Marilia



**About Me** My name is Marilia. I'm from northeastern Brazil, but I live in the Southeast. I'm married. I'm an environmental engineer, and I'm learning English because I need to communicate with other people all the time now that I live here in the USA. I go to the gym during the week and I like family parties. I want to go back to Brazil the fast time.

**My Name** The origin of my name, Marilia is Portuguese. In times long ago, the Poet Tomas Antonio Gonzaga was in love with a woman named Maria, but this was a forbidden love. He couldn't speak the name of his love, so then Tomas created the nicknames Marilia and Bela (beautiful in English), and when he wrote his poetry about his love, he changed the name Maria to Marilia or Bela. When I was a child, I used to hate my name because the other children didn't understand it and called me Marilha or Maria, so all the time I had to spell it, and the adults used ask me, Where is Dirceu? I couldn't understand that question, but nowadays I like my name because everybody looks back on beautiful love. I also like it because my friends call me Bela due to a famous lire of Gonzaga's poem that says, "Marilia Bela, Minha estrela, Minha Bela," and that means in English, "Beautiful Marilia, my star, my Beautiful". This phrase is included in a famous poem Gonzaga wrote, "Marilia de Dirceu," with means "Marilia of Dirceu.' So that explains why people asked me about Dirceu when I was younger. My mother likes names with strong meaning so she thought Marilia, but the other option my mother considered for my name was Marilena because it is similar to Maria Madalena, her name, but I don't like Marilena because I associate it with negative things and with old people. I would not change my name because I love it a lot. I like it because that name is the result of true love, and I always believe in love.

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My funniest experience happened 20 years ago when I was taking care of my brother Caio and went to change his diaper. All seemed very good, so I changed Caio diaper, put him on the bed and went throw the dirty diaper in the dump garbage. When I returned, the baby was holding a glass jar of cotton balls. For one second I forgot that baby didn't have force to hold the jar and fight with me, and I quickly pulled away the glass jar in his hands, but I pulled it so fast that I couldn't control my force and the jar suddenly went toward my teeth and broke one. When my mother arrived home, I explained that I had fallen and she believed me and everybody else too. Many years later I remembered that story and told the truth to my mom, she didn't believe it, and nowadays nobody believes the true story, only the first one I told many years ago. Everybody asked me why I have lie and I couldn't explain that question, because I haven't justification to lie. In conclusion, I learned never to tell a lie big or small; it doesn't matter, one lie is always one lie and maybe when you decide to speak the truth, nobody will believe you.
 * Funniest Experience**