Una Furtima Lagrima

Upon listening to Una Furtima Lagrima from L'elisir d'amore, an opera by Donizetti, a certain episode from the storyboard of my life suddenly flashed before my eyes. It took place by the beach, somewhere in the center of Indonesian Archipelago not so long ago, while we were sitting at some kind of sunset bar watching the land having been washed out by soft rain get darker and darker ...

He: I grew up with my father listening to Verdi every weekend. He would sing along out loud with a glass of wine in his hand.

I: Really? I like Verdi. But not as much as I love Puccini. His works are my hopeless romantic side. (humming a famous tune from Verdi's La Traviata)

He: (humming along) I can't believe you know Verdi!

I: Everyone knows Verdi.

He: If I took you to my father, I bet he would force me into marrying you.

I'd like to meet that old man who has traveled almost all the globe and owns a small sailing boat, just to look at him in the eye if he's ever taught his eldest son to say things he never means. I'd also want to have a word with him: "Sir, even though I like Verdi, I don't think I ever want to marry your son who has never even taken the initiatives to hold my hand or enjoyed sitting close to me gazing at the stardusts above our heads! And yes, he's passed a rare chance to be with a cultured woman who's not only good in bed, but I'd probably be the one and only woman in his life who ever sincerely adores those brown eyes he inherited them from you!"