The Dilemma of Falling in Love in a Foreign Country
Sixteen months in a foreign town, it’s bound to happen.
It’s easy to fall in love.
Too easy.
But it’s even easier to fall in love abroad. Or, at least, a version of “love”.
Once upon a time, I fell in “love” with a French-speaking Belgian girl from Brussels. It was in October of 2015 on the European island of Malta.
We met at a mutual friend’s house party and hit it off in an instant. She studied in Mississippi for a year; I lived my first 20 years of my life in the Midwestern United States. That was the only common denominator we needed.
We hiked across the entirety of the island the following weekend. And shared unforgettable moments as our feet bled red with blisters.
We went rock climbing, occasionally, too. Everything was sweet.
One weekend, I got an invite to a party on the sister island, Gozo. I knew she was going and I wanted to be with her. It ended up being a perfect night, but that’s when things flipped.
We became too close of friends. And shared a common friend circle after that night.
Things got weird. She even gave me the cold shoulder a couple of times.
