They say that first love is not always the one that comes first, but the one that awakens our soul from a childish slumber. Before the world was tinged with deep colours, my heart was already playing at being a poet, sighing platonically for my primary school teacher. However, fate, that silent weaver, had a story in store for me, engraved in indelible ink and framed by the reflection of glass. Her name was Rosita Belandría.

Between Glasses, Books, and Distances…

She was thirteen, and I was fourteen, that age when life feels raw and intense. We both shared a peculiarity: we wore glasses, as if fate had given us special vision to find each other. Our first interactions were not verses, but battles. We engaged in academic discussions, each defending our truth with the stubbornness of those who believe that the world is governed by textbooks. We were two opposite poles that, without knowing it, orbited the same sun.

The magic happened through silence. Rosita's week-long absence from the classroom set off an alarm in me that I didn't know existed. That weekend, under the pretext of bringing her notes, I went to her house. I found her convalescing, fragile between the sheets, and in that instant, the arguments dissolved. Rivalry turned into infinite tenderness; we stopped fighting to be right and started building an unbreakable bond. We became inseparable.

Love arrived without labels, as naturally as the tide. A few months later, out of pure teenage instinct, we shared our first kiss. We never needed the word ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’ to know that we belonged to each other; our bond went beyond the physical, it was a connection of souls that lasted five years of respectful chastity and mutual discoveries. I even remember with a smile that game of ‘spin the bottle’ where chance pointed me towards her. I was expecting a sweet gesture, but I received a playful slap that, after decades, still seems to vibrate on my cheek as a reminder of our vitality.

Today, life has taken us to different latitudes, she is under the Caracas sun, now with the wisdom of being a grandmother, and I in the cold but welcoming embrace of Ontario, Canada. Fate did not take us to the altar, but it gave us something more valuable: a friendship that survives time and WhatsApp.

When I think back on our history, I can't help but wonder how love manifests itself in such diverse ways around the world. While we celebrated that pure feeling, in other corners of the world tradition dictates different rhythms. In Colombia, romance waits until the third Saturday in September; in Brazil, lovers are honoured every 12th of June; in Bolivia, love blossoms with spring, while in Finland and Estonia, 14th February is a celebration of friendship, that feeling which, in my case with Rosita, was the root and fruit of everything.

My first love was not a chapter that closed, but a prologue that taught me that respect and true affection know no distance or end, only magical transformations.

And you, do you still maintain the friendship of that first love that changed your view of the world?

Hi! Everybody, if you've made it this far, THANK YOU! You are welcome to participate; the link with all the information is below. But I also hope to read your comments in the reply box. Thank you for joining us in these waters of HIVE.