The first one of them happened almost exactly a year ago. June 12 of 2014. It was my first game ever in a World Cup. And I found myself staring into the eyes of the Croatian goalkeeper. Just me and the ball. As it had always been. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders as the sweat ran down my face and I was faced with the biggest challenge of my life. A penalty kick. I tried not to look around but I heard the 60,000 people in the stadium buzzing with anticipation. My people. But I was only 21 years old, why would they trust me? Why would they put their faith, their hopes and dreams of another cup, all on my tired feet? My first moment was watching the ball fly towards the keeper. It was seeing his hands brushing against it and feeling my heart stop thinking he had caught it. It was the way the seconds seemed to slow down as the ball threw the goalie’s hand back with such force he couldn’t stop it. It was that goal. It was that moment. My people crying, my mother smiling, my brothers and sister and friends and teammates, the happiness in all of them as the ball hit the back of the net. That moment taught me that even when it seems like it’s all lost, things can still turn out alright. My second moment happened only about a week after that first one. I felt a crack in my lower back as a knee collided with my spine. I felt myself falling to the ground, excruciating pain spreading across my body, overwhelming me. A second later I felt the tears, and Marcelo leaning down next to me asking if I was okay. The realization hit me like a hammer to the head as my panic-filled eyes looked over at my friend. “I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel my fucking legs.” James and David Luis stood next to me, worried eyes and the stadium went crazy with worry but all I could think of as the paramedics lifted me up and the pain filled my every pore while was being carried outside the field was the fact that I might not ever be able to play again. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to walk. I cried. I cried that night and I cried the following day when they flew me to Rio de Janeiro’s hospital in a helicopter. Just like that the dream of a World Cup was gone after only 4 games. Brazil lost 7-1 to Germany the next game. And the guilt I felt for somehow letting them down made me realize that no matter how badly you want some things to happen... sometimes they just won’t, and there’s nothing you can do about it.  And then there’s the third. It has nothing to do with where I come from or where I’ve played, or soccer, or anything you’d expect me to say. My third moment was having to stand in front of her. All red hair, pretty brown eyes and cute smile. Her as she looked at me like she was happy to see me. Her as she made me feel like for the first time in my life I had something other than a pair of fast feet and a football. I had her. She was mine to keep, mine to hold, mine to take care of. Y could stand in front of a million goal keepers, get your back broken a million times, but nothing will ever compare to the way it feels to look at her and know she’s yours. I can’t begin to explain all the things she’s taught me. All I know is I can’t wait to keep learning, to keep growing. Always with her.