“I look into your eyes and I see so much pain,” the girl sitting across from me said.
I had just finished telling her the condensed version of why I left America behind.
“Why is there so much pain in your eyes? I can tell it’s real but I do not understand why.”
Looking for more answers as to why I left my homeland behind. The homeland, land of opportunity. Opportunity a 20-year-old girl like her can only dream of.
She was wearing a flowing skirt with a flower print shirt that showed off her stomach. Her heels were at least 4 inches, she told me she wore them so she would not be as tiny (157 cm and 42kg – or 5’2″ and 92 pounds). Her hair was done in an elaborate style and her makeup impeccable.
I loved how she looked.
She told me she loves it when men bring her flowers on the first date. I had to explain that if we were in America, it would probably weird a girl out if I brought flowers.
I loved the way she presented herself with her style and elegance.
“Please, tell me more. Why so much pain?”
The questions weren’t going away at this point.
I explained my pain in a slow and methodical way. Both so that nothing would be lost in translation (though her English was excellent), and to stress my point.
And for one other reason.
“I left America behind because I was tired of everything about it. I was tired of the way the dating scene works. Why can’t I bring a girl flowers on a date? It doesn’t make sense that she is turned off by that.”
“I grew tired of having a boss and always having to do things like everyone said I should.”
“You see the pain in my eyes because there is a lot of it. It sucks. I’m here in a foreign country, in a city that isn’t the capital. Nobody speaks my language. I left my girls, family, friends, apartment, and everything comfortable about my life behind.”
“So yes, there is a lot of pain in my eyes because…well, it really hurts.”
She asked if I was happy with my decision. I told her yes, absolutely–I am. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt a bit. It doesn’t mean I don’t have some tough days here and there. It doesn’t mean that I don’t wish I could import parts of America to Ukraine whilst keeping the good of their culture.
But the world doesn’t work like that.
About ten minutes later, she said she had to go. I paid the bill and we walked outside of the cafe we’d been sitting inside. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and we went our separate ways. It had gone well and I looked forward to seeing her again.
I never saw her again.
Perhaps she was afraid.
Or maybe, my pain was just too much to take.
Take some of my pain away and check out The Harem Handbook 😉