It all began at a dive bar in some forgotten village off the coast of Somalia. I, Mikey, was drinking away my recent encounter with a cutthroat brigade of pirates when she walked in. Tall, brunette, and wielding a smile sharper than the scimitars I narrowly escaped from. Being the only other Caucasian in the saloon, she approached me. This, I could not avoid. As she drifted over to me, time itself seemed as if it were freezing over, and in the suspension of tempo I read her like a book. Confidently yet naively traveling the world solo, filling some void of tedium for some greater matriarchal objective or simply to prove it to herself. Possibly seeking some stimulating story of war and death to combat the torrent of trivial and generic interactions with wealthy suitors back home. Whatever it may be, I've seen it a million times. The same Journalist Janes living in their safe fantasies, protected by an overwhelming sense of nihilism and childhood trauma. What could she possibly say to break me? "Mikey, come on, write the real story." "BUT KATHIA ISN'T THIS MORE EXCITING?!" "Our families won't even be able to understand that." "Yeah you right. Okay this is the REAL story..." Being a teenager is weird. Really weird. I mean one day you have an urge to play with Legos, and the next the urge plays you. In the middle of the night. Then you have to hide your underwear under the bed until it all piles up and your mother finds a crusty collection of cotton balled up with a sign that says "definitely not Mikey's." At the same time, the internet was becoming mainstream. Online communication - AIM, MySpace, Oovoo. Opportunities to figure out how to be a human had presented itself to my generation generously. On one of these occasions, during the height of adding everyone under the sun as a friend on Facebook, I added a friend of a friend named Danielle. I thought she was cute and poked her... when it was cool. Looking back, poking on Facebook was creepy as hell, but I digress. We started talking which eventually led to a video call. When the call connected, I noticed another girl behind her, engaged but shy. They began awkwardly laughing and Danielle introduced me to her best friend, Kathia. When I saw her, and I'm going to sound basic, but it was different. I think it was her face. Her nose specifically. She's not going to believe me when she reads this, but her nose is adorably inviting. The way it hugs her cute and coy smile, shining through her dark mascara and eye liner, shaded by ebony bangs... she stood out. But she didn't accept my invite to see "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs," so I had to wait until the 8th grade formal where my school and her school danced together before conjoining in 9th grade. She doesn't remember meeting. But that's fine. In high school, Kathia taught me how to use a camera, as if she was teeing up the fateful timeline. This led to us hanging out more and more, culminating in an unconventional romance. We weren't dating, and that screwed with my conventional upbringing, so I gave her an ultimatum. I thought she was the coolest, most naturally beautiful and unique person I've ever met, and in my immature and narrow scope of my emotions, I could either have her or be forced to forget her forever. She told me to hit the road. But in time, we found each other again... and again. and again.