L.O.V.E. Over Lust: Any Day

Marian de Silva

I have spent years wondering whether people truly know what love is. Not the kind of love we see in films. Not the dramatic declarations, expensive gifts, or social media captions.

• Real love.
• The kind that sees beyond the body.
• The kind that stays.
• The kind that makes you feel human before it makes you feel desirable.
• Perhaps I ask this question because of the life I have lived.

As a woman, I have spent much of my life being looked at. Compliment. Desired. Admired. Judged. Sexualized. People often noticed my body before they noticed my words. Sometimes they noticed my appearance before they noticed that I had a mind filled with thoughts, fears, dreams, opinions, and stories. And for a long time, I thought that was normal. In fact, society teaches us that it is normal. Especially for women. We are taught that attention is validation. That being wanted is a measure of our worth. That if people desire us, we should feel fortunate. But as the years passed, I began to realise something painful. Being desired and being loved are not the same thing. Not even close. Someone can desire your body and still know absolutely nothing about your soul. Someone can be attracted to you without caring about your happiness. Someone can admire your appearance while remaining completely indifferent to who you are as a person.

• That is not love.
• That is an attraction.
• That is desire.
• That is lust.

And while there is nothing inherently wrong with physical attraction, I think we have become a society that celebrates desire while neglecting love. Perhaps nowhere is this more visible than in our own Sri Lankan culture. We are a country that struggles to talk openly about relationships, intimacy, emotions, sexuality, and affection. We speak in whispers. We avoid difficult conversations. We pretend certain realities do not exist. We teach young people what not to do but rarely teach them how to build healthy relationships. We tell them to avoid temptation but never explain the difference between lust and love. We shame conversations about intimacy while allowing misinformation to flourish in silence. And when genuine conversations disappear, something else fills the vacuum.

• The internet.
• Pornography.
• Social media.
• Fantasy.
• Distorted ideas about relationships.

Many young people today are exposed to pornography long before they understand emotional intimacy. Long before they understand trust. Long before they understand commitment. Long before they understand love. For many, pornography becomes the first teacher. And that should concern us. Not because sexuality is shameful. It is not. Human desire is natural. Attraction is natural. Curiosity is natural. But pornography often presents a version of intimacy that is disconnected from emotional reality. It teaches performance without connection. Physical access without vulnerability. Pleasure without responsibility. Bodies without hearts. And when that becomes someone's primary understanding of relationships, it can distort expectations in ways we rarely discuss. When young minds are repeatedly exposed to images that reduce human beings to objects of gratification, it becomes harder to understand the beauty of genuine emotional connection. It becomes harder to recognise that intimacy is not merely physical. That love is not consumption. That relationships are not transactions. That people are not products. I think this is one of the reasons why so many people struggle to distinguish between being attracted to someone and truly loving them. They have learned desire. They have never been taught love. And perhaps we cannot entirely blame them. Where are these conversations happening? In our schools? Rarely. At home? Almost never. In society? Only occasionally. We are expected to magically understand relationships despite growing up in environments that often avoid discussing them honestly.

As Sri Lankans, we can discuss politics for hours. We can discuss religion endlessly. We can discuss examinations, careers, and marriage. Yet many families cannot comfortably discuss emotions. Many parents cannot comfortably discuss intimacy. Many young people grow up learning about sex from strangers online rather than trusted adults. Then we wonder why confusion exists. We wonder why relationships feel fragile. We wonder why so many people mistake obsession for love. Possession for love. Control for love. Jealousy for love. Lust for love.

The truth is that love is far less dramatic than many people imagine. It is not constant excitement. It is not an endless passion. It is not a never-ending honeymoon.

• Love is often quiet.
• Love is patience.
• Love is respect.
• Love is choosing someone repeatedly.
• Love is learning another person's fears and protecting them rather than exploiting them.
• Love is seeing somebody at their worst and still recognising their worth.

I know this now because life taught me. And perhaps because I was fortunate enough to encounter someone who changed my understanding of love entirely. Someone who did not reduce me to my appearance. Someone who saw beyond the body that everyone else seemed so interested in discussing. Someone who listened. Someone who cared about my thoughts. Someone who respected my boundaries. Someone who made me feel valued for reasons that had nothing to do with physical attraction. Of-course attraction existed. Love does not require the absence of attraction. The difference is that attraction was not the foundation. Respect was. Understanding was. Friendship was. Care was. And that changed everything. Because when you have spent years being sexualized, being genuinely loved feels almost unfamiliar. You begin expecting people to want something from you. You expect conversations to eventually become superficial. You expect admiration to focus on appearance. Then suddenly someone arrives and asks about your dreams.

Your fears. Your passions. Your ambitions. Your wounds. And you realise how starved you have been for genuine connection. I think that is why love feels so powerful. Because unlike lust, love acknowledges the entirety of a person.

• Lust says, "I want you."
• Love says, "I see you."
• Lust is fascinated by what is visible.
• Love treasures what is hidden.
• Lust asks what it can gain.
• Love asks what it can give.

One seeks satisfaction. The other seeks connection. One consumes. The other nurtures. And perhaps that is why I find love infinitely more beautiful. Beauty fades. Bodies change. Youth disappears. Time touches all of us eventually. What happens then? What happens when wrinkles appear? When illnesses arrive? When life becomes difficult? When perfection disappears? If desire was the only foundation, relationships begin to crack. But love survives those seasons.

• Love adapts.
• Love deepens.
• Love matures.
• Love learns.

The older I become, the less impressed I am by attraction alone. Attraction is easy. Anyone can be attracted to beauty. Anyone can desire what they find appealing. The real challenge is remaining present when things become complicated. The real challenge is choosing understanding over convenience. The real challenge is seeing another person's flaws and refusing to treat them as disposable. That is love. And perhaps that is why I find myself increasingly saddened by a culture that glorifies instant gratification while neglecting emotional intimacy. We live in an era where people can access endless images, endless entertainment, endless distractions. Yet genuine human connection often feels scarce. People know how to scroll. People know how to consume. People know how to desire.

But many have forgotten how to connect. How to listen. How to be vulnerable. How to love. Maybe that is why loneliness continues to exist even in a hyperconnected world. Because technology can provide stimulation. It cannot replace intimacy. Pornography can imitate connection. It cannot create it. Attention can feel validating. It cannot replace love. At the end of the day, every human being wants to be seen. Not merely observed. Not merely desired. Seen. Seen in their entirety. Seen in their imperfections. Seen in their vulnerability. Seen in their humanity. And perhaps that is what I have learned after all these years.

I no longer want admiration that ends at the surface. I no longer want attention that disappears the moment beauty changes. I no longer want relationships built solely on desire. I want something deeper. Something quieter. Something real. I want the kind of love that sees beyond appearance. The kind that values character over aesthetics. The kind that survives difficult seasons. The kind that chooses understanding over possession. The kind that reminds us that we are more than bodies. More than fantasies. More than objects of desire. In a world increasingly obsessed with instant gratification, I think choosing love is an act of rebellion. And perhaps that rebellion is exactly what we need. Because while lust may capture attention, love captures something far more precious. The human soul.