Veronica was someone I met at a nail salon. She is a young, giggly lady who harbors hilarious opinions on everything under the sun: Chinese food is so spicy; young children are so spoiled; I can't find a handsome Chinese man.

One fine afternoon, she texted me to say that she had changed her name. "Call me Vanessa." Then she sent me a WeChat Add with her new persona.

This was a novelty to me being American and Western in many ways. Our names stay with us from the cradle to the grave. We don't change our names because we're bored with them or something better comes along. We're stuck with them like a hair stuck on a soap bar.

Some Chinese people, I'm finding out, have both a Chinese name and a Western name. Some acquire Western names when they live abroad and would like to quickly assimilate. Others are given Western names at an early age by their parents in the hope of giving them a head start in a world that has become too globalized and competitive. Others use their Western names as their calling card. Tech titan Ma Yun now goes by Jack Ma.

I know twin sisters who are given the Western names Maria and Milly. Their birth names are the Chinese equivalent of "big sister" and "little sister". Maria and Milly are easy to remember. Some Chinese people tell me they use Western names for the convenience of foreigners who have a hard time remembering three-word Chinese names.

Western names have no value at all except maybe for convenience and cuteness. They do not replace Chinese names in official documents. They're used the way Westerners use nicknames. Chinese people can acquire a Western name at any age and they can change it as many times as they want.

People have a complicated relationship with their Western names for deeply personal reasons that strike at the heart of what it means to be Chinese. My friend Chenxi is one of them.

She called herself Emma when she was studying in the UK to make her name easy to pronounce and remember by her teachers and classmates. Until she realized the name Emma－randomly picked for her by her primary schoolteacher－was not who she was. "It was only a symbol to use at school."

On the contrary, her Chinese name, Chenxi, well thought-out by her parents, has a profound meaning and speaks to her identity. In her own words: "The word chenxi, meaning the first ray of sunshine in the morning, came to my parents' mind when they first saw me, because I was born early in the day. They told me that they hope I will be full of vigor, just like the strength brought by the sunlight. I believe this is the best present my mom and dad gave to me－my name, a symbol of my cultural roots and Chinese identity that should be carried with me wherever I go."

Le Qin, with whom I share lunch at work, remembers choosing her Western name with her best friend in primary school. They sat down one day and with a dictionary picked out their preferred names. She chose Nancy and is happy with it.

Chinese people either love or hate their Anglo names. A little girl in my neighborhood, who is 4 years old, scowls every time I say, "Ni hao, Sherry". Her kindly mother, always smiling apologetically, tells me she wants to be called by her Chinese name.

As you wish, Mengmei. As you wish.