I used to have a terrible habit. Whenever any of my relationships (whether friendly or romantic) turned sour, I would block out all the happy memories from that relationship, to shield myself from further pain.
When I broke up with my first boyfriend, I told myself I never really liked him that much anyway. When any of my friends stopped wanting to hang out, I told myself it was because they were never really my friends to begin with. Two of my boyfriends cheated on me, so I convinced myself that everything they had ever told me was a lie, and that everything they had ever done for me was merely calculated manipulation. People I had once loved and cared about turned into monsters in my mind. And it wasn’t until much, much later that I realized how much unresolved hurt and insecurity I had buried under that mountain of bitterness. Then God used a special travel experience to set me free.
I spent most of the train ride from Rome to Florence scribbling in my journal. I was still feeling wistful from my brief but unforgettable date the night before. I barely glanced out at the gorgeous scenery speeding past the windows. My head was still filled with flashing images of the little streets at nighttime, the feeling of the wind against my cheeks through the borrowed motorcycle helmet, and the bittersweet memory of saying goodbye – perhaps forever – to the beautiful Italian gentleman who’d made me smile and laugh all evening.
I initially wanted to keep this entry to myself, but now that that chapter of my life is over, I wanted to share the beauty of that one magical evening. The one that God used to heal a place in my heart that had once been utterly shattered.
Excerpt from my travel journal, dated August 8th, 2016:
I met this guy on Tinder last Friday. My male roommates had all been swiping on it during their trips and they were encouraging me to meet a local. At least we could all go out together and it wouldn’t be too much awkwardness or pressure.
I was skeptical. I had deactivated my account months earlier after not having much luck. I had only ever gone out with one person from the app. But then I remembered that that guy, though not a good romantic match, had become a good friend.
So I gave it a try. Within minutes of reactivating my account, I’d had several “Super Likes” (much to my roommates’ chagrin).
One of those happened to be – him.
In Dubai, everyone who’d ever “Super Liked” me was usually Super Creepy. But this one seemed different. He was 38 and yet boyishly attractive; a little nerdy, a little scruffy.
I swiped right, and it was a match. He messaged me right away.
One of the things I’d written in my profile was “I can quote entire scenes from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.” (Impressive, no?) So his first message was – “I bet you could tell me the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow.”
And of course, my response was – “European or African swallow?”
We clicked instantly. I thought he was intelligent, charming, and funny. We messaged each other back and forth for the next couple of days but we kept missing each other every time we thought we could meet up.
Finally, on my last night in Rome, and after my day tour of Pompeii and Naples, we managed to coordinate a dinner out. He asked if I wanted to meet him somewhere or would rather have him pick me up on his scooter.
I pictured dreamy scenes with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. I knew I’d always regret it if I didn’t take this chance. I considered the risk, and decided I could probably just jump off with minimal injuries if he seemed shady at any point. And I wouldn’t allow myself to be taken somewhere without any other people around. I thought for a few moments and realized I really wanted to take a leap of faith this time.
I prayed for protection, then told him I’d love to take a ride on his scooter. I was tired of always being too cautious and afraid!
He asked me to walk to the front of Termini station, which was near my hostel. When I got there I looked around for a minute, then spotted him from across the street.
My first glimpse was of him trotting toward me, Monty Python style, grinning from ear to ear.
I doubled over, laughing, groaning, and cringing all at the same time, completely mortified at the spectacle. People all around us were looking.
“Tell me I’m crazy for doing this!” I said – with my face in my hands – after we had finished laughing and greeting each other. “Don’t worry,” he said, still grinning. His English was impeccable, with a lovely Italian accent. He led me to where he had parked, put a spare helmet on me, buckled it under my chin, got onto his scooter, and pushed off into the street.
Then he turned around in his seat and helped me to get on behind him. “Whatever you do…” he said as I tried to sit down with as much dignity as I could muster “…don’t move.”
I had never properly ridden on a motorbike before – if you don’t count the time I had clung to my uncle like a gecko on his bike a few years ago. He had just slowly driven a few meters down the street from my grandmother’s home in Bohol, but he might as well have been flying off ramps through flaming hoops, the way I carried on.
Or the time I tried to learn how to ride one by crashing my friend’s dad’s scooter into a bench when I was 18.
So I was terrified.
