I've lived overseas with my European boyfriend for 3 years. We still can't agree on dinner time, investment strategies, or how to talk to each other's families.

29.07.2024 - 00:41 / insider.com

For me, it was ocean waves. For my boyfriend, it was bombs.

We were in my tiny, trendy loft apartment in Tbilisi's Vera neighborhood, a posh slice of town full of art galleries, organic wine shops, and indie cafés. Vera is an up-and-coming neighborhood with authentic, crumbling Soviet-style apartment buildings full of vintage chandeliers and whimsical decor. It perfectly embodies the Georgian capital's boho but brutalist vibe.

It was here that when the wind rattled the metal roof of the building, I closed my eyes, thinking of the waves crashing on the beach. My boyfriend Misha sat upright, pale, eyes wide, and said, "That sounds like bombs."

Misha comes from the small, mountainous Caucasian country of Georgia — located at the crossroads of Eastern Europe and Western Asia. He is 37 and has lived through the fall of the Soviet Union, the Georgian Civil War, the Russo-Georgian War, and the Rose Revolution.

My teenage years in the 1990s were spent back in the US and were dominated by suburban grunge ennui, the woes of dial-up modems, and the fact that the age on my fake ID never quite matched my baby face.

Breadlines, political unrest, violence, and uncertainty marked Misha's formative years.

Misha and my vast differences encompass much more than individual interpretations of what the sound of wind rushing through a metal roof triggers.

His family speaks almost exclusively Russian and Georgian, making communication with his mother and sisters difficult. Although I'm learning Georgian, my understanding of it is still rudimentary.

While I'm included in Misha's family gatherings, I always feel like an outsider because I can't fully understand or contribute to the conversation. It's entirely on me to learn the language of the country I'm living in, and I accept that it's what I need to do to bridge the gap, but until I can manage, it's pretty challenging.

It's also nearly impossible for Misha to get a visa to meet my family in the US, which leads to all sorts of thorny and challenging questions from well-meaning family members who can't quite understand passport privilege.

In general, Georgians are night owls. Many cafés, restaurants, and coworking spots don't open until about 10 a.m., and a reasonable dinner time is 10 p.m., which came as an utter shock to me. I grew up with dinner served by 7 p.m. at the latest. When I broached the topic with Misha, he looked at me as if I had suggested that we sit down for our evening meal at 2 p.m.

Our concept of comfort food is drastically different, too. The nostalgia-in-a-box that is Kraft Mac and Cheese doesn't appeal to Misha, who turns his nose up at powdered cheese and uncooked elbow pasta but will enthusiastically slurp down a white, grainy porridge that