Lifestyle
L.A. Affairs: My roommate had sun-kissed skin and a movie-star smile. Was he my Romeo?
I grew up in Los Angeles a hopeless romantic with my head permanently tilted toward the sky and a copy of “Romeo and Juliet” worn from rereading. I devoured that book far too young and believed in it far too earnestly. Soulmates weren’t just an idea — they were a promise. I believed in love that defied reason and timing, in glances across rooms that changed the course of your life, in poetry etched into every heartbeat.
But by 21, the fairy tale had started to crack. A traumatic experience with a man I had trusted shattered my sense of safety and desire. For three years, I withdrew from dating entirely. I told people I was “focusing on myself,” which was true in part, but it was also a shield. I was afraid — afraid of being seen, of being wanted, of wanting back. I felt like a locked door that I didn’t even remember how to open.
Still, no matter how deeply I buried it, I couldn’t stop craving the very thing I feared most: love. The real kind. The sweeping, soul-consuming kind I had always dreamed of. The kind that felt like coming home.
Then I moved into an actors’ house in Los Feliz — a beautiful kind of chaos only L.A. could produce. Four roommates, each chasing a different dream, all of us messy, creative and trying to make something of ourselves. One of them had just arrived from Australia. I still remember the first time I saw him — tall, sun-kissed skin, dark golden curls, movie-star smile and a voice that made everything sound like a love song. Even “pass the almond milk” felt flirtatious coming from him.
He had that magnetic energy — the kind that makes you turn your head in a crowded room without even knowing why. He was already well-known back home, but here he was starting from scratch. That vulnerability, mixed with his charm, made him impossible not to notice. I didn’t just notice. I was drawn in like a tide to the moon.
We started spending time together, at first just casually, but then constantly. Hikes through Griffith Park, conversations that started over coffee and lasted until 2 a.m. in the kitchen. Walks through Silver Lake where our hands brushed just slightly too long. He listened intently. He remembered little details I’d said in passing. He looked at me like I was a story he wanted to read slowly.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I started to feel it — those soft, fluttering butterflies that made it hard to breathe around him. The kind of feeling I thought I’d lost forever. I’d catch myself staring at him, not even trying to hide it. My heart would do this little skip when he laughed at my jokes or looked at me too long. I started to wonder: Is this it? Could he be the one?
I couldn’t even see other guys anymore. He had warped my radar. Every song reminded me of him. My mind raced ahead, imagining a future that didn’t even exist yet — a montage of quiet mornings, long walks, maybe even moving back to Australia with him. It was completely unhinged and yet felt undeniably real.
One night, we were sitting on the couch after everyone else had gone to bed. A movie played softly in the background, something neither of us were really watching. There was a long silence — not awkward, just full — and then he turned to me, his eyes searching mine.
“I really like you,” he said, barely above a whisper.
I felt my heart seize up. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.
He leaned in slowly, giving me time to meet him halfway.
But I couldn’t. I froze.
Just before our lips touched, I gently pulled back and looked away.
“Sorry,” I said, barely audible.
He paused for a second, then gave me the softest smile. “It’s OK,” he said without missing a beat. “No pressure, all right? Let’s just pretend that didn’t happen.”
And just like that, we moved on. No awkwardness. No pressure. He handled it with such grace that, if anything, I liked him more. It felt like confirmation that he really saw me — not just as someone to conquer, but someone worth being patient with.
But a few days later, the shine started to fade.
We were sitting on the back steps one afternoon when he mentioned, almost in passing, “There’s something I should probably tell you. I have a girlfriend.”
I blinked. “Wait … what?”
“She lives in Germany,” he said, voice quiet. “It’s been four years. We’ve been long-distance for a while. It’s kind of on the rocks, but … we’re still technically together.”
Technically.
I felt the bottom drop out of my chest. My mind scrambled to connect dots, rearranging every sweet moment under this new light.
I tried to process it, but I wasn’t angry — not yet. Just stunned. Numb. I nodded, said something like, “Thanks for telling me,” and excused myself to my room.
But then the nights started to change.
At first, I thought I was imagining it. But after that conversation, the energy in the house shifted. Almost every night, I’d hear new voices. Laughter. Sometimes flirtatious whispers in the hallway. One night, I passed a girl in the kitchen making toast at 1 a.m. in his hoodie. She smiled politely. I didn’t ask questions.
It became a pattern. A different girl, almost every night. He’d meet them on Raya or Tinder. Beautiful, charismatic women, most of them aspiring actors or models. I never heard him brag about it. He wasn’t showy. But it was unmistakable — he was spiraling into something.
And I couldn’t stop watching.
Part of me was devastated, even though I had no claim to him. I’d been imagining a future. I had started to believe he was my soulmate. But this wasn’t what soulmates did. Soulmates didn’t treat people like rotating doors.
Eventually, during one of our rare quiet nights alone, I brought it up.
“Hey,” I said gently. “Are you OK?”
He paused, staring at his hands. Then, with surprising openness, he admitted, “I think I have a problem.”
He explained that sex was like a compulsion for him. That he’d been using it to cope with anxiety, loneliness, the chaos of this city. That it made him feel better — for a moment. But never for long. He looked up at me, eyes raw.
