Heidi Ahihi

When I first came to the United States, I thought “dating” meant the same thing everywhere.

Two people meet.
They like each other.
They focus on each other.
They slowly build a relationship together.

Simple.

But after almost three years of dating in America, I realized something that genuinely shocked me:

In Vietnam, once two people start dating, there is usually already an unspoken understanding that the connection is one-to-one.

You may not officially call each other boyfriend and girlfriend yet, but emotionally, there is already a sense of focus. A sense of intention.

You are getting to know one person.

Not five people at the same time while comparing options like interviews.

In America, however, I kept hearing the same sentence:
“We’re not exclusive yet.”

At first, I tried to understand it culturally. People here often believe exclusivity only begins after a direct conversation. Until then, many continue dating multiple people simultaneously.

Logically, I understand it.

Emotionally, I still cannot fully accept it.

For me, real connection requires attention. Presence. Emotional focus.

How can people build intimacy while constantly leaving the door open for the next option?

How can someone hold your hand tonight while still scrolling through dating apps tomorrow morning?

The strange thing is that dating apps make this behavior feel normal.

Every conversation becomes replaceable because another profile is always one swipe away.

Nobody sits long enough inside uncertainty anymore. Nobody allows connection to deepen slowly.

The moment boredom appears, people return to the apps for another small dopamine hit.

Dating starts feeling less like human connection and more like endless browsing.

And maybe that is why modern dating feels emotionally exhausting for so many people.

Not because humans suddenly stopped wanting love.

But because technology created the illusion that there is always someone better waiting nearby.

Ironically, the more choices people have, the harder it becomes to truly choose someone.

After years of living in Hawaii, I realized I do not actually need constant texting or dramatic romance.

I need emotional presence.

The feeling that when someone is with me, they are fully there.

Not half inside their phone.
Not emotionally keeping one foot out the door.
Not constantly searching for someone else while trying to build intimacy with me.

Because when you love the right person, effort happens naturally.

People instinctively become softer, more attentive, more thoughtful toward the person they truly care about.

Not because they are naturally romantic, but because love quietly turns them into someone more romantic than they thought they could be.

Not because they are used to planning surprises, but because they genuinely want you to feel special.

Not because they automatically love everything you love, but because they are willing to try unfamiliar things simply because they know those things matter to you.

Not because they have endless time, but because no matter how busy life becomes, they still make space for you somewhere inside their day.

Not because they are perfect with words, but because when feelings are sincere, even ordinary words start sounding beautiful.

And maybe the biggest thing I learned is this:

People naturally put more effort into what they truly want.
To reach for it.
To protect it.
To keep it for as long as possible.

Maybe that is why emotional presence feels so rare now.

Because genuine care has become quieter than performance.

And choosing one person deeply has become harder in a world addicted to endless options.