Love, or the Absence of it

It’s easy to think about all the things we want to give someone. A man, when in love with a woman, may want to buy her things — offer her beautiful gifts, take her to places she’s always dreamed of. The kind money can buy.

The parent who works long days, who works weekends, may think the same way. About all they want to give their child. All the toys, the gadgets, the brand-name clothes, everything money can buy. And money comes at the cost of time. That is: life itself.

Picture a house with two luxury cars parked outside. A boat on a trailer, ready to take the family out to the summer house in the archipelago. Inside: giant TVs, new computers, a brand-new sofa, tech devices no one really uses. All bought with money. All paid for with time.

Now picture that house — and two adults who no longer speak about feelings. Who have sex, but never make love. Who live under the same roof, but not truly together. One dreams of living by the sea, the other in the city. One wants to retire in Italy, the other in the north of Sweden. Two adults who have walked side by side for years, but never quite reached one another’s soul. Who speak about how they feel — but only to others, not to each other. Who have children, but never truly created a family. Who live in a house, but never built a home. Who celebrate holidays together, but share no daily life. Always doing. Rarely just being.

A house where sarcasm, mockery, dismissive tones, slammed doors, cold glances, and harsh words have become so normal that no one even notices anymore. Where everyone longs for freedom — but the kind that means away from one another, not towards one another.

And maybe that’s where the greatest act lies. Not in what we achieve or accumulate, but in what we choose to break. The violence we refuse to carry forward. The coldness we choose not to pass on. The silence we slowly learn to speak through. Maybe that’s how a home is built — not by all that we give, but by all we refuse to pass down.

Because sometimes, true greatness is not in what we do, build, or give — but in what we quietly choose not to pass on.

– Daniel Mendoza, 2025