Each photo evokes a distinct memory - birthday bonfires, prom night, a week in
When I see one photo in particular, at first I always smile, but this quickly changes into a bittersweet sigh and a resigned shake of the head.
It is a picture from almost three years ago. It is of me and a friend. I am glowing from a deep tan after a weekend of sprawling on the hedonistic shores of
This photo always elicits many curious comments and questions. This is the one photo from the bunch that provokes a lightheaded giddiness of familiarity. And this is where it all starts.
I met Paco four summers ago when I came to
The three of us spent that summer frolicking on the beach, rollicking in the warm waves, wandering the winding streets for hours, frequenting the small town bars with the other underage hooligans until the wee hours, all the while gesturing and gesticulating madly to each other because I didn't speak very much Spanish and neither of them spoke English.
Vejer is in Andalucia, and this is where my interest in Arabic and Middle Eastern studies was sparked. The legacy of Al-Andalus is apparent in the mudejar architecture and every summer there is a Moroccan arts and crafts festival. I returned home with the seed planted that would guide the course of my college studies.
Before I left, I exchanged my email address with several of the Spanish friends that I met in Vejer. Paco is the only one who kept in touch. We emailed each other every week for a year. We never missed a birthday or a holiday. The next summer, I had graduated from high school, and my parents congratulated me with a trip to anywhere I chose with a friend. I chose to return to
Denise and I went on a Contiki tour that included all the big cities and (party) sites. Before we returned home, we made a surprise stop in Vejer. Those few days were some of the best ever. I ran into old friends, and Paco and I spent almost every minute together.
During those few days, only we seemed to exist in this ephemeral bubble that would pop when I left again. He was my first love. I'd never cried so hard leaving anyone or any place in my life, and I vowed to him and myself that I would come back some day.
Neither of us knew or quite believed that I would actually be back three years later as a study abroad student. Here I am in
Paco and I had kept our internet correspondence strong just until, strangely enough, I arrived in
I gave up hope talking to Paco again after the email connection was so abruptly severed. I never saw him or Francisco in my daily warblings up and down the streets of
Since then, our contact has been short and scarce. I met with Paco twice, and both times, we spent the day in a reverie of nostalgia. We galvanized old names and old faces from distant memories as we sat on the beach watching the waves crash like we used to those past summers in Vejer.
It’s been three years, and much has changed. When I saw him with his girlfriend, I was surprised by my reaction. I was neither hurt nor jealous; I was simply so glad to finally see him and that he was happy and that she was making him happy.
Two nights ago,
For a brief moment, old feelings were rekindled, and he claimed in a drunken release from his inhibitions, “te amo”, and that was simultaneously what I’d hoped to hear from him before coming to
There are times when I sit on the ramparts by myself and look out into the ocean as the sun sets, and I know that he is doing the same a few miles down the shore. Part of me wonders with a bit of sadness what might have been. But most of me realizes that our paths diverged long ago.
This is a tribute to young love, and to how pure and powerful it is, and to how long it can last despite its youth, and to how wonderful it is even in retrospect.
There, Tif. There's your update.
