Crushing across borders
Reflecting on love and life from Chicago to Italy
A recent journal entry about my dating life: initially written in Italian because my first language, English, felt too vulnerable and not quite whimsical.
Ho delle cotta per persone in tutto il mondo– a Chicago, a Italia, e di recente ho conosciuto una persona nuova. Ho paura di innamorarmi troppo facilmente. Forse anch’io vado troppo di fretta. Il malessere mi ha ghostato– questo è successo più di una volta. Mi piace essere single. Ho intenzione di rimanere single per un po’. Ma a volte le cose non vanno secondo i piani. Non mi sto concentrando sugli appuntamenti, ma non li sto nemmeno ignorando.
I have crushes all over the world—in Chicago, in Italy, and I recently met someone new. I fear I fall in love too easily. Maybe too fast, too. The fuckboy/situationship ghosted me—this has happened more than once. I like being single. I plan to stay single for a while. But sometimes things don’t go according to plan. I’m not focusing on dating, but I’m not ignoring it either.
I started dating at a young age. My first relationship started during my freshman year of high school. I was 14, and it lasted three years. I experienced a lot of firsts from my first love to my first (but not last) heartbreak. Ten years later, sometimes I feel like there aren’t many firsts left for me. Then I moved abroad. And for the first time, I’m crushing internationally.
I’ve done long-distance relationships, but I’ve never been actively interested in someone (or people) an ocean away who I wasn’t officially dating.
A month before my move, I went on a first date. The vibes were immaculate, the conversations were meaningful, and it felt like it was happening for a reason. At that point, moving to Italy wasn’t confirmed. For the foreseeable future, I thought I’d remain in Chicago. I was excited to see where things could potentially go.
Then I received my acceptance letter to jewelry design school in Florence. Suddenly, everything in Chicago was ending. My lease expired. I resigned from my job. In the chaos of prepping for an international move, some goodbyes went unspoken, but it was goodbye nonetheless.
I believe that everything happens for a reason. I don’t know why that last first date in Chicago happened when it did. Maybe I was meant to have a lovely time to remind myself of the possibilities– to remember that despite the hurt I’ve endured, I’m worthy of liking someone who likes me back, worthy of genuine connection, and worthy of positive queer experiences.
I’ve been proudly single for about two years and counting. I’ve also spent the last several months in Italy. I’m prioritizing my studies, my career, and myself. But that doesn’t mean I don’t fall in like with people wherever I go.
I was on the beach in Cinque Terre at the end of the summer when I saw someone smoking on an upstairs terrace of a house by the sand. He had dark hair and was wearing mostly black, even though it was a hot sunny day. While I was noticing him, he looked over at me, and I waved. He waved back, and I gestured for him to come downstairs. He smiled as he approached me, and I introduced myself. He didn’t speak English, and I barely spoke Italian at the time. Using Google Translate, he asked me to get drinks later that night.
It felt like we were playing charades. With patience and more Google Translate, we got to know each other on a basic level– it’s all we could do. I remember learning he was from Milan, worked as an electrician, and was terrified of airplanes.
After drinks, we walked by the water and came across an empty playground. I insisted we check it out. He pushed me on the swings and laughed when I went down the child-sized slide. As we walked back into town, he put his arm around my shoulder. He felt warm against the cold ocean breeze and smelled slightly of tobacco and gin. He bent down to kiss me, but he was tall– I stood on my toes to meet him halfway. The date was a success, even though we don’t speak anymore.
I met my Hinge match at my favorite wine bar in Florence. I got there early and was standing outside when I saw her ride up on a bike. She had brown hair, round glasses, and was wearing a long, stylish black coat that looked just warm enough for the October weather. She spotted me as she biked to a stop and smiled. We did an awkward we-met-on-a-dating-app hug and sat at a table. I know little to nothing about wine, so we split a bottle she recommended and started talking.
