I’m no statistician, but I’d wager that Americans in humanitarian aid are outnumbered by Europeans 10 to 1. Working for a Danish NGO, it certainly feels that way. Unless IRC (International Rescue Committee) shows up to an event, I’m usually one of two. Being surrounded by all these Europeans, I’ve had to adjust to their cultural norms, notably, the ever-awkward kiss of salutation. The number of cheeky kisses varies depending on the region, but I don’t want to focus on that. Even a single smooch gets me out of whack.

Although a native Californian, I’m not as free spirited as the rest. Prolonged hugs make me squirm. When it comes to hand holding, my fingers are either limp as a pickle or stiff as a board. For years I refused to curl my fingers properly around the other person’s palm in the prayer circle at church. Don’t even think about trying to get me to interlock fingers. Obviously, my love language is not touch, so I’ve struggled adapting to all this kissing. Meetings and parties are the worst – the lineup of people to be pecked is endless. You’d think that living in the Middle East, kissing wouldn’t even be an option. But no, when NGOs get together, people default to what they know and the majority wins.

I worked for an American NGO the first year, so it wasn’t as big of a problem then. We lived in the African bush, an area only accessible by plane most of the year. There were only 6 organizations in total, and 1 of them did happen to be IRC. The rest of the aid workers were too hot and sweaty to bother with kissing (or maybe I was the stinky one).

It wasn’t until my second year on the field that the introductory kiss started to really trip me up. Sure, not every kiss was a complete disaster. I learned how to get it over quickly, avoiding eye contact at all costs. Right. Left. Quick. Quick. Cheek to cheek. No lips.

I had no problem kissing female colleagues (that doesn’t sound quite right but roll with me here).

Where it all started to fall apart for me was kissing men. Especially tall, good looking ones from Australia or New Zealand. Kissing an Aussie or a Kiwi didn’t feel right as they are clearly not European. My brain could not make sense of it. Why should I get to kiss this cute person whom I am not dating? Must be a scam! My temperature would rise. My cheeks flushed. There was no hiding my discomfort. Sometimes I’d act out. Make a point of refusing the kiss by sticking my hand out firmly for a shake. It would always turn into a thing, a spectacle, sometimes even a tug of war. I played like I was disgusted. The drama only served to point out my insecurity.

I’ve been in the business going on four years now and I’ve changed. It didn’t happen by choice. I just couldn’t keep up the protest. The struggle was exhausting. And you know what? It turns out kissing is great! As much as I try to deny it, humans need affection. They need to be touched. Babies die without it (my high school psychology textbook said so). I used to fill my touch quota by swing dancing, which is like a side hug to music and way more fun. You don’t even notice you’re doing it. I don’t get to swing dance very often anymore. Being far from my family, I can go months without any touch at all. I think that’s why I’ve come to secretly enjoy meeting people now. Free kisses are awesome!

After careful research, I’ve come to conclude that Italians do it best (to be fair, Latin Americans are pretty good, too). Italians actually kiss you. They do it like they mean it. They get you with their day old scruff or haphazardly grown beard – close enough for you to feel the mustache hairs, too. Their lips might even be a little bit wet. Kissing comes so naturally to them that it would never occur to them that you, a foreigner, might not be a professional cheek kisser. Without being romantic, their kiss says, “I think you’re super! Hooray!” When an Italian kisses me, I feel strong, empowered; like little Jessica, YouTube sensation, ready to hop up on my sink shouting my daily affirmation, “I can do anything GOOD!” The warm fuzz lingers with me throughout the day. It makes me hope that one day someone will want to kiss me in a non-platonic way on a regular basis. Who knows? Maybe it wasn’t platonic and we’ve got a live fish on the hook?!

Now that I know how great kissing can be, I’m kind of sad I didn’t warm to it sooner. All those opportunities wasted! Next time we meet, don’t be surprised if I sneak out the back door and come back in to steal another! But if perchance I chicken out and put up a fuss, don’t worry; inside I’m giddy.

Question: Have an awkward kissing story? Tell me in the comments! Who do you think does it best?