What I know is, it knows no boundaries. One day, after a safe landing on an airport for the hundredth times aboard an aeroplane.
I will meet someone running just to hug me and kiss her forehead and say “Bogoshipda, dangshin gwa itsusuh haengbok haeyo, saranghaeyo.”
I will fall in love with her. With her chink eyes, the way she says “Te amo” while making me a Turkish coffee on a cold climate in Fuji, where Sakura trees are dressing the horizon like the Kimono of a princess.
I will be holding her soft hand and fall in love with her each day. Each stare of her almond eyes, her curly hair that is flowing like the Euphrates on her shoulder, each touch of her bronze skin and the way she dances in the rain on the pavements of Piazza San Marco. Having only the streetlights as a guide.
I will fall in love with just the way she is. I will marry her in every church, in every mosque, and in every temple in the world. I will not mind if she is a Jewish, if she is Moslem from Palestine or a Gnostic Christian of Egypt. I will not mind if she is a Wiccan with ginger hair, a Viking of Scandinavia or an Amazona.
I will fall in love with her, just the way she talks with her tongue, just the way her soul speaks to mine. I will fall in love with her, with her imperfections and the way she speaks her broken English, the way she pronounce a word so differently that we will laugh at each other not knowing that we are already in love.
One day, Kathmandu will only be just a second home, she will be in our house, in a Philippine town across the ocean, cooking adobo and biko. And when that day comes, polyglots will be ashamed of themselves that they cannot surpass the number of tongues I will use to say “I love you.” Love sees no colors, it knows no boundaries, no race nor religion— only a language that only the soul could understand.
