There’s this Snapchat timer shot of our first non-virtual meeting. It was September 2020, on the second floor of the Port Authority station. Our nervousness is palpable: he barely dares to put a hand on my back and I am all smiles in front of the camera.
For this first meeting, each of us had carefully chosen their outfit: me, a navy blue suit, bought in extremis a few days earlier, and him, a striped shirt and canvas Bermuda shorts. The mask covers half of our faces, but barely hides the radiant smiles hidden beneath, as we strike a pose in one of the least romantic places in the entire city. He had just returned to New York and I had come by bus from my parents’ home in New Jersey.
Two months earlier, in July (six days after I turned 19 and in the height of the pandemic), I dumped Hinge, out of boredom, but also out of curiosity. I had always made fun of my friends who downloaded these dating apps. “to have fun”but, swallowed by the black abyss of confinement, I took the liberty of doing the same.
An immediate connection
To my surprise, I immediately received a message from Bryce, who had the good taste not to choose a shirtless selfie for the profile photo. He was home in Virginia, but he would be returning shortly before the school year to his college residence near Lincoln Center, a few subway stops from New York University, where I was studying. It all happened very quickly between us: We stopped Hinge from texting us (with daily good morning and good night) and spent hours laughing on FaceTime.
Our favorite topics of conversation were our families (we both have a little brother and a doctor father), if we wanted children (yes) and our childhood as Asian Americans (my family is Korean and hers, Vietnam and Philippines). He had been the only Asian student in his school in Appalachia, while I, in New Jersey, was always surrounded by people who looked like me. He also warned me that he was 1m67: with my little 1m65 I replied that it was not serious at all. But what we talked about the most was what we were going to do when we got back to New York.
“Have you ever tasted dimsums? he asked me.
– Only once, I replied, embarrassed by my lack of culinary curiosity.
– Okay, then we have to go to Jing Fong, in Chinatown. Their buffet is huge, you absolutely have to see it. “
I had written a complete list of the adventures we would share together: eating d
