Dia dos Namorados

It’s sort of like Valentine’s Day in Brazil… It’s not on Valentine’s Day but rather on June 12th. Alan and I are terrible about celebrating dates – we forget our anniversary every year, even though we have two! We don’t forget Valentine’s Day because the media won’t let us but we also don’t really like the commercial tone of it, so, if we do go out, we do it on the day before or after.

Yesterday we coincidently went out on a date on Dia dos Namorados. As usual, I had completely forgotten about the date but we nevertheless had tickets to watch The Phantom of the Opera at the Princess of Wales Theatre here in Toronto. I had always dreamed of watching that show. I used to have tapes, cds, lyrics and listened to it all the time when I was younger but the show always eluded me. It’s the longest-running show on Broadway history and the year I went to NYC on a work-related trip, they stopped showing it. It then went on tour and it passed through Montreal. Guess where I was then? Of course, I had moved to Toronto! Or was it the other way around – that they had been showing it in Toronto for years but as soon as I moved, the show was over. Hmm, don’t remember, all I know is that I was at the rights place at the wrong time.

Finally, yesterday we went. It was VERY good. Well worth the wait. The singers were all fantastic, the acting was good, and we had amazing seats. The evening was warm, it’s summer, everybody is on a good mood and I had my sweety beside me. Life cannot get much better than that ;)

So to celebrate Dia dos Namorados, I’ll leave you with two poems:

Sonnet CXVI

William Shakespeare

[we actually read this one at our wedding]

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
What is love?

Nanushka [an Australian poet Alan actually corresponded with; he sent me this at the beginning our our relationship]

What is love?
Is it a passing fever of the body,
which like hunger, can be satisfied –
Only to return again-
A million times stronger
Under the guise of love?
Is it a power over the mind?
Tentacles that creep upon the innocent-
As insidious phantom
Stealing unseen and unsuspected
Upon the willing victim,
Sucking out life’s blood
And sapping the will
Under the guise of love?
So what is love?
To me it is simple thing
Tender as the petals of a camelia
Yet strong as the roots of a willow tree-
Love is truth-
And love unadorned
Is what I give to you..
For what it is worth..

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Author: guerson

Historian. Teacher. Knitter. Passionate for bringing people together and building bridges.

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