We got going. I was nervously laughing and squeezing my eyes shut. “I can’t believe I’m doing this!” I screamed as we took off. I forgot to be wary of him, overcome by my fear of falling SPLAT! onto the pavement. I dug my claws into him for dear life. “Relax,” he yelled back at me.
He’d said he was going to take me to one of his favorite pizza places in Monti, and we wove in and out of Rome’s beautiful narrow streets, the ones I love so much. We rode downhill and he glanced at me saying “Look down, at the end of the road” as he pointed.
There, peeking in between the long rows of old, old buildings, was the bright crescent moon against the night sky. “I did that just for you,” he said, smirking.
It was just so cheesy and over-the-top. “You probably do this for all the tourist girls, don’t you?” I said sarcastically.
“No, just for the special ones,” he said cheekily, without missing a beat. I rolled my eyes, but laughed at the sheer absurdity of the evening.
We finally got to the pizza place and I realized how hungry I was. My knees were still shaking as he unbuckled my helmet.
We walked from where he’d parked around the corner and he pointed out his favorite church building nearby. “I’m very serious about my faith,” he said. “Are you religious?”
I smiled. “Funny thing…” then I told him that I actually work full-time for the Church. He said he was a devout Roman Catholic. I told him I’m a non-denominational Christian, and explained a little bit about what I do at Fellowship.
We walked into the restaurant (I wish I could remember the name) and he smiled and said hello to all the wait staff as we passed by on the way to our table al fresco.
He ordered pizza and wine for us. As we waited for our food, we talked about the Bible, and I asked him, “How would you describe your faith?”
He looked thoughtful before he said “I see faith as a gift…like it’s an empty jar, just a container. And we need to constantly be searching for the source that will fill it.”
He asked me about my tattoo and what it meant. I quoted 1 Corinthians 13 and Hebrews 6:19 to him. He gave me a weird look. Apparently he doesn’t like tattoos very much. But he seemed to respect my reasons for getting one.
He told me that he’d “Super Liked” me because of what I’d written in my short profile. The Monty Python stuff was one thing, but he said “I thought ‘I need to meet her’ when I saw that you had written ‘looking for meaningful connections and good conversation’. Most everyone is on Tinder just to hook up, but you seemed different.”
As we munched on pizza, we talked about our hometowns and our future plans, about modern dating, about faith, about friendship, about depression, about God’s goodness.
The waiters had started taking the chairs and tables away for the night, but he asked me if I wanted dessert. We ordered tiramisu to share, and our waiter was kind enough to humor us.
After I had shoveled the last bit of the divine coffee custard into my mouth, I asked, “Okay, what’s next?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want a nighttime tour of Rome?”
“Sure!”
We got up with my box of leftover pizza (I couldn’t finish it!) and he went up to the cashier. I asked him if I could pay for my half of the meal but he smiled, shook his head, and paid the bill. We walked back to his scooter, and he helped me with my helmet again after he had put his on, then we were off.
The night air was cool, and the streets were pretty quiet by that time. We passed by the Colosseum, beautiful, silent and empty in the glow of the lights.
I finally loosened my grip on him and leaned onto the backrest. I looked around as the streets of Rome moved beneath us. I felt so grateful to be where I was.
My dear friend Bingo sent me an email last year. He’d said “How do you know? How can you tell if a moment is a memory in the making?”
Most of the time I have no idea, but in that moment I closed my eyes and knew that this would become a treasured memory forever, stored in the vault where I keep beautiful things.
I shut my journal just as the next stop was announced: Firenze Santa Maria Novella. As the train pulled into the station, flashes of forgotten memories came flooding back.
Mark walking me all the way up the steep hill to our house in Cebu just so we could spend more time talking. Eymon taking care of me when I was sick, and offering to drive my parents when they visited Manila. Faces of friends I had mentally cast aside, crying with me, laughing with me.
Yes, I had loved people who are no longer a part of my present and future. But I realized that the bad things in my past didn’t negate the good, in the same way that the happy memories could never negate the hurt and sadness of the bad memories. I realized that the end of any relationship didn’t necessarily invalidate the entirety of the relationship.
I didn’t know whether I would ever see that beautiful Italian gentleman again, but I finally understood that that wasn’t the point of any human encounter. The point isn’t the longevity, but simply the shared experiences, the meaningful connections, the lessons learned, and the momentary, vulnerable, genuine exchange of two souls who were destined to meet.
