Last fall, before I left for Taipei, I read enough stories on Reddit to plant the seed “What if I met my partner while traveling?” Two wanderers meeting in a foreign land and falling in love — could it be more romantic?
“We met on Hinge.”
Fortunately, I met M through Bumble — not that it’s any different.
M was studying abroad in Taipei but is originally from Belgium. She’s stunning. A natural beauty I don’t believe she’s quite fully aware of — which only makes her all the more beautiful. To top it off, her voice has an accent and huskiness that melts my heart into a puddle.
But the vibe wasn’t there.
It’s something I can gauge quickly these days. A spidey sense that sharpened the more “dates” I went on while traveling.
But you don’t know until you know. Until you sit down with someone and slip beyond the facades and dating profile qualities. Hear the story of who they are. How they came to be.
M and I go to a shaved ice spot near Gong Guan and order two heaping mounds of snow. One black sesame, the other of course, Belgian chocolate.
If you met me, you’d quickly learn I’m not one to skirt on the surface. We may start light, but once the path emerges for vulnerability and depth, I take the plunge.
Our conversation starts with discussing cultural observations of the U.S. and Europe — namely the environments we grew up in.
Bit by bit, M reveals she’s the daughter of an uber-wealthy businessman. I have no idea if we’re talking “million” or “billion” followed by “aire” — does it really matter after a certain point?
Her family owns luxury hotels if that paints a clear enough picture.
Yes, I grew up privileged–upper middle class in the U.S.–but this is another level of wealth. One that isn’t flaunted openly, but subtly. Behind closed doors manned by suited men. Firm handshakes in broad daylight. Clothes unadorned of gawky brand logos that attempt to signal “class” but actually convey a lack of.
Some need makeup, others are all natural.
I can imagine many of us at one point have wondered what it’d be like to live such a life. To be in a world amongst worlds. To, at the wave of a platinum credit card, have any door spring open to greet your presence.
To live life on “easy mode” — without any “real” struggle.
Yes, there’s an apartment in Brussels. Yes, there’s a sizable allowance each month. But if you stopped there–your mind judging and heart closed–you’d be further from the truth than when you first sat down.
Further from them than when you first sat down.
Between the lines, I hear of an older “sister” more in label than how she shows up. A dad too focused on building his career to be present. A mom who tried to mold M into a mini version of herself. Telling her how she should dress and act. Who to befriend and not.
Who to be.
You’d think you and M couldn’t be more different. But if you sat down and listened to her, your judgments at the door, you’d hear a story echoing your own.
A story of what it means to be human.
//
We look at the beautiful, the wealthy–the beautiful and wealthy–and place them on a pedestal or in the sight of our disdain.
Either way, more than an arm’s length away.
Untouchable.
We call them vain. We call them greedy. And in many cases, they are. But have you ever wondered what circumstances unfolded for them to be as they are? Ever cared enough to sit down with them and hear their story in its entirety? Without layering on judgment and belittling them for not being as humble or philanthropic as you’d be if you were in their position.
They experience both enough. You doing so does nothing for their humanness.
What if you’d been born into their circumstances? How can you be certain you’d still be as you are if you had?
You can’t.
So instead, listen. You’ll find they too grew up in broken, disconnected households. Had love withheld from them, dangled on a stick. Received expectations that suffocated their sense of selfhood.
Enough ingredients to make anyone vain, greedy, or an egotistical piece of shit.
You see the lavish trips, the lovers fawning over them, the red carpets rolling out beneath their feet. But beneath it all, in a world of worlds, what echoes in the silence of aloneness?
What is it they really want?
What is it you really want?
//
M and I are walking toward Da'An Park. She's just finished telling me about how she needs to leave by 6 so she can attend a business meeting on behalf of her dad.
She’s 20.
She tells me she has no idea what’s happening most of the time, but needs to report back her observations. How it feels to have all these old white men look for her opinion solely out of obligation — not like they genuinely respect her.
Silence. The jingle of bikes whirring by. The gentle rustle of her synthetic pants or mine rubbing against themselves.
"Do you ski?" M asks.
"I haven’t in years….Can you tell me what you love about skiing?"
Something shifts in M. She starts to light up, radiate, as she tells me about ski trips in the Alps — yes I know. Days spent on the slopes. Evenings spent partying with her friends. Waking up hungover and doing it all over again.
But if you scoff at that, latch onto that, you’d miss how she describes her love for skiing. The feeling of ripping down powdery white snow. The rush of air and scent of pine greeting her presence. How the thrill of acceleration is unlike any other feeling in the world.
“Like a drug.”
In these moments, “M” is gone. The M constrained by lofty expectations she was born into and never asked for. The M wrestling with love conditional upon her being someone else.
She just is.
Free.
Isn’t that what all of us want?
To be as we are, without any need to be anyone or anything else. To be accepted with all of our imperfectly or perfectly proportioned features. Our empty pockets or coffers laden with gold or S&P 500 ETFs.
Love.
I think that everyone wants to become someone to be loved and to love others. Isn’t that why Love is Love? Love is in a whole different category on its own.
Inspiration:
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=_QT7-Yi73KA&pp=ygUnZnJ1aXRzIGJhc2tldCBwcmVsdWRlIGt5b2tvIGFuZCBrYXRzdXlh
Yes