Some people can write you a paragraph so beautiful you have to read it twice. They know exactly what to say, when to say it, and how to make an ordinary Tuesday feel like a scene from a romantic movie. They will tell you how special you are, how much they adore you, how they see a future with you, and how they cannot imagine their lives without you.
Then you mention that you need a hundred shillings, and suddenly the conversation enters a difficult financial season.
I have always found that contrast interesting.
A person can have an unlimited supply of sweet words but a very carefully controlled generosity budget. They can talk about building a future together, but contributing to the present seems to require a meeting, a feasibility study, and perhaps approval from the Central Bank. You can be somebody’s dream woman, future wife, favourite person, and the love of their life, but that hundred bob? That one needs to be discussed.
And I am sorry, but sometimes it is funny.
I enjoy romance. I like chocolates, flowers, thoughtful surprises, handwritten notes, and those little things that make you feel someone was thinking about you when you weren’t around. I like being remembered. I like someone noticing that I have been quiet, asking how my day went, or remembering something I mentioned weeks ago. I am not immune to a well-written message or a genuinely thoughtful gesture.
But I have also grown to appreciate the difference between someone who is good at expressing affection and someone who understands consideration.
Because consideration is not always romantic.
Sometimes it looks like someone asking whether you got home safely and actually caring about the answer. Sometimes it is remembering that you have had a particularly expensive week and not suggesting another outing that requires you to spend money you don’t have. Sometimes it is noticing that something in your life needs attention and offering to help without turning it into a negotiation about what you owe them emotionally.
And yes, sometimes it is sending the hundred shillings without making you feel as though you have requested funding for a national infrastructure project.
I don’t think money should be the only way people demonstrate love. That would be a very boring way to measure something as complicated as human affection. People contribute in different ways. Someone can be emotionally present, dependable, thoughtful, helpful, and generous with their time even when they don’t have much money. I would never want to overlook those things.
But I also don’t think we should pretend that financial consideration is irrelevant simply because we want to sound less materialistic.
Money is part of everyday life. It pays for transport, food, electricity, rent, school expenses, emergencies, and all those unromantic things that somehow refuse to disappear just because someone has fallen in love. A relationship exists in the same world as bills, responsibilities, unexpected expenses, and financial decisions. It doesn’t happen in a separate universe where everything is paid for by good morning messages.
And this is where I think some conversations about romance become a little unrealistic.
We celebrate the grand gestures. We share screenshots of beautiful messages. We talk about men who write poems, plan elaborate dates, and make dramatic declarations. But I am increasingly interested in the less dramatic side of affection. How does someone behave when life is ordinary? Are they considerate when there is nothing particularly exciting happening? Do they think about your comfort? Are they generous within their means? Do they make your life easier in practical ways, or do they simply make your phone screen look romantic?
Because a person can be incredibly expressive and still be quite inconsiderate.
They can tell you that you deserve the world while watching you struggle with something they could reasonably help you with. They can make promises about the future but show very little interest in what your present circumstances look like. They can spend hours discussing what the two of you will do one day, yet somehow every small opportunity to show thoughtfulness today passes them by.
I am not saying that every request should be met with money. Nobody should be expected to finance another adult’s entire existence, and nobody should feel entitled to someone else’s income. There is a difference between generosity and obligation. There is also a difference between having limited resources and being unwilling to share what you comfortably can.
That distinction matters to me.
I would rather someone tell me honestly that they cannot afford something than make me feel foolish for mentioning it. I would rather have a modest but thoughtful gesture than an expensive performance designed to impress me. I would rather someone who knows their financial limits and treats me with respect than someone who makes extravagant promises they have no intention of keeping.
What I find unattractive is the performance of generosity without the practice of it.
And I think women are sometimes made to feel guilty for noticing this. The moment you mention money, someone is ready to remind you that love is not about material things. Yes, we know. We have heard the speech. But why does the conversation always become philosophical when the subject is a practical contribution?
Apparently, wanting flowers is romantic, but wanting someone to contribute towards your comfort requires an explanation of your moral character.
I find that amusing.
I also think there is a difference between wanting expensive things and appreciating someone who is thoughtful with money. You don’t need a person who spends recklessly to prove that they care. You need someone whose actions are consistent with the kind of relationship they claim to want. Someone who doesn’t make generosity feel like a personal injury.
And generosity is not limited to romantic relationships. I notice it in friendships, family relationships, business relationships, and even ordinary interactions with strangers. There are people who naturally think beyond themselves. They see a need, consider what they can do, and help without making the other person feel small. There are others who can turn the simplest act of kindness into a story about how much they have sacrificed.
I have come to appreciate the first kind of person.
Perhaps because I am also learning how much difference practical support can make. Encouragement is lovely, but sometimes you need someone to help you move the equipment. Advice is useful, but sometimes the problem requires resources. Telling someone to keep going is nice, but there are moments when the most helpful thing you can do is remove one obstacle from their path.
I don’t want to dismiss words. Words matter. They can comfort, reassure, encourage, and make people feel seen. A sincere compliment can stay with you for years. A thoughtful message can arrive at exactly the right time. I know this because I enjoy writing, and I understand that language can be a form of care.
But I also know that words should not have to do all the work.
If you tell someone you care about them, it should eventually become visible in how you treat them. Not necessarily through money, not through constant gifts, and certainly not through an endless list of demands. But through the ordinary decisions that show you have considered another person’s experience.
And if you are financially comfortable, I don’t think there is anything wrong with allowing that comfort to extend to someone you love. You can buy the chocolates. You can plan the date. You can pay for the convenience. You can notice that someone’s phone is falling apart and surprise them with a replacement. You can help them with something they have been trying to accomplish. You can do these things because you want to, not because someone has presented you with an invoice for affection.
There is something lovely about being around people who don’t make every interaction feel transactional.
I don’t want to have to turn every need into a presentation. I don’t want to explain why a particular expense matters, defend why I would appreciate help, or make a small request sound like a business proposal. And I certainly don’t want to spend an afternoon listening to someone explain the importance of emotional connection while refusing to acknowledge that practical support is also a form of care.
At the same time, I want to be the kind of person who gives thoughtfully too. I want to remember people’s preferences, celebrate their milestones, help when I can, and make life a little easier for the people I care about. I don’t want generosity to be something I only expect from others.
Maybe that is what I am getting at.
I am less impressed by declarations and more interested in the everyday evidence. Not because I have become cynical about romance, but because I have realised that a beautiful relationship needs to exist outside beautiful conversations.
Tell me you miss me. Send me the sweet message. Buy me the chocolates. Bring me flowers because you remembered that I like them. Make me laugh. Plan something interesting. But also understand that life is not made up of romantic moments alone.
Sometimes the most meaningful thing is not another paragraph about how much someone adores you. Sometimes it is the quiet relief of knowing that the person who says they care actually thinks about your wellbeing.
And if a mere hundred shillings is where the generosity department closes for the day, perhaps we should at least reconsider the size of the future we have been discussing.
Because words are nice. Really, they are.
But I have bills, ambitions, plans, and a life happening outside the chat window.
After all, I am not just looking for someone who can describe a beautiful future. I would like to see a little evidence that we could actually afford to live in it.
