Last night, sitting in the loge, I look around the hall, from stage across the ground floor and a little higher… Unsuspectedly I invited in a memory of when my aunt took me to the opera for the first time. We went to see La Traviata. “We were sitting right up there. My God. That was exactly 20 years ago,” I realize out loud.
Tamer and I listened to Troubadour for the first time last night. “Are you sure you want to come along? I don’t want you to get bored…” I double-checked before buying the tickets. He didn’t let me scare him away.
The last tuning of the orchestra always caresses my ears and gives me goosebumps. I missed this! Curtain up, it’s time for some magic. The lead tenor was disappointing. That can happen too, I guess. But the spell worked for the mezzo-soprano. Her gypsy brought me to tears. After about an hour came the intermission. I look at Tamer and dare not predict his reaction.
“Amazing. What voices! How can they sing for so long and with such volume?”
“Does that mean you like it? Shall we go again some time?”
“Yes, of course! Please, let’s go again soon.”
A few years ago, someone told me that I had to come to terms with the fact that life is pretty unexciting, quite lame to be exact. At some point, you just go from day to day, and moments of joy may slip by every now and then. “No,” I said. “I am not settling for that.”
I choose a life that is as grand or even bigger than the opera. There is no shortage of disappointments, but my stage will always be filled with stories of greatness.