Sima glides off the tongue—SEE-muh—like a soft salsa step on a moonlit plaza, and her story is just as graceful. Born in ancient Hebrew as “simah,” she first meant “treasure” or “prized possession,” a tiny word bursting with the sparkle of hidden gold. Along the Persian trade routes she picked up a second sheen, “silver-faced,” before waltzing westward with caravans of merchants and melodies. Today, in the United States, she lingers around the 800th rank, modest yet steady, a hummingbird among the eagles: small in number but impossible to overlook. Linguists appreciate her tidy, two-syllable architecture; poets love that she sounds like a sigh of contentment; busy parents adore that she needs no nickname—Sima is already as concise as a café cortado. She carries an air of quiet confidence, the sort of name that strolls into a room wearing sunshine, handing out good-luck coins with a wink. For a daughter, Sima promises both old-world depth and new-world rhythm—a pocket-sized passport to a lifetime of bright adventures.
Sima Qian - |
Sima Milutinović - |
Sima Xiangru - |
Sima Guang - |
Sima Avramović - |