“I’m trying to get a handle on it,” he said. “But it’s hard.”
I sat beside him, silent. Not judging. Just listening.
He wasn’t cruel. Just deeply lost. One of the many people in this city chasing something they couldn’t quite name. He wanted to be loved, just like me. He just didn’t know how to be safe with it.
I was relieved we hadn’t crossed that line. That I’d kept one piece of myself intact. But it also marked something final. The moment I stopped seriously considering dating a man in Los Angeles.
I still love this city. I still take the same walks. Still linger in cafes, hoping for something soft and sincere to cut through the noise. But I don’t fall for fantasies anymore, especially not the kind wrapped in accents and charisma.
The charming, sex-addicted Australian man? He’s still one of my closest friends. We never kissed. We never even talked about it much.
Experiencing romance is without a doubt one of the finer things in life, but it’s not always the most fulfilling. Soulmates show up in many forms, and sometimes the realest love one will experience is with a dog or a family member or a platonic friend and that’s OK. All love is great love.
The author is an actor and writer living in Los Angeles. She grew up in the city, still believes in love (sometimes) and takes too many long walks through Silver Lake and Los Feliz.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
Bowen Yang is leaving Saturday Night Live midway through his 8th season with the long-running, late-night comedy sketch series.
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Jamie McCarthy/Getty Images
Comedian Bowen Yang is leaving Saturday Night Live midway through the season, his eighth with the long-running NBC late-night sketch comedy series. The performer is scheduled to participate in his final show Saturday, which will be hosted by Wicked star Ariana Grande. Cher is the musical guest.
Yang has not publicly shared the reason for his abrupt departure from SNL. In a social media post on Saturday, the comedian thanked the team and expressed gratitude for “every minute” of his time with the show.
“I loved working at SNL, and most of all I loved the people,” Yang wrote. “I was there at a time when many things in the world started to seem futile, but working at 30 Rock taught me the value in showing up anyway when people make it worthwhile.”
Yang, 35, was one of SNL‘s most prominent recent cast members.
His most famous work on the show includes “The Iceberg That Sank the Titanic,” a “Weekend Update” segment where Yang personifies the infamous iceberg; a commercial spoof co-starring Travis Kelce — “Straight Male Friend” — advertising the benefits of low-stakes friendships; and his recurring impression of expelled congressman George Santos. At one point, Yang also performed a sketch in which he played an intern on NPR’s Tiny Desk concert series.
Yang has been nominated for five Emmy Awards for his work on the series. Beyond SNL, the performer’s credits include the 2022 romantic comedy Fire Island, the musical Wicked (2024) as well as its sequel, Wicked: For Good (2025), and the remake of The Wedding Banquet (2025). He also co-hosts the Las Culturistas podcast with actor and comedian Matt Rogers.
Yang, the show’s first Chinese American cast member, rose through SNL‘s ranks after joining the show as a staff writer in 2018. A year later, he was promoted to on-air talent and eventually became a series regular.
Yang talked about the natural turnover at SNL and hinted at life beyond the show in an interview with People earlier this year. “It’s this growing, living thing where new people come in and you do have to sort of make way for them and to grow and to keep elevating themselves,” he said. “And that inevitably requires me to sort of hang it up at some point — but I don’t know what the vision is yet.”
He joins other cast members who have recently left the show. Heidi Gardner, Ego Nwodim and Devon Walker are among those who departed ahead of the 51st season, which launched in October.
Yang’s reps did not immediately respond to NPR’s request for comment. The series’ network, NBCUniversal, referenced Yang’s social media post, but provided no further comment.
Though uncommon, there have been a few other mid-season SNL departures in the past, including Cecily Strong, Dana Carvey and Eddie Murphy.
Fellow entertainers have commented on Yang’s departure on social media. “Iconic. (Understatement)” wrote actor Evan Ross Katz on Instagram in response to Yang’s post. “Congrats!” wrote comedian Amber Ruffin. “Please make more The Wedding Banquets.”
NPR critic-at-large Eric Deggans called Yang’s departure, even if inevitable, a setback for the show.
“SNL thrives when it has a large crop of utility players who can pull comedic gold from the dodgiest sketch ideas,” Deggans said, counting Yang among the most talented in recent seasons of the show’s cast to fill that role.
“No matter what he was asked to do, from playing the iceberg that sunk the Titanic to playing North Korean leader Kim Jong-un, he was able to wring maximum laughs and patch up SNL’s historic lack of representation regarding Asian performers,” he added.
But Yang, Deggans noted, may have reached an apex of what he could achieve on the show, “and it might be time for him to leave, while his star is still ascending and there are opportunities beyond the program available to him which might not be around for long.”
Tekashi 6ix9ine
Home Invasion Suspect Arrested
Published
A suspect has been arrested in connection to the scary invasion of Tekashi 6ix9ine‘s home … TMZ has learned.
Pedro Roriguez — a 19-year-old man — was arrested and charged with armed home invasion robbery with a firearm, false imprisonment, grand theft and posession of marijuana with intent to sell or deliver … according to the Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office.
