Dear Dascha Polanco,

You were on my flight from New York to Lisbon. I noticed your Bruce Lee t-shirt. I wanted to talk to you about it, but didn’t know how to say hello in a normal way. I figured you’d want to relax and not be harassed by a fan who probably isn’t even pronouncing your name correctly... but lo! As if fate were tempting me to act, you stood right behind me in the passport stamp line. Zigging and zagging past each other, lazily smiling, the occasional side eye... were you flirting with me?! I had a thought that maybe you were too intimidated to talk to me. I had oiled up my arm muscles just in case this exact scenario came to pass. I gathered all of my confidence to speak but suddenly, the line was too short. I was sent to booth 1 and you were sent to booth 3. I strained to hear how you pronounce your name as you delicately handed over your passport, and then you were gone.