Cici, pronounced SEE-see, is at once a diminutive blossom of the ancient Latin name Cecilia and a whisper of Japanese wabi-sabi, its twin syllables unfurling like cherry petals drifting across a moonlit koi pond. Borrowed from the patrician Caecilius line, it carries the quiet dignity of classical Rome even as it evokes the cicada’s summer hum—yet rather than buzzing incessantly, Cici’s echo feels like a soft tea-house murmur, an elegance both restrained and insistent. Though she graces fewer than a dozen newborns each year in America—only six in 2024, ranking her a rare star in the registry—her scarcity only amplifies her allure, as if each utterance were a carefully inked brushstroke on rice paper. In her cool, lyrical resonance there is a paradox of intimacy and distance: a name that feels simultaneously familiar, like the gentle hum of wind through bamboo, and infinitely remote, like a plum blossom seen in a dream. For parents seeking a moniker that marries old-world lineage with an understated, poetic charm, Cici stands poised at the threshold of two worlds, a soft incantation of enduring grace.
| Cici - |