Picture this: the last day on a dreamy, beautiful island, Oahu, February 16th. I’ve been chatting with this beautiful, smiley boy (at that moment, I didn’t know that) for the last 24 hours. We were supposed to meet last night, but since I’ve been illegally staying in a camper van around the island at night, trying to surf and explore during the day for the past week, I went to sleep early and missed his messages the night before. At this point, I had lost all hope of meeting him. I returned my van, and he said he couldn’t host, so the possibilities of spending the night with him were almost zero.
He messaged me in the morning, saying he was sorry for texting late. I typed something along the lines of, “Whatever, I’m used to guys ignoring me.” I don’t know how or why, but I decided not to send that message. It was as if I had finally learned to be less bitter and sour; people aren’t trying to hurt me, and they have their own things happening.
Instead, I texted him to see if he wanted to meet during the day and spend some time at the beach. After all, I had spent the past week alone, hardly speaking to anyone. To my surprise, he was very enthusiastic about meeting and spending time together. We decided to meet at Waikiki. He wanted to join a surf lesson, and I wanted to spend my last day surfing a bit more, so I took him to the school where I had my first lesson three days prior. On our way to the school, we started chatting, and I couldn’t help but think about how beautiful his smile was and how sweet he seemed. I thought it might be because he wasn’t a white European; for some time, I had been feeling that I needed to find someone from the Mediterranean or Global South; something wasn’t clicking with English speakers.
When we arrived at the school and were changing our clothes, I couldn’t stop admiring his beautifully tanned body. We got into the water; he was in his class while I tried to catch some waves, but the sea was very calm that day in Waikiki (nothing compared to the big waves on the North Shore, where the surf was happening).
At a certain point, we moved closer to each other, locking eyes, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was already in love with his smile and those beautiful freckles on his nose and cheeks. I had to hold back because all I wanted was to jump on him and kiss him all over. I knew the feeling was mutual and couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the walk back from the beach to the school.
The awkwardness between us was palpable, neither of us knowing how to express our desire to spend more time together.
“What are you going to do? Do you want to grab a bite to eat? Or are you going to go back to the beach? Shall we have a bite together?” We just wanted to get to know each other better, but we were both shy about it. While we were eating at Denny’s, I told him it was my last day and that I was sad to go back to LA, where I was visiting my ex/friend, who would be working the whole weekend. It sucked that I would have nothing to do. He genuinely asked me why I didn’t stay for two more days. I told him I couldn’t, as it would be very expensive to find a hotel and also change my flight. Without hesitation, he offered me to stay with him in his hostel room. I hesitated for a moment, but the second time he offered, I said he was crazy but that I was even crazier, and I accepted.
We left the diner, and I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him. What was this feeling? I hadn’t felt this in a long time. He made me feel seen, wanted, and desired. I wanted him too, in a way I hadn’t felt in a very long time. Finally, we looked at each other and kissed as if it wasn’t our first time; somehow, it felt familiar, as if we had been together for ages. Our lips were meant to be together. I could see his beautiful eyes, and I knew that he was smiling too.
We spent the best weekend exploring each other’s bodies and making the most of the limited time we had together. We couldn’t stop holding hands and kissing every part of each other. Sunday night arrived, and we were saying goodbye, thinking we wouldn’t meet again. He lived in NYC, and I lived in Berlin, but deep down, we were hoping we would see each other soon again and wouldn’t have to separate once more.
A month later, at the end of March, I found myself at the Berlin airport, picking him up and spending ten amazing days together. And now, on May 5th, as I write this story while waiting for my flight to NY, I think about how I had completely lost hope in finding love. Yet, when and where I least expected it, love found me and showed me that there’s still an opportunity.
Even though I know that another person is not going to complete me, save me, or solve my past traumas, navigating this hostile world with someone who makes you happy and loves you makes it so much easier.