She was from Spain and spoke English fluently. We were able to talk more in depth because there wasn’t a language barrier, and connected over being sapphic and artists– I make jewelry, and she’s a painter. We left the bar and walked across the city. She knew a lot about Florence and gave me an impromptu tour from the Duomo to Ponte Vecchio.
We drank hugo spritzes on the street, then kissed for a moment that turned into minutes. People passed us on their respective late-night adventures. As we were lip-locked, I almost forgot we were in public. We held hands while we walked to get something to eat. It was four in the morning by the time we finished our fried chicken on the benches near the train station. We scheduled a second date before parting.
I went to a recommended cafe in Florence, and on first glance at my server, I was secretly crushing. His hair was slicked back, and he had a snake tattoo that went down his arm and onto his hand. I went back the next day, and he was there making coffee. He asked me my name for the order, handed me my cappuccino, and I noticed the letter S with a heart next to it.
I visited for a third day in a row, and he was working again. There was a wait to sit down, but he said I could skip the line. When I looked at my receipt, I realized he paid for my order and wrote down his name and number.
We met at a cafe for our first date and talked over double espressos while sitting outside on an August afternoon. He was born and raised in Florence and spoke English well, but wasn’t fluent. The language barrier was less of a struggle. My Italian was improving, and he taught me some of what I know.
He gave me insight into his experience living in Italy. He asked if America is like what’s portrayed in movies, and I laughed. I told him about life in Chicago and why I decided to move abroad. We talked about our exes, interests, and shared various bits of lore. Several hours later, the sky turned dark, so we said goodbye. We went on multiple dates afterwards, from the overlook at Piazza Michelangelo to making ravioli from scratch together with his Nona’s pasta machine.
Dating abroad is similar to dating back home, give or take a language barrier. I’ve learned that crushes can overcome this obstacle with a bit of patience. They can also transcend borders, because despite the time that has passed and the miles traveled, I still think about that first date in Chicago.
I met her at an event I was DJ’ing in the city. We both work in music and had met before, but this was the first time we really spoke. At the end of the night, I gave her a ride home. My palms were sweating against the steering wheel as I struggled to make conversation. But the nervousness subsided as we got to talking— I subtly slowed my speed and prayed for red stop lights to prolong the conversation.
Several months passed, and our paths crossed again. I took it as a sign to ask her out.
We went to a party that reminded me of our first official meet– there was good music, and it was community-oriented. We talked about what inspired us to pursue music, our spiritual journeys, and goals for the future, amidst lots of laughing and a bit of awkward dancing. We agreed to see each other again.
Shortly after, I found out I was moving away, and we didn’t have a chance to meet again. We haven’t spoken since then, but not because things ended badly. Things didn’t really end at all. It feels more like an indefinite pause. I haven’t reached out because I’m uncertain what to say, or if there’s anything to say. I’m frustrated I can’t ask her out on the second date she deserves. I’m not in Chicago anymore, and I don’t know when I will be next.
“I still like you. I root for you from afar, and seeing your success makes me smile. I can’t ask you out on a second date right now. But I feel fortunate to have gotten to know you at all.”
Perhaps some things are meant to stay unspoken, at least for now. An authentic human connection includes vulnerability, and that’s intimidating.
Whether it’s not getting a second date or something else that feels unfair and makes me wonder what the reason was, I trust that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. I’d rather be frustrated about what could have been rather than never getting to experience it at all.
This post isn’t about long-lost love; instead, it’s about the lessons I’ve learned since starting this new chapter. A fresh start abroad doesn’t mean I’ve never lived a life elsewhere. Problems I dealt with back home didn’t magically resolve. I haven’t stopped caring for the people in my life, even though I’m not there with them. And I certainly haven’t stopped crushing on some of them either.
The only thing I expect is the unexpected. At one point, I never thought I’d be studying jewelry design in Italy. I certainly don’t know what the future holds, but I welcome whatever may come my way.
As for my crush across borders– that’s what they’ll remain for now. Maybe someday I’ll get to go on that second date. After all, Chicago is just a layover or two away from Florence.
This was a wonderful read <3