Finding Love in Another Country???
I know what you’re thinking… this isn’t going to end well. In classic Maya style, I’ll always tell a story. This is the story of how a little bit of courage and naivety landed me a long-distance British boyfriend. If you’ve read my article covering my obsession with One Direction, you’ll understand how big of a deal this was to me. A handsome, British, gentleman??? On every birthday candle blowout and every Harry Styles poster taped to my walls, I’ve been wishing for this! JACKPOT! Did I mention his name was Harry?
Ok, enough of that. Storytime.
Let me set the stage: Miss Maya was 20 years old spending her summer months interning in London. With pubs on every corner and yuppies taking them over by 5 pm, I was in heaven and starting to lose sight of just why I was there. Focus, Maya, focus. In an attempt to really immerse myself in British culture, I downloaded Tinder. Mind you, dating apps were NOT my forté, and frankly, creeped me out. “But they’re so handsome,” I kept telling myself. Little did I know, Americans are kind of a “hot commodity” across the pond! After a month of failed dates, free dinners, and total losers, I saw him. He looked like a distant relative of Paul Mescal and as that was my current crush, I swiped right. And there was a match. OH MY GOD THERE WAS A MATCH.
Fast forward to three weeks later and we were finally going on our first date. It took us three weeks to meet face-to-face. How was this possible? Well, my boyfriend/ bachelor #1, Harry, was in Switzerland for most of our build-up. By the time we met, I was sure it would be crickets because we’d basically run through everything; name, age, occupation, hopes, dreams, baby names. Just kidding. No, I’m not. The moment I opened my flat door and saw Harry standing there, all nerves and shakes disappeared. That might have been because he was more nervous than I was.
Fast forward even further past a perfect first date and even better second, third, fourth, fifth... Actually, let’s debrief the fourth. After casually mentioning (on our first date) my solo expedition to Finsbury Park for The 1975’s headlining festival, Harry was quick to volunteer himself as my companion. He bought the ticket, hotel, and train pass to join me on this unforgettable adventure. Never in my life had I had someone, so eagerly and quickly, want to spend such sacred moments by my side. Little did I know just how impactful that gesture would be. The following date is when he asked me to meet his parents. And to meet mine. In Florida.
Every second following our initial encounter was spent daydreaming about our lives together and wishing the clock would freeze for just a few more minutes. That day in August leaving London was bittersweet: knowing I was heading back to my mundane college town, yearning to see Harry again that following week in Florida, and hoping my week-long trip back for Christmas would feel longer than these few months spent together.
Writing this really does make me wonder about fate and chance and the odds of it all… How lucky am I? Really. To have found the person I want to share my most intimate interests with. I mean, come on, Harry went from being merely acquainted with “Shake It Off” and “Love Story,” to gifting me an H necklace for Christmas (any Taylor Swift fans know what this means. He pulled a “Call It What You Want”).
Just months after having my first New Year's Kiss (eek!), I sit in my college apartment writing this, taking bites out of my Trader Joe’s frozen meal between each sentence. Harry and I like to reflect on the kismet of our situation to pass the time and, more importantly, make each few-month gap feel just a smidge more tolerable. Don’t get me wrong: long distance is the worst… but when you find the person who tells you to go outside, breathe in fresh air, and live in the moment while looking to the future, you realize they just might be the light at the end of the tunnel. Every person who asks about him falls witness to the sheer love and joy that covers my face. I can’t wait for my friends to come face to face with the person who has made me swear off situationships and swear by fleeing the country.
So, my lesson from the dream I’m living is clear: don’t change who you are and simply relocate. The confidence and comfort I’ve gained by coining myself as an “American Runaway” is a debt I can never repay to the city of London. See you soon. xx