rethinking (romantic) love
It was a regular Saturday afternoon, one of those calm, uneventful days that usually pass by without much thought. My youngest sister had invited her friends over to work on a school project, and I was in the kitchen cooking Indomie when I overheard their conversation in the living room.
Their voices were filled with excitement as they shared stories about their school crushes. The giggles and whispers painted a vivid picture of high school romance: the shy stolen glances in the school corridor, the nervous chats on Instagram, and the playful teasing about who might end up with whom. One girl was particularly teased about her childhood friend, with everyone predicting they would eventually end up together because they had known each other since they were babies.
Listening to these stories brought a smile to my face. It reminded me of my own high school days when my friends and I would gather after school and share similar stories. Just like most teenagers, we too had our crushes and unspoken feelings, our own set of inside jokes and encouragements to ‘just do it!’ in matters of the heart.
But as I stood there, waiting for the noodle to cook, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of bittersweet nostalgia. The person I am today is so different from who I was back then.
I had a crush that lasted for years since early junior high (̶a̶l̶l̶ t̶h̶e̶ w̶a̶y̶ t̶o̶ u̶n̶i̶v̶e̶r̶s̶i̶t̶y̶ g̶r̶a̶d̶u̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶, e̶v̶e̶n̶)̶. I studied hard to try dethrone him as the Best Student in our after-school course, just so he could notice me. I tried getting into English competition because I thought I could see him there even if we represent different school. I gushed about him to my friends, and they would tease and cheer me on. The usual.
Thinking back, the teenage me was filled with youthful optimism and hope. Maybe because at that time, things were simpler and love seemed like the most thrilling adventure amidst the mountain of homework.
However, the me now is different. The idea of having a crush feels distant. I can’t deny that there’s still a part of me that long for the sense of excitement romance brings, yet the idea of romance no longer holds the same appeal. I rarely see it as a part of my own life. I’ve become so focused on personal growth and achieving higher goals that the idea of being with someone seems almost foreign.
Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Why is it that everyone my age is married or has children, while I don’t even desire a relationship? Why can’t I picture myself with a romantic partner? Why do I see romantic love as some kind of entertainment to enjoy — to watch and to read, not for me to have for myself? Why am I so comfortable in being single?
The very next day, I received a package. It was a book I bought after being recommended by
— titled Conversations on Love by Natasha Lunn. I couldn’t help but chuckle when I unboxed the package. The timing was uncanny, as my thoughts had been revolving around love, particularly the romantic kind.It took me quite some time to read the book in between my schedule, but overall the book was enlightening. It offers a range of perspectives on love that I hadn’t considered even one bit.
One conversation, in particular, stood out to me — Natasha’s discussion with Ayisha Malik. Ayisha’s perspective on love resonated with me profoundly. She spoke about the fluidity of love and how it evolves over time.
“Nothing is consistent and nobody is perfect,” — Ayisha Malik on Conversations of Love by Natasha Lunn
This realization broadens her understanding of love. We often expect someone to come into our lives and make everything easier, but that’s an unrealistic expectation. People will inevitably disappoint us, and that’s okay.
Ayisha’s view of love expanded beyond romance. She found love in various forms — friendship, work, and her faith in Islam. She also emphasized that only God has been consistent throughout her life, and her faith is something she can always rely on. This view of love as something multifaceted and not solely romantic was eye opening for me. I have to admit that as a muslim woman, it also serves as slap of realization to me; a reminder that I need to get closer to my faith.
However, what struck me most was Ayisha’s appreciation for the contentedness in being single. She described it as a wonder, something not everyone achieves. The key, she noted, was that this contentment should not stem from fear but from a genuine place of peace and self-acceptance.
Maybe it is what I needed to hear. Maybe that misplaced part of me, the one still curious for a traditional romance, can find solace in Ayisha’s words. It is perfectly fine for me to not want a partner, because I feel at peace like this.
While the giggles of my sister’s friends trigger a bittersweet sort of longing, I can also smile. I’m glad I experienced the intensity of a youthful crush, but I’m also okay with who I’ve become.
Love is an ever-evolving concept. I might open my heart to romance again someday, or I might not. There’s no timeline, no rulebook, and as Ayisha reminds us, no perfect person waiting just around the corner.
Reading Conversations on Love made me realize that my journey is unique and valid. I’ve learned that it’s okay to be different and to forge my own path. Love doesn’t have to follow a specific script and is not confined to romantic relationships; it is everywhere, in every moment, and within ourselves.
Love can be found in unexpected places and forms — in the laughter of my sister and her friends, in the memories of my own high school days, in my favorite anime characters, in my friend’s laughter as we talk about our life. Love will come in its own time and form, and until then, I’ll continue to grow and find joy in the present moment.
And sometimes, it takes a Saturday afternoon, a group of giggling teenagers, and a well-timed book to remind us of that.
