti’s advice made me reflect on my own name and the names of people around me.

I was named after my aunt, Mira Fatima, who died young when a tree fell on her while she was waiting for a bus. As a child, I took pride in being someone who carried the name of my father’s most beloved sister and the Prophet’s beloved daughter. It was during my early school years that an ustazah popped my bubble. She said the Prophet’s daughter was Fatimah, not Fatima. I was told that “Fatimah” or “Fatmah” meant “the Independent One”, while “Fatima” was meaningless.

I remember Ustazah Hasnah’s exact words some thirty years ago. “If only your name was ‘Fatimah’, every time someone called your name, it would be a supplication, a prayer for you to become a wise, independent one. Sadly, your parents made a big mistake and denied you all those blessings.”

Funny, but this meaningless one has still managed to be independent despite the spelling error.

I had a classmate in secondary school whose name was Azura. Everyone made fun of her following a preacher’s statement on local media at the time that “Azura” meant “dried faeces”. She was upset, of course, but continued to carry the name nonetheless.

Years later, we read about some other preacher coming forward to clarify that it was only in old Arabic that “Azura” carried that bad meaning. In modern Arabic, he said, the word means “blue sky”. What a huge honour it must be for all the Azuras of the world to be promoted from “dried faeces” to “blue sky”.

My sister-in-law, who is Chinese, decided not to change her name upon her conversion to Islam. She did not opt to become a Siti or a Nurul or a Nur like many other converts. Even in her identification card, she maintained her surname and her birth name. Of course, the decision made many relatives and friends frown.

But my mother has the perfect answer for them. “If God understands all our prayers, even those made in our own native language, be it Malay or Tamil, what makes you think God prefers names in Arabic? After all, my daughter-in-law’s name carries a beautiful meaning in its original language. It means ‘Lotus.’”

While my sister-in-law is beautiful inside and out just like a lotus, there are many people who do not have the characteristics associated with their names. Take my daughter, for example. Her father named her Sabrina, hoping she would be someone who is patient and calm, as indicated by the meaning of the word in Arabic. Interestingly, my sweetheart Sabrina is the least patient person I know. But that’s okay, because she possesses many other good qualities which are not symbolised by her name.

So what’s in a name? It is what we make of ourselves that really matters.

With due respect to the Penang Mufti, I am sure a Damia can be “the Wise One” or “the Compassionate One” despite the meaning of her name, as long as she is raised well.

I believe it’s time Muslim parents stop prioritising insignificant matters and give weight to important things. Stop wasting too much time agonising over your children’s names and start thinking about their education and the values you instil in them.

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