I don’t often tell love stories on here… okay, I’ve never told a love story on here, BUT this one, this one, is unlike anything you’ve heard before. It was unlike anything I had heard before, too, which is why I thought it was too good not to share with you.
So, without further ado…
It was spring semester during my junior year of college. I was enrolled in the bare minimum amount of classes one needed while studying abroad because who goes abroad to study? If people actually did, I didn’t know any of them.
Every class at Anglo American University in the heart of Prague, Czech Republic, the most beautiful European city, was scheduled for once a week for three hours. Let me just say, only having to show up to each class once a week sounded lovely. Actually sitting there for three hours when the time came— the complete opposite of lovely.
Admittedly so, I took a Brand Management course while I was abroad simply because it fulfilled a requirement I needed in order to graduate. I rarely took classes because I was interested in the curriculum, and unfortunately, “Brand Management” didn’t make that cut.
But to my surprise, that class was actually my favorite one that I took while I was at Anglo American University. The content was pretty intuitive (in my opinion), I had cool classmates from all over the world, and we spent an entire class period (we’re talking 3 hours) at a brewery— first two beers paid for. I’m not saying that was the reason why Brand Management was my favorite course, but I’ll also not not saying that, either.
Anyway, while some of us were analyzing beer bottles and brands, some of us were busy tasting the actual beer. There’s no better way to assess what’s working for a brand and what’s not like testing the physical product, so I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. Respectfully.
During the testing phase of my analysis, my professor, a US born, Czech transplant, sat down at the table that I was sitting at with a few of my friends. She asked how we liked the beer, how we were doing, how we were liking Prague, and then her questions died down and the floor opened up. So, I did what any normal, curious person would do after two beers. I asked my professor what brought her to Prague from Baltimore, Maryland.
And she answered with her life story.
Jackpot. I hit gold. I’m a sucker for a good life story.
My professor’s parents were born and raised in the Czech Republic. They were born during communist times, when things were tough, and life was hard. Her father fled the country and moved to LA in hopes to create a better life for himself. He left his family, his friends, his home, his everything, behind to start new in a country he had never been to before. It was risky. It was dangerous. It was unnerving, but it was also promising. When you’re desperate for change, every card could be stacked against you, but if you have even one working in your favor, you run with it. So, that’s what he did.
My professor’s father’s mother worked at a public firm (the exact industry I’m unsure of), and had a secretary who managed all of her communication. His mother constantly talked about her son, how she missed him, what he was like, etc. and her secretary listened. Fortunately, for the mother, she was able to communicate with her son via snail mail. But remember, this was during a rough time for the Czechs, and the fact that he fled and was living in the US had to be kept under wraps. So, when he wrote letters and mailed them back home, he mailed them to his mom’s work and put her secretary’s name on the envelopes. This way he would conceal his identity and keep not only himself but his mother safe, too.
And then, the secretary would read them. All of them. And eventually, she started replying to them herself. Eventually, she fell in love with a man who lived across the world through hand-written letters.
But it doesn’t stop there.
After many letters back and forth, the secretary was head over heels. She confessed her feelings to his mother, and somewhere down the line, she made the decision to buy a one-way plane ticket, quit her job, flee the Czech Republic, and fly to a foreign country to start a life with a man she had never met.
This woman did know what her future held when she got on that plane. She didn’t know if she would even like the man she escaped home for, let alone love him. She didn’t know anything.
But when she landed at LAX, with only a few suitcases and the amount of apprehension only an immigrant would understand, she also walked into the arms of her soulmate.
It was love at first sight.
A few love letters, passion pouring out of pages, and an intuition far too strong to verbalize later, the union of a couple who spent 27 years together was made.
My professor had a very unique life. She was born in Baltimore, Maryland but only lived in the US for a short amount of time. I think it goes without saying that her parents were risk-takers and lived for thrills, but escaping to the US wasn’t exactly enough for them. My professor continued her story by admitting that one day her dad came home from work and told her family that he was selling everything— the cars, the house, everything— and buying a boat that they would live on.
She spent her childhood growing up on the water. She was home-schooled and traveled from country to country on the boat with her family. She was born from adventurers and then became one herself by nurture or nature, who’s to tell?
Years down the road, though, she decided she wanted to settle down in Prague. Raise a family. Become a professor. Stabilize her roots in one place. I suppose she went back to the Czech Republic to finish what her parents started.
~
I’ve heard a lot of love stories in my life. I’m sure you have, too. This one is one of my favorites because it reminds me that love doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but you. If it feels right, if it fills you up and keeps you full, then does anything else really matter?
This story also gives me hope that spontaneous, electric love isn’t only in movies. Quiet, calm love is a lot more common and just as beautiful, but I know I’ll have that. It’s the, “let’s book plane tickets tomorrow” on a random Tuesday that I’ve been fearful of finding. I’ll never complain about baking cookies and eating leftovers on a Wednesday night every week of my life if I’m madly in love with my husband. I just wanna make sure that when I suggest a trip to the middle of Vietnam or ask him to jump out of a helicopter with me at 14,000 feet, he doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy. I’m looking for, “I thought you’d never ask.”
The only thing I know for sure… is that love is worth everything.
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