For 10 days last month I was the talk of the town.

People were saying my name left and right, wondering where I was and where I was going to be. Some even showed gratitude as I passed by.

OK, so it wasn’t really me. It was the hurricane also named Celia that for a moment had isle residents on their toes.

I have to admit, it’s kind of cool when a storm system — or anything, really — shares your not-especially-common name. Finally, proof that Celia is not always short for Cecelia — a mistaken assumption I’ve endured for years.

People will mess it up despite the presence of an ID card or a name tag front and center. Emails are addressed to a stranger. It’s frustrating to have a name so easily confused with another.

Well, everyone was getting it right in July.

At first I got a kick out of the coincidence. “Watch out, here I come!” I jokingly warned friends. But as the storm spun across the Pacific, the ubiquity of my name started to feel weird.

The storm was in the news daily since its projected path brought it close to Hawaii. Once, I spotted my name in large print three times in one Honolulu Star-Advertiser issue. I began to get uncomfortable seeing and hearing those five letters all over the place.

The thing with having an uncommon name is you notice every single instance it appears. I’m sure people with popular names, like Pat or John or Joe, are used to hearing their names and thus don’t make a big deal out of it. I’m no narcissist, but whenever “Celia” is uttered within earshot, I can’t help but wonder whether someone is talking about me.

Sometimes the coincidence makes for a good laugh. In the storm’s final days, I passed by an editor’s desk right as he said to a co-worker, “Let’s just forget about Celia and move on.” The name “Darby” was now on everyone’s radar, so it was clear the conversation was about the newest addition to hurricane season.

Celia the storm did cause a bit of instability in weekend weather, blocking the trades and sinking the islands into a muggy funk. I felt compelled to apologize for the icky conditions.

I was relieved when Celia faded away, never a serious threat, but large enough to garner attention. I got a kick out of sharing a name with something so popular (legendary Cuban singer Celia Cruz notwithstanding), but I also would have felt pretty bad if some real damage was done. I suppose it boils down to this: When you have an uncommon name, you seek out any compatriots you can find, even if they walk — or churn — on the wild side.

“She Speaks” is a weekly column by women writers of the Honolulu Star-Advertiser. Reach Celia Downes at cdownes@staradvertiser.com.