Victor,

 

Months ago, when I told you my vows were ready, I lied.

It was my way of applying a bit of psychological pressure to encourage you to start working on yours.

 

The truth is, this took me forever to write. I kept wondering how is it that, in only two and a half years, someone can go from being a complete stranger to the most important person in your life.

 

Until, I remembered something I often say to you:

"If only you could see yourself the way I see you"
And in that moment, I understood what these vows

are meant for: to show you.

 

One day, you told me that back in third grade, you were

chosen to play God in the fourth-grade class play.
Apparently, none of your classmates (third or fourth graders)

could rival your charisma.
And I pictured nine-year-old Victor on

stage, in a tunic, calling out:
“Let the animals come forth!”
“Let the rains and rivers be made!”
And in seven days, you created the world — right there,

on that stage, with a microphone, a tunic, and a dream.
It all makes sense now, doesn’t it? How can anything top that?

And I dare say, in a way, you never left that role.

You’ve always been a bit of a king... a bit

of a lion... a bit of a protagonist.

 

Sometimes your ambitions border on megalomania.

Your dream home is a brutalist mansion with vaulted ceilings, an indoor garden, and a tile panel by Athos Bulcão. 

You’re convinced that your startup idea

is worth $30 billion—just half of Nubank.
And naturally, we should both be more active on LinkedIn if we ever plan to build a media empire like the Roys in Succession.

 

It cracks me up! We laugh endlessly... 

But never doubt how deeply I believe in you.

 

Because, love, who has ever become great without

first daring to believe it?
Who has ever achieved anything worthwhile

without a bit of daydreaming?
You have that in abundance: the vision, the drive,

the enviable self-confidence.

 

And, you know what? I’m here for it. I’m here to

celebrate your protagonism.
To witness, up close, the life you’re going to build
To sometimes call you out when your elevator pitch goes overboard… or when you exaggerate your cold symptoms.
To listen to your rants as well as your wildest, most hopeful visions.
I’m here to watch your show. And you, mine.
I’m here… so your life doesn’t go unnoticed
So it doesn’t pass by without an audience, without a witness… and most importantly, without a partner in crime (or co-conspirator, call it what you will).
Because that’s what I believe marriage is here for:
To be together. To grow together.

 

Because life, my love, takes courage
Courage to start over.
To face the unknown.
To move to Morocco.
We need courage to love deeply.
To commit.
To prioritize another, to prioritize oneself.
To walk away from harm.
To live it all.

 

Yes, some of your ambitions may be megalomaniacal...
But you also dreamed of us.
And I love that about you:
Your unwavering faith in yourself, in me, and in our future.

 

And, as I wrote these vows, I realized that the phrase
“If only you could see yourself the way I see you” is reciprocal.

 

Because I feel that you see me like no one else does,

like no one ever has.
As if you had witnessed my childhood, as if

you could glimpse my future.
And what moves me most is that you make a point

of saying, again and again,
That you like what you see.

 

So, I’d like to thank you, baby.
For seeing me back at MIT.
For choosing me... for your consistency in choosing us every day.
For seeing our life together before I could.
I see it now.

 

I thank my parents for raising me to be strong
so I could meet you, and you could allow me to be vulnerable.
And I thank your parents for making you exactly who I needed.

 

Jorge Amado was right when he wrote that some

men carry a star in place of a heart.

And my vow is to honor that light within you,

every day, for the rest of our lives.

 

I love you.
Isabella