What has love taught you? Three lessons from locals

Love — four simple letters humans have been trying to define for centuries. A Google search for “What is love?” brings up 14,250,000,000 results alone. There are lots of answers, and many of us are trying to make sense of them.

Submitted by Inquirer readers, these stories summarize individual love experiences, exploring the kind of love only the passion for your profession can provide, how even borders cannot make love die, and how sometimes love is found where you least expect it. Each story is different, but they show us one thing: There’s no one way to experience love.

As a Philadelphia public school teacher, Venus Ludovici has seen the effects gun violence, poverty, and parental substance abuse have on developing minds. After 26 years of creating a safe space for her students to learn, Ludovici has learned some lessons about resilience. In particular, her current sixth-grade homeroom has shown her what love can look like, lessons that will remain with her “well beyond retirement,” she said.

Although this diverse group of 33 children lives in North Philly, most have arrived in the last years from Ukraine, Russia, Palestine, Puerto Rico, Egypt, Brazil, and Guatemala. What amazes Ludovici is their ability to “live through very traumatic things, and yet remain so kind, unfiltered, and willing to be there for each other.”

Seeing how respectful they are toward one another’s cultures, and how they try to support one another, gives Ludovici hope for what Philadelphia can look like in the future. “They are so different from one another, but can see through that and connect on a human level,” she said. Their support can be as simple as help with schoolwork, or refusing a brownie so someone who needs the food can have it instead.

The level of emotional intelligence her students display is something she feels honored to witness. Grateful for their wisdom and strength, Ludovici says they remind her what it means to love and be loved. “The children of Philadelphia are worthy of our time, effort, and love,” she said, “for all they actually teach us about what it looks like and feels like to be human.”

Raúl and Lilia Ayllón met in their native Pachuquilla, Mexico, at 7 and immediately disliked each other. Time apart and puberty changed that. At 15, Raúl was climbing a fence to fetch his soccer ball when he saw Lilia playing with her friends. “She is going to be my wife one day,” he thought.

Lilia also had a crush on him but refused to become one of the many girls who liked him. Yet they remained best friends through high school. After graduation, in 1982, Raúl moved to Kennett Square to work at a farm collecting shiitake, oyster, and pom pom mushrooms.

When he returned to Mexico in 1985, their friendship and feelings rekindled. They began dating at 21, promising to be faithful and equally put effort into the relationship. By 1987 the pair were married.

They only got to live together for three months. Raúl’s former boss in Kennett Square offered to have him return to the farm and regulate his U.S. residency papers. Due to immigration procedures, until he became a green card holder, Lilia would have to stay in Mexico.

Under different circumstances, he might have said no, but they had just discovered a baby was on the way. “We had this idea of the American Dream and thought it was the best decision for our family,” Raúl said. “We didn’t know how it worked and thought we would be back together soon,” Lilia added. But, the reality of immigration procedures is much more complex.

A month after the separation, realization dawned. At home, Lilia was going through her first pregnancy with the support of her family but without her partner. In Kennett Square, Raúl was alone and overworked, wishing he could rub Lilia’s back or help her with her latest food craving. Six months passed, and though he was able to be at the birth, the family remained apart.

There was no internet in Pachuquilla, and international calls were expensive. Weekly letters became their lifeline. “We had to learn to communicate and listen,” said Raul. Lilia still remembers all the tears cried over paper, longing for each other, wondering how life on the other side would treat them.

Once the green card arrived, Raúl petitioned for his family to join him and was able to visit Mexico twice a year. The wait was long. By 1998, the couple had four children and had been separated for 11 years. Enough was enough.

Desperation took over, and he made a decision he regrets to this day: Lilia and the kids were to cross the border undocumented. “I was scared, but you can only bear to hear your children cry for their dad so much, and I missed him,” Lilia said. That December, Lilia and their four kids — ages 10, 9, 5, and 1 — attempted to cross the U.S.-Mexico border three times.

On Jan. 1, 1999, the Ayllóns were finally reunited. Yet, the hardships of being an immigrant soon became apparent to Lilia. Raúl worked and spoke English, but she didn’t know the language and having four kids adapting to a new country didn’t leave much space for working. Her world was reduced to their family and the two-bedroom apartment they shared with roommates.

After two years, she couldn’t take it anymore. For Raúl, “love is a constant giving and taking,” and felt it was his turn. He resigned and took their family to Mexico, only returning to the U.S. enough times a year to keep from losing his green card.

Finally, in 2005, Lilia and the kids were granted permanent residency, and the family could return to Kennett Square. Through it all, they learned that “real love is what’s left after the obstacles you have overcome together,” said Raúl. Now that the children have grown, they want to “live in the now and enjoy each other’s company,” added Lilia.

Marisa Liczbinski married the best man from her first wedding, but it’s not what you think. In 1998, Marisa and her then-boyfriend attended a party in New Jersey. As fate would have it, she ended up sitting next to a guy named Marty Liczbinski. He was sweet, and they seemed to have a lot in common. The pair talked the night away. It was the beginning of years of friendship.

But Marty had a secret. He was in love with her. Out of respect, he put his feelings aside and became friends with her boyfriend as well. Two years later, he served as best man when the couple married.

“Is he OK?” people kept asking Marisa about the puffy-eyed Marty. “Weddings have that effect,” she thought, unaware of the effect her wedding had on Marty.

They remained close friends, with Marty even visiting when her daughter was born. In early 2003, Marisa and her husband filed for divorce. Marty was there for emotional support as she focused on building a life as a single mother.

In August 2003, after the pair watched a Flyers game, Marty gave her a goodbye hug. “Everything is going to be OK,” he said. Marisa insists their relationship was platonic before that day, but how he hugged her made her realize she liked him. Soon after, at a party, the guy who had never stopped loving her kissed her.

The South Philly native was happy in her new relationship, but she fretted about what her family and friends might think because it hadn’t been long since the divorce.

The concern was unnecessary: Marty’s kindness, easygoing personality, and how he treated Marisa and her daughter had already won over everyone. Some friends had even been secretly rooting for them for years. Her mother was the most excited, revealing that she always thought Marty had been the guy for her.

Six months later, in 2004, the couple spent a night at the Bellevue. She found a trail of chocolate Kisses on the floor, and at the end was a note, “Now that I have kissed the ground you walk on, would you marry me?”

Eighteen years and two children later, Marisa and Marty remain together. The intricacies of their path taught them it’s important to “tell people how you feel, don’t worry so much about what others say,” Marisa explained. The family now lives in Florida but comes to Philly at least five times a year to visit and watch the Eagles. She loves that he is a good father, but above all, she is happy to have married her best friend.