Hookup culture is the language of my generation, but it feels like one I was never fluent in. At college, love is treated like a punchline. Something outdated, too heavy, and too earnest. We trade Snapchats like secrets, kisses like currency, and we’re supposed to call that freedom. No strings, no expectations, no feelings. But I’ve never been able to look at it without thinking: What’s the point of being touched if no one really sees you?
I’ve tried to play along, I’ll admit. I’ve answered the late-night texts and laughed off the disappearing acts. I’ve told myself none of it matters. But it always did. Because beneath the sarcasm, beneath the masks of indifference, I am not casual. I’m not “chill.” I care so much more than that.
I want the kind of love that stays. The kind you find in the movies: rain soaked confessions, mixtapes perfectly curated, slow dances in the kitchen. I want to be someone’s favorite story, not just the footnote.
Maybe that means I was born in the wrong generation.
I should be slipping handwritten notes into lockers, waiting by the phone for someone who actually called, believing in forever without irony. Instead, I’m here, scrolling through a culture where wanting more is treated like the plague, loyalty is as scarce as toilet paper during the COVID-19 Pandemic, and actual connection is non-existent.
This summer though, I stopped trying to apologize for what I want. If no one else was going to treat me like I mattered, I decided I would. I planned a night for myself the way I used to dream someone else might. I drove with the windows down, my favorite songs filling the night like a soundtrack of one of those coming of age indie movies.
I picked up takeout and ate it right there in the parking lot, no compromises or small talk. Later, I sang in the shower until the walls hummed back, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. And when it was all winding down, my cat curled into me, steady and sure.
She doesn’t flinch when I get too close. She doesn’t leave, she just stays.
That night felt like a reminder, love doesn’t have to disappear when you stop chasing it. Sometimes it waits in the quiet, in the loyalty of a pet, or in the way music hits the same nerve every time. Maybe I’ve been searching for something eternal in a culture that worships temporary, but that doesn’t make me wrong. It just makes me unwilling to settle.
So, maybe I was born in the wrong generation for love. But I’d rather hold out for love that lingers than convince myself that love doesn’t matter. Because deep down, even in a world trying so hard not to care, I know I’m not the only one still hoping for something more.