“The world is a really small place, so I will definitely see you again.” She took a couple of steps back, turned around and left. “Until later!”
It was a quiet summer afternoon, and I was at work, with Bonnie Tyler blasting through my headphones, when I saw a familiar face. It was someone I had met over the summer through the Stanford International Honors Program. As the Resident Assistant, I had the opportunity to meet students from across the world, from different backgrounds and cultures and even age groups. When I saw her, I was extremely delighted.
“So when are you headed back?” I asked.
“Tonight, actually!”
“Oh my god! Hope you have a safe flight!”
“I am so glad I got a chance to say goodbye to you before I left. Is there anywhere where we are connected?”
We exchanged our contact information and followed each other on LinkedIn and Instagram.
This summer was truly life changing. Over the course of it, I got to interact with residents from all over the world, and one BBQ night in particular stands out. That’s where I met a publishing-house owner from Taiwan. Despite being from different generations, we connected instantly, talking about our love for literature, our shared interest in feminism, and a mutual love of travelling and meeting people from other countries.
She told me about her life as an elder daughter, and how every decision she made came with a quiet calculation: would this truly benefit her, or was she choosing others over herself again. Choosing herself brings her peace, and she tries to do it as often as she can. Speaking with her made me realize how grateful I should be to live a life where I don’t have to think twice before making a decision, because I know my loved ones will always support me.
That same night, I met a student from Columbia who had written a collection of short stories, just like me. She was endearing and funny, and it was through her that I learnt about Bob Davis, who established the Louise Lawrence Transgender Archive, a collection spanning over 50 years of trans history.
A few days later, at another event, I ran into the publishing-house owner again. “I have been meaning to find a way to contact you,” she told me. “Our conversation left a huge impression on me, and I would like to give you a gift.” She’d brought a book she had written and published, in Taiwanese. “Perhaps Google Translate might come in handy,” she laughed, handing it to me. I was touched. It was so sweet of her to share something this personal with someone she’d only spoken to once, at an event where she was undoubtedly meeting someone new every other hour. I gave her a copy of my own book in return, and she was delighted. I’ll cherish that exchange.
The rest of the summer kept unfolding like that. I met someone who planned her travels around solar eclipses, and who told me about Namibia’s Skeleton Coast, where blinding fog and treacherous currents meet the desert, and shifting winds slowly bury shipwrecks in sand until they’re swallowed inland entirely. Another person I met worked in ocean conservation in Hawaii, moving between art, fashion, and media, and at one point, without realizing it, described what sounded exactly like my dream life. By the end of it, I felt like I’d learnt something real about countries I’d never even been to.
A part of me likes to think that if I were to ever visit these countries – sorry, when I do visit these countries, I’d have a friend there already, and we could all rejoice in the summer of 2026 together.