That’s the name I was given at birth—a mouthful, a conversation starter, and a name that carried weight before I even understood it. "Marie" was from my mother. "Sachie" and "Mitsui" were spotted by my father on a Japanese calendar outside my mother’s hospital room, chosen for reasons only he knew at the time.
My name has always been a force of its own. I was the kid with the longest name in the room, the last to finish writing it during first-grade name drills. My name was always noticed, repeated, mispronounced, and occasionally twisted into hilarious nicknames.
"Mitchugas." "Marie Biscuit." "Sachet" (like shampoo sachets). "Mitchewwwyyy" (like a chewy candy).
It was amusing and, at times, a little embarrassing, but it was also memorable. A name that made people take notice. A name my teachers never forgot. And while that was fun when it meant recognition, it was nerve-wracking when it meant I was the first one called during graded recitations.
But as I grew, so did my understanding of what my names meant to me.
I love my Mama dearly, but the truth is, "Marie" never quite felt like me. Not because it wasn’t beautiful, but because I was never the delicate, demure type.
I grew up one of the boys, running through the streets with my brothers Joshua ("Dudey") and Jasper ("Men"), climbing walls, catching spiders, and hunting for anything we could sell to the junk shop. There was nothing soft or polished about my childhood. My hands were always dirty, my knees always bruised, and my competitive streak ran deep.
And yet, as I grew older, I found myself appreciating "Marie" in a new way. "Marie" became the name I turned to when I needed to be gentle with myself. It was the name that reminded me that strength isn’t just about resilience; sometimes, it’s about embracing softness, allowing yourself to feel, and choosing grace over force.
It also holds a deeper meaning. "Marie" is derived from "Miryam," which translates to beloved, wished-for child, or sea of sorrow. It carries the essence of strength in suffering, faith in adversity, and grace in uncertainty.
It’s a beautiful name, one that I have come to respect and cherish. But here’s a little secret—if you ever try calling me "Marie" in a crowded room, I probably won’t turn around. Not because I don’t love the name, but because no one ever calls me that. If you do, it probably means you don’t know me personally. And if that’s the case… sorry, I thought you were calling someone else. 😂
I never used "Sachie" growing up. Not once. But when I started working at The Philippine Stock Exchange, everything changed.
PSE was a world of speed, efficiency, and clarity—where long names didn’t survive. Conversations were short, meetings were intense, and everyone needed to remember who’s who at a glance.
And so, I became "Sachie."
It wasn’t just convenient—it became a name of power, of execution, of business. My professional name. My boardroom name. It was the name printed on contracts, the name I signed emails with, the name my colleagues associated with strategy, decision-making, and fast-paced execution.
If someone calls me "Sachie" in a crowded place, I immediately know this person is from my work or business life. It’s the name tied to my corporate self, my analytical side, my ability to navigate finance and leadership.
But while "Sachie" got things done, it was never the name I clung to when I needed to feel like myself.
That name was always "Mitsui."
Among all my names, "Mitsui" is the one that holds me together. It carries the fire of my childhood, the grit of my youth, and the resilience of my soul.
As a kid, "Mitsui" was a name that sparked curiosity. It was often mistaken for a boy’s name in Japan. Others recognized it as the name of a major Japanese trading and financial conglomerate—which, funny enough, seemed like a sign for the future.
At the time, I didn’t think much of it. But in hindsight, I can’t ignore the irony. A name linked to global finance, trading, and industry somehow became the name I carried into business, strategy, and market education.
And then, of course, there were the inevitable schoolyard taunts.
I got teased for it. But I never wished for another name.
That teasing? It shaped me. It made me stronger, bolder, and unafraid to stand my ground.
"Mitsui" was the name I answered to when I fought for my younger brothers, when I stepped into leadership roles, when I embraced my love for music, theater, and academics. It was the name that held my identity, my strength, my fire.
And then came the variations.
Some called me "Mitz." Others, "Mitch."
But my personal favorite? "Yowz."
Sounds random? Not really. It came from the last syllables of "Mitsui" ("Yuwi"), which then became "Yowz." This name was special. It was only used by the people closest to me—my siblings, my best cousin Pao, and my brother from another mother, Leland. It was a name of comfort, belonging, and deep familiarity.
So, why "Meet Mitsui" and not the full name?
Because at every stage of my life, when I felt lost, overwhelmed, or uncertain, it was always "Mitsui" that I returned to.
✨ When "Sachie" panicked about business and finance, "Mitsui" reminded her to trust the process.
✨ When "Marie" felt fragile, "Mitsui" gave her the courage to rise again.
✨ When life turned upside down, "Mitsui" reminded me to stay grounded—like a well that never runs dry.
And speaking of wells—did you know that "Mitsui" (三井) in Japanese means “Three Wells”?
A well is a source of sustenance, a place of abundance, a reservoir of life-giving water.
In Chinese culture, the meaning of "Mitsui" is tied to prosperity, fortune, and endless blessings. It symbolizes a place where wealth and wisdom flow continuously—where resources, no matter how deeply drawn, are never exhausted.
Maybe I was always meant to be "Mitsui." Maybe, in some poetic way, my name was telling the story of my life long before I lived it.
So here I am, introducing myself again.
A name that holds my past, my present, and the wellspring of everything I have yet to become.
📍 Follow along at https://meetmitsui.com/
P.S. To my Mama and Papa, I honor you and thank you with all my heart for giving me this name—and for the beautiful names you have given my six other siblings. I am 100% certain that all of us have acquired the value of giving meaningful names to our future children, just as you did for us. I love you, and I thank God forever for making you my parents. ❤️
