On Love, Freedom, and the Boundaries of Human Emotion

The question I have always asked myself is about the limits of emotional boundaries between people — when feelings arise unnecessarily — and what the true definitions of friendship, love, and family really are after marriage or after confirming a relationship with someone.

This thought has lingered in my mind for hours, especially when I see relationships labeled as affairs being beautifully disguised as social interactions.

I wonder whether emotional comfort — or in other words, the endless pursuit of satisfaction unrestricted by anything — has indirectly created diseases and genetic consequences.

Perhaps that’s why countries most advanced in psychology and the study of short-term affection are also the very places where rare and early-spreading sexually transmitted diseases first emerged.

Could that, ironically, be the real answer to freedom and happiness?

A man and a woman might sleep with others after marriage to “reduce stress,” believing that a short-term connection is harmless — especially when both agree to the act, thinking they can balance the situation by doing the same. In that sense, marriage becomes nothing more than a legal contract concerning children, not an emotional commitment.

To go deeper, if freedom and liberation mean not clinging to any relationship, not setting expectations, and not binding anything to oneself — then what is the meaning of marriage? What does social interaction after marriage truly mean? Where, exactly, are the boundaries?

I believe the percentage of loyalty gradually decreases when we become too attached to the idea of love — when we stubbornly believe that the other person will return.

Perhaps we are tolerating their return even when there’s still someone else behind them. And maybe, we ourselves are nothing more than the sense of stability they seek after flying freely with another.

When they can no longer restrain themselves — and begin to ask “Why should I hold back?” or “Why should there be pressure?” — they start to live parallel lives. You and the outsider both become emotional entertainment. And all the while, they have never truly taken responsibility for that piece of paper — the marriage certificate.

I don’t think I’m wrong to say that I’m afraid of falling in love or getting married — because I fear ending up like that. Yet, many would respond, “That’s your problem. He’s not at fault — men are just like that.” But who allowed this to become acceptable? In truth, it is often the other person — the one who stays — who enables it. Because they are also afraid: afraid of losing stability, afraid of losing someone who has accompanied them, afraid of starting over. And even now, I still find myself asking: What is the true definition of infidelity? , What does marriage really mean?, Where is the line between incest and social interaction?, Where does love end, and tolerance begin? I once believed that if, even for a single second, my lover — or my husband — stopped thinking of me, then he would no longer be mine, and the relationship should end right there.

But perhaps, for the sake of stability, the allure of novelty, or even a sense of human compassion, people choose that complicated kind of clarity instead.

I still ask myself whether, under such circumstances, I could ever accept a lifelong relationship — or begin again with someone new. I’ve grown disheartened watching so many relationships like that, where consent becomes compromise, and compromise becomes stability. I feel lost in this harsh reality, afraid that the weight of the majority will crush my small, strict way of thinking. So I’ve chosen to quietly observe myself — to love myself — out of fear of love’s impermanence.

To love only in the moment, because perhaps only that moment is true love. Faithfulness feels like the visible part of an iceberg — fragile and melting — in a world that keeps growing warmer.

I was once decisive, once loyal, once learning how to love, once gentle and understanding. And maybe what I’ve come to understand is that, the more I step away from the noise, the sensitivity, and the wordplay of love, the closer I come to a quieter, truer part of myself.

I hope you’ll stay to read my second piece —a different heartbeat, yet born from the same perspective.

Thank you for listening, and for walking with me this far.