« I was looked at, but I wasn’t seen. » – Albert Camus

In a culture that glorifies the “art of detachment” as the ultimate sign of emotional maturity, I find myself asking a dangerous question: What is actually wrong with being attached? We are taught that needing others is weakness and that letting go is freedom. But lately, I’ve been obsessed with longevity in relationships. And I’ve had to ask myself why it matters so much to me? Why does it matter so much to me that people stay? Is this coming from a place of insecurity? Is my desire for continuity a symptom of neediness, or is it a demand for integrity?

I can remember having profound discussions with total strangers that still resonate with me today, even though I know I will never meet them again. I’ve had short-term friendships and lovers that left a lasting impression on me. So, what is it really about longevity that seems to matter so much? What does it say about me when they don’t?

Part of it may be that I am tired of the cycle of people coming and going in modern urban culture. I want to prioritise long-term connections, not because I want them to stay static or frozen in time, but to evolve while remaining in each other’s lives.

But I recently had another realisation. I came across a post on Instagram ( https://www.instagram.com/nikkiblak?igsh=ZDN0a2F1amM3dDYw ) that clarified things for me. Its author , made a distinction between “friendship” and “community”. She described friendship as emotional support, while community is how we organise and support each other. She mentioned having people who are no longer « friends » in the traditional sense, perhaps due to a breakup or drifting apart, but who will still show up during illness, loss, crisis or achievement. I realise now that this is what I have been craving: that sense of community. The care that never disappears. The elegance of not leaving the question: did the time we shared matter to you? Did you make an effort to truly see me? Did you value us, or was I merely an object to meet a need and be consumed? Indeed, care is always present when someone has mattered to you.

« Love is never waisted when it is shared. » – Olivia Dean

Time is the one commodity we can never get back, yet we often spend it in relationships that treat our presence as temporary and interchangeable.  If we don’t treat time with the importance it deserves, what remains? My desire for longevity is not so much about keeping people forever; it’s about proving that the time we shared was not disposable.  That I was perceived as a subject, as a person with inherent value, rather than solely an object, a tool for comfort, fun, or status. The presence of care after a breakup is the only true proof of that. When people simply disappear, I feel the pain of knowing that I cease to exist in their world. It feels like a deletion, a death of a part of my life. Lost in maize of trying to make sense of moments I thought had mattered.

If I were alone in that moment, if I were witnessed only as an object, where does that leave us? What is left of that part of my time that can never be retrieved? The ultimate question is: Did I matter enough for you to care even after the romance or friendship faded?

I am not afraid of pain; I am afraid of meaninglessness. And I believe true meaning requires the courage to be attached in a detached world. If I didn’t care about being attached, you wouldn’t mind being treated as an object; I would just move to the next transaction.

« How can you get close to someone you keep out of reach?. » – Olivia Dean

I have made a conscious choice to disengage the moment I realise I am being treated as an object rather than seeing the curiosity to be fully witnessed. Maybe this is too radical. Some may even argue that I am reproducing the very thing I am criticising, that my disengagement might prune the branches where deep, slow-growing community could have formed. To that, I answer: To tolerate being treated as disposable in the hope that it might turn into something sacred is to negotiate with my own dignity. It is to be willing to be consumed a little longer if there’s a chance you might eventually see me as a person. To stay would be to participate in a lie, to erase the truth that I mattered primarily for my utility. Walking away is my way of stopping that self-erasure and declaring that I will no longer pretend to be seen when I am actually being used.

There are indeed contexts were utility is required. Context in which the transaction is the reason. for professional, intervention, mentoring, holding space for someone brokenness. In a consumption/transactional  model, the substance was the utility. Once the utility is gone, there is nothing left to hold onto.

But In a community model both parties operate in good faith. Event if incompatibility end up bringing people apart, the shape changes from lovers to friends, from daily contact to occasional support, but the substance (care, respect) remains.

« Who would do that to a friend, let alone the one you love. » – Olivia Dean

Ultimately, my desire is for a moral framework in relationships. I am asking for a world where human connections are experienced with an awareness of our mortality and the sacredness of our time, rather than being treated as content to be consumed and discarded. Maybe what I demand is simply integrity and intentionality in how we treat each other and each other’s time.

 « Be you, the world will adjust »

R-D