A movie I always come back to rewatch, whether love is foreign or prevalent in my life, is (500) Days of Summer (2009). In it, the protagonist, Tom Hansen, sees Summer Finn as the girl he will never move on from and exaggerates every interaction to fit his idealization of her. Through his lens, he convinces himself (and attempts to convince her) that they are meant to be together. From the start, they both knew what they wanted, but Tom’s philosophy is that love is earned through effort. He waited for Summer to “be ready,” even though she already knew and told him that he just wasn’t what she was looking for.
As the film progresses, Tom reshapes himself into someone Summer can more easily love. Unfortunately for Tom, she was just never going to love him in the way he imagined. Hence, the most iconic scene of the movie: the “Reality v.s. Expectations.” He saw her as a reward for his unconditional devotion, seeing Summer as “The One.” And the movie emphasizes how dangerous that idea can be when followed blindly.
Imagining “The One” assumes perfection, or at least a perfect fit for you. When flaws appear and are recognized, the fantasy shifts into an “I can fix them” mentality, which disregards any sign of incompatibility. You end up committed not to a person, but to an idea.
As Rachel said in the film: “Just because she likes the same bizarro crap you do doesn’t mean she’s your soul mate.”
More movies should challenge the soulmate narrative. It’s romantic, but it can also be risky. When you commit to someone because of who you think they are, the illusion you set for “The One” eventually fades. If someone new appears, you’re at risk for wondering “what if” with another person. Choosing someone shouldn’t be about fate or a feeling that seems destined. Rather, it should be about who actually reflects well on you.
You are your own person and start as an individual. If you forget that, you end up forcing your partner (or someone) into the mold you created. Vice versa, when they inevitably change, your expectation for them breaks, and so does your interest. If you think you know everything about someone, then of course, you stop being interested.
Recently, I watched When Harry Met Sally at the Coolidge Corner Theatre. I initially hated this movie because I interpreted the theme as about fate and soulmates. After all, Harry and Sally kept running into each other to the point of familiarity. But the film is really about choice; every time their paths cross, they choose to initiate, interact, and reconnect to stay in each other’s lives. Eventually, they choose each other. They could have been with anyone, but they gave each other a chance.
Harry says in his confession monologue: “When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”
There is no doubt that religious ideology also shapes how we view love, setting expectations for how men and women should behave in relationships and marriage. Virginity becomes a symbol of commitment, seen in extreme forms like nuns as “brides of Christ,” but also in everyday phrases like “waiting until marriage.”
On the other side of the spectrum, some people give up their virginity because they believe they’ve found their lifelong partner. You end up saving yourself not for you, but for the person you think is “the one,” and you justify mistreatment because you’ve already tied your sense of purity or commitment to them. Voluntary celibacy, in its healthiest form, should be for yourself, not for another person — even if that person is just an idea.
Love works best when the people involved grow together. Humans tend to chase perfection, but perfection is not the goal. Perfection is boring because there is no advancement.
Maybe the in‑between, ever-evolving but imperfect, is what perfection actually is.
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