My favorite girlfriend is unlike any woman I’ve known before. Not just because of her black hair, which always seems to be hiding something, not just because of her blue eyes that, when they look at you, feel as if they pass straight through your face and into something deeper.

She is a blend of worlds.

When we walk together, people try to guess where she’s from. She just smiles and says nothing. I know why—because she doesn’t belong to any single, simple place.

Her tanned skin knows the sun well. She says some memories live in our blood, even if we’ve never seen those lands ourselves. When she speaks of her father, her voice softens. When she speaks of her mother, she becomes precise, almost analytical. And I realize she has always lived somewhere between emotion and reason, between roots and choice.

My favorite girlfriend knows how to be alone. And that is exactly why her being with me is a choice, not a need.

At night, when we talk about the world politics, identity, the future, the fear of history repeating itself.