Why do people insist on needing to be loved?
On my way to school this morning, I listened to a podcast about love and human emotions. This simple topic made me sink into deep thought amid the quiet morning journey, and let me re-examine the innate human desire to be loved.
Why do people insist on needing to be loved?
Some people say that our longing to be loved is essentially a desire to be affirmed by others, seen by the world, and sincerely liked by those around us. Indeed, every ordinary person in the world inevitably yearns for such gentle feelings. No one is willing to be a neglected bystander forever; every tender heart longs for exclusive warmth and recognition.
The podcast host mentioned that this persistent craving to be loved sometimes reveals an immature soul and an incomplete state of mind.
When our inner longing for others’ recognition, tender care and sincere companionship far outweighs our willingness to take the initiative to devote ourselves to relationships, to try patiently, and to understand others wholeheartedly, what we stubbornly pursue is often not a real, complete and equal emotional connection, but the temporary spiritual comfort brought by the moment we are noticed. The sudden inner fulfillment is often enough to make us lose our judgment, ignoring whether the attention we crave matches our inner self and whether it is truly suitable for us.
This reminds me of a frank and true sentence a friend once said: "Who doesn’t want attention?" The feeling of being noticed and cherished can quickly soothe inner emptiness and lack, instantly boost our self-esteem, making us shy, joyful and full of confidence. Most of the time, even if I do not like the person in front of me, as long as he is willing to sincerely praise, recognize and see my uniqueness, I am willing to let go of prejudices and continue to communicate and get along with him. But I gradually realize that such emotions are always fleeting. They come intensely and pass quietly. Just like fireworks blooming in the night sky, the splendor lasts only for a moment, leaving nothing but boundless darkness and emptiness after the prosperity fades. Thus, I can’t help but reflect: if we chase being loved only to fill the inner void temporarily, the void can never be truly filled. Because after every momentary recognition and attention, we will fall into new anxiety and unease, wondering anxiously: Will someone notice and cherish me next time?
With my thoughts surging, I suddenly thought of a classic Hong Kong literary film released in 1997, First Love: The Litter on the Breeze. An experimental Hong Kong literary film, it was directed by Eric Kot, produced by Wong Kar-wai, photographed by Christopher Doyle, and co-written by Ye Nim-sum and Chan Hoi-kei. Jointly produced by Jet Tone Film Production and other institutions, the film stars Eric Kot, Karen Mok, Takeshi Kaneshiro and Lee Wei-wei. The film is divided into two independent yet interconnected chapters. The first part tells the pure urban first love story between a sleepwalking girl and a mentally ill cleaner, simple yet absurdly tender. The second part depicts the tangled, love-hate entanglements of a pair of former lovers who reunite after a long separation.
With his unique stylized lens language, the director subtly contrasts the ignorant and innocent first love with the complicated romance of reunited lovers who have experienced worldly hardships, creating a strong visual and emotional contrast. However, the two distinct stories share the same core: the two pairs of protagonists, with completely different identities, circumstances and experiences, all have an intense inner desire — they are all eager to be loved, understood and tenderly cared for.
The emotions in the first half of the film are pure heart palpitations bred from curiosity and yearning for unknown feelings and unknown hearts in youth. The emotions in the second half are the lingering and captivating attraction of unresolved past love and regrets after separation. Through the director’s delicate lens depiction and layout, we can clearly see the gradual convergence of the two pairs of protagonists’ moods and their overlapping desires for love and care. Through numerous subtle scenes, silent gazes and wordless interactions, we can accurately capture the connection of their souls and the emotional dialogue that spans the story and time.
This film seems to be born to answer the soulful question raised by the podcast: What do people pursue all their lives — sincere and passionate love, or just the illusory feeling of being loved? Those in first love indulge in the novelty of unknown relationships and cling to the ignorant throbs of the heart; those reunited after separation are trapped in the fetters of old memories and regrets, unable to let go of past emotions. Essentially, both persistently demand attention, care and tenderness from the outside world. Yet we must eventually understand that the fleeting joy of being noticed is never equivalent to true love.
Unconsciously, the morning sun has spread all over the streets, the sky is fully bright, and the podcast ends just at this moment. I slowly take off my headphones, looking at the bright daylight in front of me, and suddenly gain a thorough insight: Perhaps our persistent desire to be loved never stems from our imperfection, but from the fact that love is the gentlest way for us to know and see ourselves. Through the eyes, recognition and love of others, we can walk out of inner confusion and see the complete version of ourselves clearly and truly for the first time.
I always believe that the ultimate meaning of growth is to learn two-way tenderness. May we one day stop only clinging to being noticed, cherished and favored, and instead have a tender and brave heart, learning to take the initiative to understand, tolerate, notice and love others sincerely.
