There’s a smell in Hialeah that I cannot explain. No, it’s not the sweet pastelito aroma wafting out of every bakery (though that’s a close second). It’s something richer—earthy, like pavement after a rainstorm, but kissed by sunlight and the salt of the Atlantic. Maybe it’s nostalgia disguised as a scent, or maybe it’s just home.

Hialeah made me. This city doesn’t just teach you how to live—it teaches you how to hustle, how to juggle, how to hold onto yourself while navigating a world that loves loudness. This isn’t “la ciudad que progresa” (the city that progresses) for no reason, though progress here might mean knowing where to find the freshest croquetas or how to navigate six intersections with no streetlights. It’s a place of movement, of improvisation, of people finding ways to make connections wherever they land. And that—it turns out—is pretty excellent practice when it comes to dating.

So grab un cafecito, pull up a chair, and let’s talk about how the city that shaped me can also shape the way we fall in love.

Chapter One: Patience Is a Virtue (and a Necessity)

If you’ve ever tried to make a left turn on 49th Street, you know Hialeah doesn’t operate on your schedule. Plans? Timelines? Vaya, good luck. Here, you learn quickly that life is a little slower but also way more colorful when you stop trying to rush it.

The same lesson applies to relationships. Growing up, my parents worked side by side at their bakery. It was rarely glamorous—flour dust in the air, arguments over how long the Medianoches should stay in the oven—but it was a masterclass in patience. “Not everything can be microwaved,” my dad would say. My mom would reply, “Including your Tío Jaime’s temper,” followed by a dramatic eye-roll.

In romance, like in Hialeah traffic, you’ve got to let things unfold in their time. Patience leads to depth. Don't confuse a little delay with a dead end—sometimes it’s just a U-turn on the way to something beautiful. You’ll get there.

Chapter Two: Leaving Room for Flaws (and Laughs)

Hialeah is not a city that pretends. Facade? For what? This is a place where people will yell at a neighbor from their balcony, then invite them over for arroz con frijoles five minutes later. The cracks in the sidewalks have stories. The potholes are unofficial landmarks. Flaws here don’t make things less lovable—they make them more real.

This shaped how I see love. We all love to fantasize about dating someone “perfect,” don’t we? The rom-com scenario where their quirks are whimsical but ultimately manageable (cue montage of them spilling wine in slow motion). But in real life, not everything is so curated—and that’s a good thing.

When I first started dating, I was obsessed with polishing myself up—trying to hide my Spanglish, downplay the fact I’d grown up eating everything “with un poquito de limón.” But when I finally let myself date like I live in Hialeah—raw, unapologetic, a little messy—it felt freer. Relationships thrive when you leave room for cracks, potholes, and unexpected detours.

Plus, someone who can laugh with you when things inevitably go off-script? That’s someone worth keeping.

Chapter Three: Connections Are Handmade

Hialeah is not the place for drive-thru relationships. Literally and figuratively, you can’t rush through your connections here. Every guayabera is pressed by hand. Every domino game on the corner lasts three hours because there’s no prize for quick hands, only for good stories.

One lesson from this city I’ve carried into dating: talking matters. It sounds simple enough, but truly getting to know someone—the pause between their thoughts, how they hold their coffee mug, what lights them up when they speak—requires you to slow down. That Cuban café culture of sitting down and staying a while? Bring that into your relationships. Ask the extra question. Linger a bit longer over wine or cortaditos.

I think too many people approach love like they’re updating their Costco list: check off the basics and move on to the next errand. But me? I want to know the smaller details. How many sugars are in your café con leche? Did you crash your mom’s car at 16 and barely live to tell the tale? Real connections are handmade, not prepackaged.

Chapter Four: Love Through the Noise

Hialeah is, above all, loud. Car alarms, yelling vendors, booming reggaeton. And don’t even get me started on the pet roosters some people keep. It could overwhelm you—if you let it. But what I’ve learned from growing up in the noise is that love, like home, is built in the chaos—not outside of it.

When my parents barely had time to breathe between making cakes and flipping croquetas, they’d leave each other Post-it notes at the bakery. Sometimes it was a joke (“Remember, no raisins in the empanadas!”), other times, just a quick “Te quiero.” It wasn’t grand gestures—it was tiny choices made daily, even in the blur of life.

Whether you’re single or partnered up, this lesson holds: ignore the chaos and focus on what matters. What matters isn’t that your first date spilled their drink or that you’re 20 minutes late. It’s that you laughed about it. It isn’t that life is hectic; it’s how you make one another feel amid the noise. Look for love in the middle of it, not in spite of it.

Closing Time: Hialeah and the Heart

Here’s what Hialeah taught me: love isn’t neatly packaged or quiet. It’s not a filtered Instagram picture-perfect breakfast; it’s the street food version—two napkins and a little messy. To love, to connect, to build something real, you have to lean into imperfection, be willing to linger, and let noise become music.

So wherever you’re dating (even if it’s not in this overly humid, traffic-filled, pastelito-loving city), I hope you carry a little Hialeah spirit with you. Be patient, embrace the quirks, and always, always remember to laugh. If nothing else, get yourself a croqueta—you’ll need the energy for the journey ahead.

And hey, like my papi says, “Quédate un rato más.” Stick around. The best things take time.