West inhales its power from the Old English “west”—the place where the sun bows in vermilion farewell—and exhales it as a single, uncluttered syllable that feels as crisp as an autumn wind over Kyoto’s Kamo River. To hear it is to picture a lacquered horizon where day slips into indigo, a liminal moment revered in Japanese verse as yūyake, the glowing dusk that invites reflection. In European lore the West was the frontier of bold riders and open skies; in Buddhist imagery it is the Pure Land toward which cranes and prayers both take flight. Woven from these twin tapestries of wander-lust and quiet enlightenment, the name suggests a boy who walks with samurai calm yet carries the roaming heart of an explorer. Uncommon but steady—never flooding the charts yet never vanishing—West offers parents a compass point that promises serenity at sunset and possibility beyond it.