Authorities say Rodriguez is just one of several suspects … and, the investigation remains ongoing.
We broke the story … four gunmen ransacked the rapper’s Florida crib last month with video capturing the invaders slipping in through the garage and holding Tekashi’s mom against her will.
The clip shows one person standing guard over Tekashi’s mom, who can be heard on the video begging and pleading with the men … while the crew tear through the house looking for valuables.
We spoke to cops at the time … and, they told us the men wanted cash and car keys. They sped off in a getaway car before authorities arrived.
President John F. Kennedy, left, looks at a model of what was later named the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC., in 1963.
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National Archives/Getty Images
On Thursday, the Kennedy Center’s name was changed to The Donald J. Trump and the John F. Kennedy Memorial Center for the Performing Arts.
By Friday morning, workers were already changing signs on the building itself, although some lawmakers said Thursday that the name can’t be changed legally without Congressional approval.
Though the arts venue is now closely associated with President Kennedy, it was three American presidents, including Kennedy, who envisioned a national cultural center – and what it would mean to the United States.
New signage, The Donald J. Trump and The John F. Kennedy Memorial Center for the Performing Arts, is unveiled on Friday in Washington, D.C.
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Jacquelyn Martin/AP
The Eisenhower Administration
In 1955, President Dwight D. Eisenhower first pursued building what he called an “artistic mecca” in Washington, D.C., and created a commission to create what was then known as the National Cultural Center.
Three years later, Congress passed an act to build the new venue with the stated purpose of presenting classical and contemporary music, opera, drama, dance, and poetry from the United States and across the world. Congress also mandated the center to offer public programs, including educational offerings and programs specifically for children and older adults.
The Kennedy Administration
A November 1962 fundraiser for the center during the Kennedy administration featured stars including conductor Leonard Bernstein, comedian Danny Kaye, poet Robert Frost, singers Marian Anderson and Harry Belafonte, ballerina Maria Tallchief, pianist Van Cliburn – and a 7-year-old cellist named Yo-Yo Ma and his sister, 11-year-old pianist Yeou-Cheng Ma.
In his introduction to their performance, Bernstein specifically celebrated the siblings as new immigrants to the United States, whom he hailed as the latest in a long stream of “foreign artists and scientists and thinkers who have come not only to visit us, but often to join us as Americans, to become citizens of what to some has historically been the land of opportunity and to others, the land of freedom.”
At that event, Kennedy said this:
“As a great democratic society, we have a special responsibility to the arts — for art is the great democrat, calling forth creative genius from every sector of society, disregarding race or religion or wealth or color. The mere accumulation of wealth and power is available to the dictator and the democrat alike; what freedom alone can bring is the liberation of the human mind and spirit which finds its greatest flowering in the free society.”
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Kennedy and his wife Jacqueline were known for championing the arts at the White House. The president understood the free expression of creativity as an essential soft power, especially during the Cold War, as part of a larger race to excellence that encompassed science, technology, and education – particularly in opposition to what was then the Soviet Union.
The arts mecca envisioned by Eisenhower opened in 1971 and was named as a “living memorial” to Kennedy by Congress after his assassination.
The Johnson Administration
Philip Kennicott, the Pulitzer Prize-winning art and architecture critic for The Washington Post, said the ideas behind the Kennedy Center found their fullest expression under Kennedy’s successor, President Lyndon B. Johnson.
“Johnson in the Great Society basically compares the arts to other fundamental needs,” Kennicott said. “He says something like, ‘It shouldn’t be the case that Americans live so far from the hospital. They can’t get the health care they need. And it should be the same way for the arts.’ Kennedy creates the intellectual fervor and idea of the arts as essential to American culture. Johnson then makes it much more about a kind of popular access and participation at all levels.”
Ever since, Kennicott said, the space has existed in a certain tension between being a palace of the arts and a publicly accessible, popular venue. It is a grand structure on the banks of the Potomac River, located at a distance from the city’s center, and decked out in red and gold inside.
At the same time, Kennicott observed: “It’s also open. You can go there without a ticket. You can wander in and hear a free concert. And they have always worked very hard at the Kennedy Center to be sure that there’s a reason for people to think of it as belonging to them collectively, even if they’re not an operagoer or a symphony ticket subscriber.”
The Kennedy Center on the Potomac River in Washington, D.C.
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Hulton Archive/Getty Images
Kennicott estimated it will only take a few years for the controversies around a new name to fade away, if the Trump Kennedy moniker remains.
He likens it to the controversy that once surrounded another public space in Washington, D.C.: the renaming of Washington National Airport to Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport in 1998.
“A lot of people said, ‘I will never call it the Reagan National Airport.’ And there are still people who will only call it National Airport. But pretty much now, decades later, it is Reagan Airport,” Kennicott said.
“People don’t remember the argument. They don’t remember the controversy. They don’t remember the things they didn’t like about Reagan, necessarily. . . . All it takes is about a half a generation for a name to become part of our unthinking, unconscious vocabulary of place.
“And then,” he said, “the work is done.”
This story was edited for broadcast and digital by Jennifer Vanasco. The audio was mixed by Marc Rivers.
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