I have a confession: I’m obsessed with dominoes. Not in the “casually play with abuelos during Nochebuena” kind of way, but in the “can name a dozen strategies for locking down a double-six” kind of way. It’s the kind of obsession that turns a family game night into a UFC event—full of shouted accusations like “¡Tramposo!” and dramatic slams on the aluminum tabletop that might cost you your hearing. My love for dominoes started as a kid, watching my uncles and neighbors compete over cups of strong cafecito and the occasional rum-spiked Coke (don’t judge, it’s very Hialeah). And let me tell you: the game taught me way more about life, love, and relationships than any self-help book ever could.

Yes, dominoes. Let me explain.

The Art of the Double Bluff

We’ll start here because dominoes—and dating—are, at their core, an intricate dance of strategy and deceit. You can’t just let your hand show; you’ve got to play every tile like it’s part of some master scheme, even if you’re sitting there thinking, “How did I get stuck holding two blanks and a 6-3?”

Look, I’m not saying you should be inauthentic in your love life (that’s a surefire way to end up starring in someone’s TikTok cautionary tale). But dating, like a good domino game, thrives on a little mystery. You don’t have to overshare your entire life story by the second date. Keep some of your “tiles” hidden, at least until the time is right to drop them on the table.

Picture this: someone asks you, “What are you looking for?” Instead of launching into a TED Talk about your five-year plan and emotional goals, start simple. “I’m figuring it out,” you might say. “What about you?” This keeps things engaging and leaves a little room for intrigue. In dominoes, this is called “locking the board.” In dating, it’s called leaving them wanting more.

Chemistry, Compatibility, Compromise (The Domino Triad)

Here’s a fact you can’t ignore: not every domino in your hand will fit on the table. And not every person you date will “click” with your life. Chemistry? Sure, that’s just noticing someone’s cute smile (or Cuban Crocs with socks—it’s Hialeah, so I’ve seen it all). Compatibility? That’s sharing values, whether you’re into throwing dominoes on a Calle Ocho sidewalk or planning international trips like you’re the lost Kardashian.

Then there’s compromise. Maybe you hate long drives but agree to one because that hot café in the Keys is worth it and your date’s playlist doesn’t suck. Maybe you’re not a cat person, but their rescue tabby curls up on your lap during movie night and wins you over. Or, in domino-speak: you don’t force your double-four when it just doesn’t belong. Instead, you work with the tiles you have to adapt and play smart. Love is cooperative play, never a solo game.

The Domino Table and Its Judges

And now, we must talk about my third obsession: family opinions. My Cuban upbringing means relationships never belong to just two people. It’s a full-blown communal affair. Someone walks into your life? Well, they’re also walking into your mom’s kitchen for café con leche and obligatory interrogations about their career goals. On the flip side, when I walk into a domino game, I know the whole table is silently—and not so silently—judging every move I make.

Here’s the thing though: you don’t HAVE to win over everyone. The domino table is an analogy for those well-meaning but exhausting peanut galleries (hi, Abuelita) questioning the choices you're making in your romantic life. Yes, you want the people you love to believe in your relationship. That’s human. But don’t let them play tiles in your game. This is your table; you’re the one building something. Play in a way that feels true to who you are.

Throwing Down the Wrong Tile

Sometimes, no matter how skilled you are, you misplay a domino. Trust me, this hurts worse than stepping on a Lego barefoot. It feels the same in relationships when you misstep—a poorly worded text, a failed attempt at humor, or, worse, double-tapping too many Instagram stories from six months ago (a modern tragedy).

So what do you do? You own it. My dad, the king of our backyard domino tournaments, always says, “Si te equivocas, ríete.” (“If you mess up, laugh.”) Mistakes don’t define you; they give you better stories. I once brought a date to a family domino night, thinking they’d see how effortlessly charming I was in my element. Instead, my opponent slam-dunked the final domino, and my date spent the whole night roasting me over how “shook” I looked. We still crack up about it every time we talk.

Knowing When to Stand Up

Dominoes taught me a vital rule of life and relationships: not every game is yours to win. Sometimes, the smartest move isn’t a move at all—it’s standing up from the table and walking away.

There’s bravery in leaving a game when the dynamic isn’t right, the flow’s off, or the energy feels mismatched. Dear reader, the same applies to relationships. Staying in a connection that drags you down isn’t romantic; it’s exhausting. There’s peace in knowing when to fold. (Bonus? You avoid the metaphorical argument where someone shouts, “Why didn’t you lock that corner?!” as doors slam.)

The Final Domino

Here’s the great lesson my domino obsession has taught me: each game, like each relationship, is a mix of preparation, trust, and sheer unpredictability. Sure, you can learn strategies and master the odds, but the best moments usually come from those flashes of chaos when life (or your suegra) throws down a wild tile.

So bring your best self to the table. Smile when you win. Laugh when you lose. And, more importantly, savor every connection you make along the way—even if it’s fleeting or just a quick game under the starry Miami sky.

Love, like dominoes, isn’t about how you start the game but how you choose to play it.