My Google Translate Girlfriend

Well that was weird

I sit down in the airport, ready to board. After three weeks I’m leaving Rio.

I’m exhausted and a bit off. I had to wake up at 4 AM to catch my flight. I usually drag myself out of bed around 10, so my head is throbbing. I treat myself to one of those sugary drinks at Starbucks, as I fight to keep my head from collapsing into my lap. I hear my flight on the PA system and find myself being called somewhere new.

With another flight, with another passport stamp, I say goodbye. This has to be one of the weirdest situationships I’ve ever had. A unique experience by my standards. I just said goodbye to my Google Translate girlfriend.

While I write that out it sounds demeaning. It sounds as if I’m reducing someone to a label, off-putting and objectifying. It feels intuitively bad in a way I can’t describe. But I don’t know how else to put it. From one message to the next, we communicated entirely through Google Translate. We learned about each other's values, history, and passions from one text bubble to the next. We communicated through body language, a mobile application and one-word answers.

It’s the first time I’ve been with someone whom I’ve shared no common language with. It’s the first time I’ve received love and adoration in the way it was intended. Purely through touches and smiles. Purely through laughs and passing gazes.

It was fun. I don’t think you could say I took advantage of her or she took advantage of me. I always long for companionship and she was no different. But when you are leaving and have the say in the last goodbye, it feels a bit wrong. It feels a bit exploitative.

But she loved me. She wrote a note about how she enjoyed our time together. About how I set an example of how she should be treated (most men set a low bar?).

It’s funny. In a sense communicating over text led to more honesty. I don’t know if she could have said those words aloud. I don’t know if otherwise she could have poured her heart out. Movies would make us think otherwise. That to be forthcoming in our deepest feelings is natural and intuitive. But we usually wait as long as possible. We wait until the last dying moments of romance to express our sincerest thoughts and desires, if we do at all. Which, she did. Maybe I’m not used to that bare minimum.

I felt nothing. Or maybe that’s not true. I did feel a sadness in leaving. But it was no different than the melancholy I associate with the passing of time. When you look out the window and think “God damn, things move quickly”. While I jump from one passing fancy to the next, the universe marches on relentlessly. The days and hours slip through my fingertips.

But I really didn’t feel much. I don’t think I’ve been in love for years. I’ve loved. I love so many things in life. My family, my friends, my hobbies. My romantic escapades. But being in love is different. Being in love is that magical experience where everything blurs out of focus except one light. One light that burns relentlessly, which in comparison all things pale. I don’t remember the last time I felt that way. Maybe I haven’t spent enough time with one person. Moving from place to place has given me an excuse to wade in the shallows. And I think that, like all things, real love is built through time and effort. In the short term, passion is just a chemical reaction.

But the longer I dwell on that thought the weirder it feels. It makes me wonder if there’s something wrong with me. What part of me prevents those relationships that are the stuff of stories. I guess I’ll wait. I’ll hold out, until life gifts me an opportunity. Or I mature enough to chose depth and commitment. Until then, to novelty. To new places and adventures.