It's a shorter version of the story behind my name. I didn't intend to write and post it here, but...
Some conversation was between my Hive friend 
However, responding to his comment, I started to explain why and how I've got my name. At some point, as I was typing and typing, I realized my reply stretched from one paragraph to a couple of them, ending it as a whole article. So, instead of occupying his space with the comment size of an entire post, I decided to publish it here. And, here it is...
The Story Behind My Name
The funniest and most straightforward truth is that I've got my name because my parents couldn't agree on one. My father wanted me to be Ana while my mother wanted Maria. My siblings say they were fighting about it for days. There is even some family story about it still circling. 😀
However, the argument lasted until my father said he would only agree with Maria's name if Ana stood in front. In the end, my mother agreed to that. As at the time, the fathers were the ones who should sign the report (to authorities) about the newborn, my father went there and signed me in as Ana-Maria with that dash in between the names for clearer distinguishment. 😁
The funny thing is that nobody (including me) knew about that dash in between the names until I was 17. Even my father forgot it. But, with that arose another family story which I'm going to skip now.
However, all my school certificates before, including medical and some other documentation, were issued in Anamaria or Ana Maria at best.
So, when I was 17 and went to request my first ID, they refused to issue it as the name I wrote in my request (which I thought it's my name for 17 years) didn't match some other their data. They told me how that existing or non-existing dash in between those two names makes a huge difference as in question might be, in fact, two different persons.
After that followed the digging in the archives (old books and papers my father filled and signed when registering me as a newborn baby). There, I finally found and saw with my own eyes that my real name is Ana-Maria (with the dash).
* * *
Another funny thing is that my mother never called me with my full name or just Maria as long as she lived. She always called me just Ana - by the name she was so strongly against, although I never understood why.
My father didn't insist on the name Ana because of some stupid stubbornness or even less in some spite to my mom. Quite contrary and way more emotional for him.
He had a little sister he was very attached to as a little boy. Her name was Ana, but she died at the age of five when he was only three years old. Although my father was so little, it was such a huge loss that he didn't truly overcome it almost his whole life. Accordingly, her character cut into his memory all the way through.
From what he told me about her, and considering all the circumstances they lived in at the time, I realized that she was very caring and protective about him. Therefore, with her death, he lost his main anchor and asylum, almost only gentle care and protection he was getting at the time, in a word, his one and only supporting rock.
Besides that, his life changed a lot after her death due to various reasons and circumstances. It became pretty rough, or even ugly, for almost 20 years.
* * *
Since life is a strange beast, here comes another funny twist in the story.
When my mom got pregnant with me, both my parents were closely approaching their 50's. Although I wasn't their first child, my mother's pregnancy was still considered very late and risky. It was one of my father's main reasons he was the most vocal advocate against it and the strongest proponent of abortion. Contrary to the "battle" for the name, my mother won this one, and I was born.
At the time I was born, my siblings were already university students. They were very close and attached to my father, the same as he was to them, but due to the whole set of reasons and circumstances that changed through the following years, and as the time passed, they became bigger and bigger strangers.
I was too little to understand half of it for quite some while. But then I grew up, and my parents got old. In the end, it turned out that I was the only child by their deathbeds and the only child at my father's funeral (my sister showed up at my mother's).
While they were still alive, my father told me how he always counted more on my siblings as the older and more mature ones and how he never thought it would turn out to be me (as the youngest) in his wildest dreams. My mother told me how I am her rock and her nursing support stick for her old days.
And I think that's why my father (although unconsciously) insisted on the first part of my name (Ana) while my mother didn't want to give up on its second part (Maria).
You know, how the good old Latin phrase says, "Omen est nomen!" - "The name is a sign!"