How I See Love
In modern relationships, one of the quiet battles we all face is learning how to live between two popular yet opposing views of love.
On one side, there’s the traditional ideal of romance: one person, one lifetime, forever by your side. The dream of “the one” brings warmth, safety, and a sense of unwavering trust. But it can also turn on itself — we expect too much, imagine perfection, and when that illusion breaks, we spiral. We’re quick to undo everything we once held dear, and question everything we once believed in. Often, what keeps these relationships going isn’t just love, but also duty, fear, or convenience.
On the other side, there’s the modern dating scene in big cities: fluid, free, unbound. We’re together because it feels good right now, not because of any promise. I don’t control you, and you don’t belong to me — we’re independent people with our own lives. It sounds respectful, mature, and empowering. Except it often carries an unspoken rule: when someone “better” comes along, I might leave, and you’re expected to accept that with the same understanding and grace. After all, there’s always someone “better.” We were never truly “together”; at best, we were just “nearby”, once upon a time.
Neither path feels whole. One leans too heavily on ideals, and eventually collapses under their weight. The other accepts the transactional nature of reality, and ends up just as soulless and cold.
Since I was fourteen, I’ve been drawn to a philosophy called absurdism — the quiet courage to live fully in a world that offers no guarantees. “There is only one true heroism in the world,” Romain Rolland wrote, “to see the world as it is, and to love it.” That idea has shaped not just how I live, but how I love.
I want to pursue a kind of absurdist love. And I’m aware it requires a different level of strength.
It doesn’t rely on blind faith in forever, nor collapse into the cynicism that nothing lasts. It’s a conscious, courageous choice: to love someone fully, even after understanding how fragile we humans are — our doubts, our desires, our sins, our fleetingness. To give your whole heart, knowing it may not always be held.
Loyalty not as a forced obligation born of fear, but an informed decision made in clarity — the shared, deliberate choice to walk through life together with another person, after fully recognizing their flaws and imperfections. Because even in a world where nothing is promised, we still believe this is the way we want to live.
This is a rare kind of romance. Bringing heaven to earth, and choosing, every day, to protect it with your own hands. Maybe I’m asking too much. Maybe holding onto this standard means I’ll end up alone. I don’t know. But this is how I see love.