Khalia—spoken with a lilting ka-LEE-uh that ripples off the tongue like the last note of a bolero—traces her silken roots to the Arabic khalīl, “beloved friend,” yet she has wandered joyfully across cultures and decades, gathering bright souvenirs the way a traveler pins postcards to a map: a hint of Hebrew “crown,” a brush of Swahili “she who arrives in triumph,” a modern American sparkle that has kept her quietly humming within the U.S. Top 1000 since the disco days of 1976 without ever becoming ordinary. She feels at once sunrise-new and ancient-warm, the sort of name that might be written in henna on a bride’s palm or chanted softly over a cradle in a sun-washed casita; and with that lilac-sweet meaning of steadfast friendship, parents say she invites their daughters to grow into companions whose laughter dances like maracas on a summer evening. Light-hearted by nature—some joke she’s the cool cousin of Aaliyah who traded high heels for barefoot salsa—Khalia wears her soft consonants like silk and her bright vowels like confetti, promising every girl who bears her that she is both cherished and ready to charm the whole plaza of the world.
Khalia Lanier - |
Khalia Braswell - |