How kind of you to ask for a summary. Can Life, my dear, be written in a few lines? It was a tempest, that troublesome thing; sometimes I was above it, sometimes I was sinking, drowning and struggling to grab it by the hair. I have no complaints, though; I pulled its hair out and enjoyed it.
However, I did not find a dry place to stand and catch my breath. God sent it to me in a flash, perhaps so I could enjoy it. And yet, I wandered in Mytilene, Sudan, Egypt, Cyprus, and Athens.
I’m nearing eighty and moving on, but what can I do with the many years and the countless candles on a cake... They extinguish and are forgotten with a single breath. A person lives through moments. When I close my eyes, I count those moments, not years. Over my grave, I commanded that they should not be fooled into writing how old I was. They should write how many moments I lived. So that they would know if I deserved the oxygen I wasted on this earth.
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