I regret to inform everyone that yearning has died. It did not die dramatically either, which would at least have been on brand. It quietly suffocated somewhere between “don’t double text” and “let’s just see where this goes,” and now we are all wandering around pretending that being emotionally indifferent is the peak of romantic sophistication.
Look at what we have replaced it with. Instead of people desperately writing poetry in their notes app at 2 a.m. because someone smiled at them once, we now have entire generations carefully calculating reply times like they are diffusing a bomb. Nobody wants to appear too interested, too eager, too emotionally available. Everyone is performing this exhausting little theatre of chillness where the main rule seems to be: whatever you do, do not let anyone discover that you care.
Which is insane, because caring is literally the entire point.
Somewhere in the cultural transition from handwritten letters to “wyd,” romance lost its backbone. People used to pine. They used to stare out of windows like emotionally unstable Victorian protagonists. They used to reread conversations and replay moments and lie dramatically on the floor listening to the same song because it reminded them of someone’s laugh.
Now if someone admits they miss a person after two days, the group chat reacts like they’ve committed emotional tax fraud.
I’m sorry but that’s ridiculous. Yearning is not embarrassing. Yearning is the most honest emotional state a human being can experience. It’s the moment when your brain, your ego, and your carefully curated sense of dignity all get hijacked by the simple realisation that someone matters to you.
And frankly, I think the world has become a much duller place since we collectively decided to pretend that doesn’t happen anymore.
The modern obsession with being “chill” is killing romance.
There is this deeply irritating cultural myth floating around modern dating that whoever cares less somehow wins. You see it everywhere. People brag about how long they wait before replying to texts. Entire relationship strategies revolve around appearing relaxed, detached, slightly mysterious, like an emotionally unavailable housecat who might grace you with affection if the stars align correctly.
Everyone is trying to be chill.
And listen, I understand the instinct. Caring about someone is terrifying. The moment you admit that you like someone, really like them, you’ve handed them a tiny fragile piece of your emotional stability. They could treat it gently. They could drop it. They could accidentally forget it exists.
But the solution cannot possibly be pretending you don’t feel anything at all.
The current cultural script basically demands that people behave like emotionally self-contained robots. Don’t text too much. Don’t say you miss them. Don’t seem excited about seeing them. If you enjoy their company, conceal that information like it’s a state secret.
Meanwhile everyone is secretly checking their phone every seven minutes and staring at message notifications like they’re waiting for exam results.
It’s exhausting. It’s theatrical. And worst of all, it’s deeply boring.
Romance is not supposed to feel like a hostage negotiation where both sides are carefully managing emotional leverage. Romance is supposed to feel slightly ridiculous. It’s supposed to make you act a little dramatic. If you are not at least a little bit emotionally unhinged about someone at some point, what are we even doing here.
Yearning is the most beautiful kind of emotional chaos.
Here’s the thing about yearning that modern dating culture refuses to acknowledge: it’s actually wonderful.
Not comfortable, necessarily. Not logical. But beautiful in that messy, cinematic way where suddenly ordinary life feels slightly brighter because someone exists in it. Yearning is when your brain becomes obsessed with tiny details you never noticed before. The way they laugh at their own jokes. The random phrases they repeat. The very specific way they type “okay” in messages.
You start carrying these small observations around like shiny little treasures.
And yes, occasionally this does lead to behaviour that might look mildly insane from the outside. You find yourself rereading old conversations. You replay a moment where they touched your arm while laughing and your brain decides this is now the most important historical event since the moon landing.
But that is the magic of it.
Yearning transforms mundane reality into something poetic. A simple message from them can make an otherwise ordinary afternoon feel like the soundtrack just changed in a film. A memory of something they said can appear in your mind randomly while you’re brushing your teeth.
And instead of admitting this like normal romantics, modern people immediately try to suppress it.
“Oh my god why am I thinking about them again.”
Because you like them, you fool. That’s what liking someone feels like.
The anti-yearning agenda is deeply suspicious.
There is also something else going on here that deserves investigation. Somewhere along the line, society began treating emotional intensity like it’s a character flaw rather than a natural human experience. People apologise for liking someone too much. They downplay excitement. They make jokes about being “delusional” the moment they start imagining a future with someone they’ve been seeing for weeks.
Why?
Who exactly decided that emotional restraint is the highest form of maturity?
The great romances of literature are not built on people politely pretending they barely care about each other. They are built on longing, anticipation, vulnerability, the terrifying thrill of realising someone has quietly become important to you.
And yes, sometimes yearning leads to heartbreak. That’s part of the deal. Caring about someone always carries the possibility that things won’t work out the way you hoped.
But the alternative, emotional numbness disguised as coolness, is so much worse.
At least yearning makes you feel alive.
Let people be embarrassing in love again.
So here is my extremely serious proposal for the future of romance: bring yearning back.
Let people send enthusiastic texts. Let people admit they miss someone without pretending it’s a joke. Let people be visibly excited about seeing someone instead of acting like the interaction is a casual business meeting between emotionally neutral parties.
If someone makes your heart do that stupid little leap when their name appears on your phone, say that. If you’re thinking about them while listening to music or walking home or staring out of a train window like the main character of a very dramatic film, allow yourself to feel that without immediately mocking it.
Because the truth is that yearning has always been the most honest part of love. It’s the moment when your carefully curated emotional composure cracks open and reveals something soft and hopeful underneath.
And honestly? The world was a lot more romantic when people weren’t afraid of that.
Fore more articles that challenge love, loss, and everything in between, visit Her Campus at MUJ. And if you also believe in yearning, read more at Niamat Dhillon at HCMUJ.