We were talking about love. Or what people think is love nowadays.
Someone at the table said it like a joke, “You need to try many ice creams before choosing your favorite.”
Everyone laughed. I didn’t.
Because I’ve heard that too many times now—
That modern-day love isn’t really love, it’s just people figuring themselves out. That it’s not cheating, it’s “just a phase.” That hookups aren’t hollow, they’re “experiences.”
And worst of all—
That it’s not their fault. It’s lack of maturity, and people will grow out of it with time.
But here’s where I differ.
I don’t think maturity only comes from mistakes.
I think maturity comes from intention.
In this digital world—where you can scroll through personalities, voices, even faces like a playlist—knowledge isn’t missing. It’s ignored.
Everyone knows what genuine connection feels like. They just choose shortcuts instead.
Because it’s easier to undress someone than to understand them.
It’s easier to “vibe” than to build.
They say, “How will you know what you want unless you try many?”
But love isn’t a shopping aisle. People aren’t flavors. Hearts don’t come with return policies.
To me, love starts with a conversation that doesn’t feel like effort.
It’s sitting on a random bench, talking about the shape of clouds, or childhood fears, or your weird obsession with 3am songs.
It’s not asking, “What are you wearing?”
It’s asking, “What’s been weighing on your heart lately?”
Lust fades.
Looks change.
But conversations—the real ones—they stay.
They build layers. Depth. Safety.
They turn strangers into soulmates.
I’ve never understood the logic of needing multiple partners to become “ready” for one.
If you can understand a subject by reading one book deeply, why flip through 20 without turning a single page properly?
No, I don’t think love is supposed to be a blurred mess of confused feelings and casual goodbyes.
I believe in choosing one person. Not out of scarcity, but out of clarity.
Because when it’s real—you don’t need to try more.
You’ll know.
When the silence feels full.
When the laughter feels like home.
When the eyes don’t wander—because the soul is already anchored.
So no, I don’t buy into the “try many to find the one” idea.
I believe in one scoop. Not because it’s less, but because it’s enough.
Enough to hold conversations at midnight that heal, not just thrill.
Enough to look beyond bodies and see stories.
Enough to fall in love with the pauses, the eye contact, the unspoken comfort.
In a world chasing flavors, I choose the one where conversation is the core and connection is the craving.
Because one scoop, when it’s the right one—
is never too little.
It’s everything.
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