Tradition is not something I ever associated with Germans, or at least most Germans.

Being born in Colombia and raised in Guatemala, both Catholic countries with their fare share of machismo and sexism, I always thought of myself as a forward thinker, and a modern woman. I used to think I would be a better fit in Europe, which for the most part has proven to be true (at least in Germany).

I mean, never would I have dreamed of, or even imagined going to a nudist beach in Latin America.

But in my progressive Colombian household I always grew up knowing my name until the day I die would be the one given by my parents. My first name, plus the last names of my father and my mother. The two people who gave me life, who have influenced, supported me, and taught me the most in life. The names which make up such an essential part of my identity, and which I share with my brother.

Why would I ever get rid of such a wonderful symbol of belonging and pride? Why would I ever change the name I have lived with for almost three decades?

When I arrived to the registrar’s office in the small town of Brühl, a few kilometers south of Cologne, Germany, I was asked to write down the name I would have after the marriage. I automatically wrote down the name I have always had. Why would it change?

At the end of the civil marriage the lady marrying us congratulated us and stopped for a second as she thought through how to introduce us since she could not present the couple with just one name the way it’s done with most couples. It was not a big deal, she just simply said both of our names which was funny because Rivera is not a particular easy name for a non-Spanish speaking German.

Over this first year of marriage I have had a couple of instances in which I have been assumed to be Amelia Broich; or in which friends of my husband have made the subtle remark that I decided to not take his name. The most insistent and funniest probably has been my father in law who was hopeful to have more people with his name. He’s cool with me being who I am, but I can tell from his recurrent comment that he would have definitely loved for me to take a name that showed I belonged to his family. But isn’t his son also becoming part of my family?

I do believe that by marrying someone I am becoming part of another family, but I do not need to change my name for that to happen. I continue to be part of my own family. Women who change their names when they get married also do not need to keep their maiden names in order to continue being part of their families. It is a choice most women have, and should continue to have. But this is not a decision men are faced with. They are who they are, and belong to nobody.

These are all symbols, but I have unconsciously and now very consciously chosen to keep my name. Why? Because I personally do not like what this symbolizes, at least to me. I can see how many women do not think too much of it and do it out of love. Because they are proud to become someone’s wife.

But I did not become someone’s property. I became someone’s partner, and so did he. Because we both have had lives of our own and came together with the idea to share and grow together. Not to belong to each other, but to support and accompany each other for as long as we can make each other happy. And I especially did not marry my husband because I think that as a woman I need to show respect or belonging by changing my name to his. I married an equal.

I know it is a tradition not that many women question, and most do not even see the changing of names as this symbolic theft of our identity in order to become someone else’s property. And the same way some could argue that also having the father’s last name followed by the mother’s show a hierarchical structure within Hispanic families, which I agree it does. But someone’s name has to be first, and I do not feel anything against my father’s last name to go and change the order, and love both equally. If the names were inverted, I would feel equally proud of both.

I guess there is nothing strange with Germans. But I always had this idea of German women being strong and independent. And changing your name does not mean at all that you are not strong and independent, but I did expect for these things to be more questioned and less common. Among friends and acquaintances I realize I am a little unusual.

I am a little unusual because my name certainly stands out because of the “many” R’s, an obviously non-German characteristic; and because it is long as hell and made up of two last names! But also because our mailbox and our doorbell, unlike our neighbors’, has two last names (three total), and despite that our land-lady keeps calling me Frau Broich, which cracks me up every time.

Some might think it’s lovely, romantic, normal to change their names, but I don’t. However I think it should continue to be every woman’s choice. German women definitely enjoy many freedoms and privileges many others in Latin America and other developing countries do not. Like the freedom from being catcalled, or the freedom from facing rape and femicide 24/7, but there are still some funny traditions that linger. Nothing wrong with them, but I find them a bit curious and unfit for me.