Statia, a feminine name pronounced STAY-shuh, drifts like early morning mist across a moonlit Kyoto canal—a whisper of ancient Greece softly unfolding within a Japanese tea garden, where each syllable resembles a cherry blossom petal falling with deliberate grace. Rooted in the same lineage as Anastasia—harboring the gentle promise of resurrection and renewal—Statia evokes the quiet resilience of bamboo swaying beneath a pale moon, serene yet unwavering. Though seldom heard on American shores today, it glimmered modestly in Massachusetts birth records from the 1910s through the early 1920s, like a secret haiku tucked between colonial bricks. Its consonants stand firm as temple pillars, while its vowels flow with the clarity of a mountain spring, conjuring a delicate balance between strength and fluidity. To whisper Statia is to summon the hush of falling sakura, the cool brush of silk against skin, and the enduring poetry of becoming—a name at once coolly elegant and luminously alive.