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  • dearabi

>Remember Me


I’ve unfortunately had to attend a few viewings and funerals in my life, and during them there always came the part where we would vocally express what we remembered about the person whose life we were celebrating that day. It made me wonder what kind of legacy I would be leaving behind. How would people remember me? More importantly, how would I want people to remember me?

When I graduated high school, I was voted “Most creative” at our senior banquet. And in my AAS 355 class my freshman year of college, I was usually on the boys’ infamous “Top 5” list (i was too scared to ever ask Top 5 for WHAT though lol). My mom would definitely say I’m stubborn, exes might say I’m a selfish bitch, and my girls know me for being an overly paranoid hypochondriac. But I don’t want my mark here on Earth to be a “creative” or “fuckable” or “stubborn” or “selfish” one. And I definitely don’t want my epitaph to read: Death by worrying over a disease she never really had.

And as much as I feel blessed to have this writing thing, I still don’t want to be remembered for that either. Because as many readers as I’ve touched, and inspired, I’ve also made them cry. Whether they were happy tears or sad tears, or simple tears of realization. I don’t want to be remembered that way.

So I dug deep. And thought about the last time I felt really beautiful. And not that MAC counter limited edition Viva Glam IX, night on the town beautiful. Or that “This chick is my girlfriend, I have to thinks she’s beautiful” beautiful either. I’m talking the kind of beautiful that’s a direct reflection of how ur soul looks and feels. And although I can’t remember the exact date, or time, I do know it was more than likely the last time (or everytime) I made someone that I cared about laugh.

Yesterday I got the best phone call ever (well, next to one saying I just won $1,000,000 or the one saying “We received your application and want you to start tomorrow,” … oh and the one from Lance Moore saying, “Where you been all my life?”). It was my boy D, the same one from yesterdays post laughing uncontrollably on the other line about the post. He was laughing so hard that he could barely finish his sentences and I could barely understand him. He was laughing so hard that I started laughing too and had to tell him to STFU because I didn’t want to get in trouble for being so loud.

Now lemme paint you an ugly picture right quick. Yesterday, I had on jeans, Js, and a v-neck. I couldn’t wear any makeup even though I had a pimple by my chin ‘cuz my foundation no longer matches my face. And because I never brush my hair, it was piled on top of my head in a messy pony-tail not really pony-tail. But at that very moment as I heard my friend gasping for air in between guffaws – I felt like Natalie fuckin Portman. Adriana fucking Lima. I felt beautiful. And it’s been a while. A long while.

So even if I’ve pissed you off (or OUT as hayati likes to say), or made you cry. Even if I’ve annoyed you or you felt like strangling me at one point in time – if I’ve ever made you laugh from the soul – then thank you anyway. Thank you for making me feel more like … well, ME again. And for reminding me that “it’s never too late to be the person you want to be.” Or be the way you want to be remembered.

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