Dear Ulbolsyn,
Though we have never met, I feel I know you well. I have encountered you in countless places—classrooms, bus stops, and whispered stories shared over tea. I see you in the way your mother’s voice softens when she speaks your name, as if uttering an apology. I see you in your father’s distant gaze, still waiting for the son who never arrived.
Ulbolsyn, I have known you, and never once have I envied your path.
My name is Fariza, which means “light” or “precious gem.” It stands by itself—a blessing, not a plea. My name carries no hidden wishes for a different child. When I was given my name, it was simply me, with no quiet hope folded inside for something else.
But your name was different. From the very start, it bore the weight of expectation. The first gift the world offered you was not truly yours.
Ulbolsyn—meaning “Let there be a boy.”
That is what you were called. That is what was wished for when you were held for the first time—not you, but someone else. Yet you endured. You learned to carry their unspoken disappointment with quiet dignity.
In Kazakh culture, names are deeply meaningful, often embodying the hopes of families. My name reflects a desire to shine throughout life. Yet a longstanding tradition assigns girls names beginning with “Үл” (“Ul”), which means “boy.” Examples include Үлболсын (Ulbolsyn), Үлтуар (Ultuar), and Үлжан (Ulzhan), which translate as “Let there be a boy,” “A boy will be born,” and “Soul of a boy,” respectively. These names serve as reminders that their birth was not the one their parents had anticipated.
This issue is not unique to Kazakhstan. Across countries like India and China, where being born a girl is often seen as a tragedy, statistics paint a troubling picture. In China, there are 117 boys for every 100 girls; in some regions of India, that ratio rises to 156 boys per 100 girls. Naturally, the gender ratio should be roughly equal, but worldwide, countless girls are aborted before even receiving a name.
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