One day, without planning it, you start looking back on your life and wondering: Of all the people I have known, who genuinely loved me?
As we get older, our understanding of love changes. The things we once considered proof of love no longer carry the same weight. Grand gestures become less impressive, sweet words become less convincing, and promises become less meaningful. Instead, we begin to measure love differently.
We look back at our lives and replay memories like scenes from a film. We examine incidents, patterns, reactions, spoken words, and the way people treated us when there was nothing to gain from us. We become researchers of our own lives, gathering evidence and drawing conclusions.
We are not talking about romantic love alone here. We are talking about all forms of love. The love of a mother, a grandmother, a cousin, an old friend, a neighbour, or a coworker. As maturity arrives, so does self-awareness. We become a newer version of ourselves, one that is less interested in appearances and more interested in truth. We begin to identify who genuinely stood by us and who merely occupied space in our lives. Some relationships survive this examination. Others do not.
Love in Retrospect
If I were asked who truly loved me, my grandmother would be at the top of the list. The strange thing is that I did not fully understand it at the time. I was too young to recognize what I was receiving. I accepted it as normal and assumed that everyone experienced that kind of devotion. It took years for me to realize that what she gave me was one of the purest expressions of love I have ever known.
I remember how she would show up at my school unannounced. She would wait patiently outside the gate just to see me when school closed.
“They wouldn’t let me in, but I know when school closes, you will pass through here to go home.”
Those were her words.
Looking back now, I realize how extraordinary that was. In my entire life, very few people have shown up for me in that way. She would not come empty-handed either. Sometimes she brought gifts. Sometimes she brought food. But more important than anything she carried was the fact that she came at all. Imagine someone making the effort simply because they wanted to see your face. Imagine someone travelling, waiting, and sacrificing their time for no reward other than a smile from you. At the time, I thought these were little things. Today, I know better. They were not little things. They were huge things disguised as ordinary moments.
I still cannot get over the feeling of being loved enough that someone would go out of their way simply to hug me, kiss me, and spend a few moments with me. That kind of love is rare. The older I get, the more I appreciate it. My grandmother did these things well into her seventies. She gave her love freely and consistently. Even after she passed away, I dreamt of her waving goodbye. Some people leave this world, but their love remains behind like a permanent mark on the soul.
The Day the Fog Lifted
Growing older also forces us to confront an uncomfortable truth: not everyone who claimed to love us actually did. This realization can be painful because sometimes the people we expected the most from gave us the least. When we are younger, we often mistake familiarity for love. We mistake access for love. We mistake words for love. We mistake titles for love.
Love is not what people say. Love is what people consistently do. Love reveals itself through patterns. Who checked on you when you were struggling? Who celebrated your success without jealousy? Who defended you when you were absent? Who showed up when it was inconvenient? Who remembered the things that mattered to you? Who made sacrifices for your well-being?
The answers to these questions tell a story. As we replay the events of our lives, some people’s actions begin to make sense. We realize that what looked like love was sometimes obligation, convenience, control, guilt, or habit. Some people loved what they could get from us. Some loved the version of us that benefited them. Some loved being associated with us. But genuine love remains steady even when there is nothing to gain. This realization does not have to make us bitter. Instead, it can make us wiser.
One thing I have learned is that real love always leaves evidence. It may not be loud. It may not be dramatic. It may not be perfect. But it leaves evidence. Sometimes the evidence is a grandmother waiting outside a school gate. Sometimes it is a friend who calls during difficult times. Sometimes it is a neighbour who notices when you are absent. Sometimes it is a coworker who quietly supports you without seeking recognition.
Love reveals itself through presence. It reveals itself through consistency. It reveals itself through care. Years may pass before we fully understand what certain people meant to us. We may only recognize the depth of their love after they are gone. That realization can be heartbreaking, yet it can also be a gift. Because once we identify genuine love, we become less willing to settle for imitations.
Love Yourself
“Love yourself” is one of the most common pieces of advice people give, yet it is often the most difficult to follow. How do you love yourself when no one has shown you how? How do you figure it out when this is your first time navigating life? It sounds simple in theory, but in reality, it is much harder. After disappointments, betrayals, rejection, and heartbreak, self-love can feel more like a slogan than a practical instruction. So perhaps we need to look at it differently. For me, self-love is not necessarily about travelling the world, buying yourself gifts, cooking fancy meals, or constantly treating yourself. Those things can be enjoyable, but they are not the foundation of self-love. A person can visit every continent and still dislike who they are. A person can indulge themselves endlessly and still feel empty inside.
Greatest Love of All
Perhaps, one of the greatest lessons of adulthood is learning to separate genuine love from its counterfeits. Not everyone who is close to us loves us. Not everyone who praises us cares about us. Not everyone who stays in our lives deserves a permanent place in them. But somewhere in the collection of memories we carry are people whose love was real. People whose actions spoke louder than their words. People who showed up. People who cared. People who gave without calculating what they would receive in return. As we grow older, we begin to treasure these people differently. We remember them with gratitude. We honour them through our memories. And if we are fortunate, we learn from them. Because the greatest love is not always the loudest love. It is often the quiet love. The love that waits outside a school gate.