The famous quote, “What you seek is seeking you,” by Jalal ad-Din Rumi, feels deeply relevant in this era.
If you speak to people between the ages of thirty-five and sixty, one thing you will hear very often is this: there was a better time ten years back. We could speak freely to anybody about our problems. We were heard and understood. People were trustworthy. Words had value. There was no backstabbing. There were values, heartfelt relationships, and a certain warmth that seems to have disappeared now.
The love, affection, connection, and trust that you seek are the same things that others seek from you. The journey of these emotions has become arduous. It begins with hope and expectation, but often never reaches its destination.
When we first started using technology, it was driven by curiosity. There was excitement in discovering new people, new places, and new connections. At that time, we did not realize how far this would go. Slowly, we began to use these platforms to express intentions rather than live them. We started declaring things instead of doing them. Instead of physically speaking and standing by our words, we replaced action with expression. Somewhere along the way, this gap quietly formed, and we did not even notice it.
We made a big mistake by replacing relationships with digital validation.
Instead of reality, people started choosing comfort. And for that comfort, we are now searching for natural relationships, which are becoming increasingly difficult to find. Everyone is doing the same thing. The same patterns apply to everyone, like unspoken rules written with invisible commas and clauses.
Natural relationships were once the fuel of humanity. Yet, expecting that we could build stronger and more dependable connections through devices, we continued down this path. The human tendency of wanting more and better played its role in deepening this issue.
That is the reason more people are choosing platforms like WhatsApp status and Instagram stories to reflect their emotions. People have slowly started believing that these platforms are more reliable and trustworthy, which is an irrational thought. What is said in person can never be matched or replaced. People are afraid of real conversations. They think their words may come back to hurt them. But the truth is, real conversations have limits to how far they can spread. What is shared online has no such limits. A simple expression of your feelings can go viral and be judged by strangers across the world. There is nothing truly private anymore.
I know a woman who is deeply obsessed with her online presence. Every moment of her life is documented. Her day begins with checking reactions to her previous posts and ends with carefully crafting the next one. Her expressions are not spontaneous anymore; they are curated. Her happiness is measured in likes, and her worth is reflected in comments. Even during deeply personal moments, her first instinct is to post. When her uncle passed away, instead of sitting with her family and grieving, she posted a status. It was not grief; it was a performance of grief. It makes you wonder: who is this for?
We wish people whom we barely know. We post birthday messages for names that hold no emotional weight in our lives. All of this is done for an audience, not for the person. It becomes a form of validation we give ourselves, convincing our minds that we have done our part. The attention we receive, the likes and reactions, give us a temporary sense of satisfaction. We enjoy being liked, but here, even that liking is virtual.
It is not just her. I know many people who post something every single day without fail—a movie song, a sad quote, a happy thought, or some emotional reflection. Expression is necessary for the human mind. But when every expression is redirected to a digital wall, it becomes a problem. What happens if one day you cannot express yourself through a status? Will there be someone who listens to you? If not, where will you release your emotions?
We have slowly trained ourselves to speak to screens instead of people. We have become comfortable being seen, but not being understood. We are more connected than ever, yet we feel alone in ways that were once unimaginable.
The irony is simple and painful. What we seek is still seeking us—real connection, real trust, real presence. But we are looking for it in the wrong places.
Perhaps the answer is not complicated. Maybe it lies in going back to simple conversations—sitting with someone without a device in hand, speaking without the fear of judgment from an invisible audience, listening without distraction, feeling without the need to display.
Technology was meant to assist life, not replace it. Relationships were meant to be lived, not performed.
If we do not pause and reflect now, we may reach a point where expression exists everywhere, but understanding exists nowhere.
And then, even if what we seek is seeking us, we may no longer recognize it when it finally arrives.