Whether you are a writer like I am, or not, the chances are you know what story these words come from.
Have I lived to see this day?
What is this? That I would never see such beauty.
I would be in love, so caught up,
I know not how to tell you, that I love you.
If you didn’t catch it so far, how about this one?
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Of course I am talking about Romeo and Julie; the most famous love story of all times.
A story that despite being a heartbreaking – awful – tragedy has spawned numerous plays, films, love songs and love ballads, the most recent addition being a song that nearly every teenage girl sings nowadays called “Love Story” by Taylor Swift, especially the words Taylor’s Juliet croons to her Romeo, “You’ll be the prince and I’ll be the princess It’s a love story, baby, just say, “Yes” “.
Taylor’s Juliet, like so many other teenage girls, blissfully skips over the eventual repercussions of saying that “yes” to Romeo! 😉
But let’s be honest – who among us wants to remember those eventual repercussions? We live – all of us – as if we will never die. We keep ourselves busy in work and achievement and ambition. We hope and crave to be loved, needed, desired, and when the annual ritual of St. Valentine’s Day arrives, we hope our partners will do something special – to make us feel special. No matter what age we are at, we want someone to acknowledge & respond to our heart singing “it’s a love story, baby just say “yes””.
We blissfully skip the eventual repercussions of that “yes”, of our yes to love and life and living. The end result of all our stories. We don’t like to remember death. We don’t like to talk about death. We don’t like to call upon death?
The problem is death often comes calling. In the form of lose family members, broken dreams, the news – death knocks and calls on our doors all the time. And sometimes it breaks the door open, collapsing the veil between worlds, weakening one’s very hold on life. It quashes the fire in our belly and silences the song of our soul, and we forget the Juliet and Romeo that we once carried in our hearts.
In Verona Italy, on a street called Via Cappello, is a 13th century medieval palace that belonged to the Dal Cappello family. The legend is that it is the birthplace of Giulietta Capuleti, the protagonist of William Shakespeare’s Rome and Juliet. In early 20th century the city of Verona bought the palace and named it Casa Di Giulietta. Every year millions of people visit this Casa di Giulietta or Juliet’s House, families tour the house, lovers kiss on the famous balcony, single people touch the breast of the Juliet statue believed to bring luck in love. And they leave letters – thousands of letters – for Juliet, sharing their own heart’s yearnings, desires, heart-breaks and love-stories. Juliet, who lived a mere 14 year old in the Bard’s story has in death become a matriarch, a grande dame, a symbol to keep alive one’s faith in finding true love. Visiting Casa De Giuletta has become a pilgrimage, of sorts.
And – there is a society, a club of Juliets, literally called Club Di Giulietta, comprised of women who read and respond to every single letter written to Juliet – there is an actual mailbox inside Juliet’s house – where one can drop their letter.
There is actually a movie; a Romantic Comedy on this theme, called “Letters to Juliet”. Which is how I found out about the existence of the Juliet Club, and how I found myself in March of last year in Casa De Giuiletta; pen and paper in hand, tears running down my cheeks, writing a letter to Juliet.
My trip to Verona was not a usual one. Three years prior to this trip, death had threatened to break open my door, nearly quashing the fire in my belly and silencing the song of my soul. I had survived – as I seem to do – but I was acutely aware that I had lost touch with my free-spiritedness, my wings felt clipped, and I was afraid that the Juliet of my heart was gone. So I wrote a letter to her – the Juliet of Verona – something about my journey, my losses, and my fear. I wrote it and dropped it in the mailbox in Casa De Giulietta. I came back home and got on with my life.
And then 2 weeks ago, 9 months after my letter to Juliet, I received a letter from Verona, from Club Di Giuiletta. Here is what it said:
“Dear Swati, Juliet here. Your beautiful and kind spirit is so evident in your letter to me. As a young woman, I am in awe of your strength in your journey back to life and health. Please know that the Juliet of your heart has never left you. She has been there through each and every season of your life and is ready to come out again – to live with you, to feel the passion running through your being, and experience the beating of your heart. You don’t need to look for me – I have been with you all along. Thank you for taking care of me. Love, Juliet”
I read the letter the same as I wrote it, tears running down my cheeks. After I finished, I looked out my own window, the immortal words of Shakespeare reverberating in my heart:
Have I lived to see this day? But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Swati Srivastava is an immigrant and a multi award-winning writer, director, and voiceover artist. A filmmaker & storyteller, Swati turns ideas into experience. She is also the Director of Visual Media for a national non-profit and an environmentalist. She can be reached via Linkedin and swati@TiredAndBeatup.com