It’s September, 2019 in snowy San Carlos de Bariloche, Bariloche, Argentina and I slowly creak the door to the room I share in my hostel open, wary of the fact it is 3 am. “Goodnight,” a voice whispers from the dark behind me. “Goodnight, “ I say, smiling, as I quietly slip into my bottom bunk.
I arrived in San Carlos de Bariloche the day before and immediately hit it off with my roommates from Jackson Hole, Wyoming over a bottle of wine someone else had bought. I had worked off a hangover the following day on overpriced brunch.
In my 5 months in Argentina, I had come to love many things about Argentina, and it had become clear early that full breakfast would never be one of those things. I let Lake Nahuel Huapi heal my hangover with its beauty and had a day packed full of adventures, stories for another time-think getting lost in Patagonia, being a patient in a very small, local emergency room type of stories.
The night of the 3 am return to my room began with more loud banter in the hostel common area facilitated by Malbec(one of Argentina’s proudest accomplishments), a healthy hatred of Chile-I personally love Chile, but the Argentinian-Chilean competition is no joke among native Argentinians- and myself as translator between our Spanish speaking only guests and my English speaking only roommates. And there was him.
The first thing I noticed was not how gorgeous he was, and he was, but his reserved yet humorous nature. Call him by whatever name you like; I’m sure he’ll correct you on the pronunciation of his name until the two of you repeating it back to one another like a dance between essence and energy is branded into your memory. He was from Israel, as his harmonious accent revealed, although it only graced our ears when he had something to say. When he did have something to say, it was always funny.
I leaned over 20 minutes after he entered the room.
Later that night, after we had stayed up much too late enjoying the company of a kindred spirit, he said, “ just be here when I come back.” And I was.
I wondered if it was the right thing to do, to delay my trip to Puerto Montt, Chile to spend more time with a man I would never see again. The way he existed around me shone a light on parts of myself I hadn’t noticed in a very long time. We did simple things together; read together, watched TV together, ate together, sat in silence together, drank tea together, scrolled on our phones together, stared at Lake Nahuel Huapi together.
He spoke to me in Hebrew even though I couldn’t understand, because he never had a chance to use his mother tongue and I understood the feeling of only being able to express certain emotions in certain languages. I met him in glasses and a sweater I had been wearing all day for dinner. We were always fully ourselves.
After 5 months of partying in Buenos Aires, rushing to catch the next bus, and always seeking the next best view or trek or adventure, having this beautiful man with this song-like voice stare at me reverently, touch me reverently, and speak to me with a touch of awe slowed time itself down.
He was gentle, yet straightforward; independent but fully present when he was with me.
“Is there an extra tea bag?” I asked coyly, curled up on the couch in the shared living area of the hostel one rainy day.
“In Israel,” he explained, “if we want tea, we just say, will you make me tea.”
“Will you make me tea?” I asked
I no longer longed for wild adventures or crazy nights; I longed for a simple life, with simple pleasures and no fuss. I felt as if I had met someone who I was meant to be with, meant to reconnect with, meant to have in my life in some capacity. Time has shown this is not the case. He was always meant to remind me of the pieces of myself that I had left scattered across South America, and nothing else.
For almost 2 years after I returned to the United States, I thought of him when I felt lost; I could hear him whispering good night in Hebrew in my ear like a song that was only ours. When I was in relationships, he graced my mind every now and then, leaving me wondering if I wasn’t looking for something more.
I think it is a gift to meet someone who brings out a part of you that you had forgotten existed; who illuminates some of your being in a way that allows you to walk more lightly through this world.
I now see that I never missed him. I was always yearning for the part of myself that he showed me; the part that longed for a life that I would have the energy to live and the desire to show up for every day. Recently, I have begun to show a lot more love and attention towards those needs, and those wants , and those desires that I pushed down into the depths of my being for so long. The stranger I was once so intensely drawn to no longer enters my thoughts.
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This post was previously published on Hello, Love.
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Photo credit: Camille Prairie