I fell in love in the most clichéd way possible—accidentally and all at once. But it wasn’t with a person. No swirling violins, no longing glances across a crowded room. This was a quieter romance, born of words, music, and a deep hunger to understand the messy beauty of human connection. My one true passion? Stories. Specifically, the stories we tell to make sense of love and relationships. It’s the kind of passion that sneaks up on you, like when you realize mid-conversation that your casual crush actually has potential. One moment you’re just “interested,” and the next, you’re all in, heart on your sleeve.
I didn’t see it coming. Growing up in Santiago, stories were served as generously as empanadas at neighborhood parties. My parents were teachers with an almost mystical reverence for books. To me, love was less about who said what to whom on the playground and more about Pablo Neruda’s poems whispered on a breezy summer night. But I’d be lying if I said I developed my passion elegantly. At first, it was messy—imagine a teenager trying to interpret Gabriela Mistral while simultaneously dissecting telenovelas with her cousins. Romance on the page felt as real as the drama in the school corridors, but it always felt like there was something hiding between the lines. What was it about love that made people swoon, stumble, and occasionally throw glasses of wine in each other’s faces?
Spoiler alert: that curiosity led me here, still asking the same questions and telling stories to figure out the answers.
Every Story Has an Origin: Mine Involves Dancing and Heartbreak
If there’s one thing you need to know about a Chilean gathering, it’s that everyone dances. And if there’s a hotly debated second thing, it’s that someone always brings out an epic love story starting with: “So, there I was...” Growing up, love felt omnipresent but elusive, like the perfectly ripened avocado that evades you one too many times in a row.
I remember one summer during my teenage years when I danced with my first crush at a family friend’s asado. Mercedes Sosa was playing, and for three whole minutes, the world shrank to just us. He made one hilarious joke about my inability to salsa, I laughed too loudly, and that was it—I was in love. Tragically, he wasn’t. A week later, I saw him slow-dancing with someone else, and that was my first taste of heartbreak.
But this heartbreak came with an epiphany. Love—and all the emotions tangled up in it—was a story unfolding right before my eyes. The glances, the misunderstandings, the moments when someone’s fingers linger on yours just a second too long. These weren’t just feelings; they were characters and plot twists, heartbreak and hope. Stories.
Passion in Unexpected Places: Madrid’s Sidewalk Cafés
Fast forward a few years. I traded Santiago’s hills for Madrid’s cobblestone streets and its endless hum of possibility. I was pursuing a Master’s degree in Cultural Studies but—full transparency—I was also pursuing café con leche and slices of tortilla española like my life depended on it.
Madrid did for my passion what summers on the Mediterranean do for olives: it deepened every flavor. I spent solo afternoons at sidewalk cafés, watching couples argue over whether bravas or alioli belonged on their patatas. I studied people as much as I studied my books—the way their hands gestured mid-conversation, the way their laughter lingered in the air longer than necessary.
And that’s where the second rush of love hit me—not for a specific person or a specific story, but for the universal language of it all. Watching these couples reminded me how love plays out differently everywhere yet feels so recognizable. Whether you’re at a candlelit tapas bar in La Latina or a family barbecue in Santiago, love is in the details. The way someone’s face softens when the person they adore walks into the room. The subtle power struggle of choosing the “right” playlist.
Why Passion Needs Curiosity (and a Little Courage)
Here’s the thing about falling in love with a passion: it doesn’t come gift-wrapped and ready to go. Passion demands curiosity, patience, and, let’s be honest, a decent sense of humor. Developing mine has been a lot like navigating a relationship. There have been moments of frustration, late-night doubt sessions, and the occasional identity crisis (see: the time I briefly considered moving to Buenos Aires to write tango lyrics instead of pursuing my degree).
Here’s what I’ve learned:
- Curiosity is the spark. Relationships, like passions, thrive on attention and questioning. What makes this partner—or this interest—different? How can I understand it better?
- Courage is the engine. Ask the hard questions and embrace the messy answers. Whether it’s the vulnerability in exploring love through poetry or studying heartbreak up close, courage keeps the passion alive.
- Consistency is everything. Like tending a plant or typing “goodnight” to someone you care about—even when you’re tired—showing up matters. My passion only grew because I nurtured it daily, whether by scribbling down a poem idea at 2 a.m. or spending hours dissecting Neruda’s metaphors.
Much like love, passion can be both exhausting and exhilarating. You need to enter wholeheartedly, knowing it might not always turn out how you expect—but it will always be worth the leap.
From Flirtation to Lifelong Commitment
Think of passion like a relationship. When it’s good, it flips everything on its head. My passion for stories has done just that—made me laugh, cry, and show up in ways I didn’t know I could. Through all the romantic entanglements, awkward misunderstandings, and long nights spent pouring over texts, I’ve learned that love doesn’t just connect people to each other—it connects us to ourselves, too.
Whatever your passion is, go ahead and flirt with it. Let yourself be curious and playful. Then dive deeper. Date it. Commit to it. Let it teach you things about yourself you never expected—because passion, true passion, is a mirror for your soul. You don’t just fall in love with it; you become more of who you’ve always been.
For me, the story isn’t over. Stories are how I make sense of love and how I continue falling in love—both on the page and off. Wherever you’re at in your own journey, whether just starting to flirt with your passions or rekindling an old flame, lean in. This is your story, too.
