moi

And for my last act: Moi.

I’m grateful that I was born me.

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When I go, I’m gonna see the reel of moments that came together to make my life. And the only one who was there for all of it was me.

I won’t remember what you thought of me, what people got wrong. I won’t remember what things looked like from the outside, or what someone else concluded. Everything that I’ll remember will be bounded by the way I felt about it.

The bliss of long drives with people I love. Have you ever driven through cornfields with the sky drenched in stars while the music plays? Have you ever been on a beach with friends as you get soaked in New Year’s Eve rain? I have.

The delicious unfolding of late nights that led to pig outs, talking, weeping, and other times laughing so hard we were gonna wake someone up. Even fights and venting ended in feeling so alive…

Sometimes overlooking a coast. Sometimes as I made my way through a city. The moments that made me human, and in few instances, divine.

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Oh, and the dinners. The dinners of my life. The tastes. The mixing. The drinks. The ease of mingling. The meals. The people I didn’t agree with. The people I clicked with. The things we’ve laughed about and confessed over food.

And I won’t remember how lovely or interesting I may have seemed to someone else. But I sure am going to remember how great it felt to be me. How it to felt to think I was enough. To let others be. To not regret anything. To not want for more than I had been given to enjoy at that very moment.

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I love this life. I love the place in my family that I have. I trust them. I’m so happy that I trust people in my life.

When I go, all I want to see is my life. My memories, my lessons, my people to soak me up and send me off. I wanna feel it all again. I don’t want someone else’s life. What I celebrated. What I mourned. What made me scared, what made me keep going. What I loved. Even if we’ve shared a friend, I like my story with them. The inevitable bond that being each other allowed.

And though I’m impatient, an overthinker, and I can’t learn country capitals to save my life; I figured I traded those skills in for others. Things that were more important like dancing, writing, and learning the lyrics to my favorite songs. And on that trade, I still consider myself quite the genius.

And I’m not going to lie, of all the posts I’ve written this one has been written the most times. It’s the most uncomfortable essay I’ve edited this year, but maybe it makes it the most real. 

So to answer writer Mary Oliver’s question, “What will you do with this one wild and precious life?”

I answer, “Saveur the moment, of course. It’s almost gone.” 198776_10101837992115998_1795305128_n

About Antonella Saravia

Antonella is a New York based writer from Nicaragua.

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