Saudade is a Portuguese and Galician word that roughly translates into a feeling of nostalgia for the present. As I sit in reaction to reading my best friend’s college recommendation letter for me, eloquently detailing the span of our relationship from its beginnings in middle school to present day, saudade is the only term that can effectively characterize my emotions.
I like to look at my life as if it were a movie. I don’t necessarily see myself as the revered protagonist whose existence drives the plot forward, the center of cinematic gravity resting on my shoulders. Instead, my story chronicles the more minute interactions that comprise the everyday nature of humanity. Reading her letter, it was as if the last six years of my existence in Wilton, both inadvertent and intentional, had built up to this seminal moment. Yet it was not as grand a picture as a movie may portray; my acne medicine donned, bundled into the burrow of my bed and surrounded by a mountain of ajar notebooks and looseleaf paper, I cried for the bookends of my adolescence. Perhaps the moment was more akin to an indie film than a Hollywood blockbuster. How does one effectively gauge when a montage is over, transcending into the next sequence of events?