How do we know if someone loves us?

I think it’s a question we all ponder. Sometimes, I feel that we prioritize feeling loved more than loving. It’s a need – something we all crave. But how do we really know if we love someone, or if someone loves us? Not just the romantic kind – any love.

When it comes to feeling loved by an animal – a pet dog or a cat – it’s far less complicated than feeling loved by another human. At least that’s been my experience. Dogs love us in ways that need no words: the wagging tail, the excited jumps, the insistence on keeping at least some part of their body touching their human, and a thousand other gestures. Cats, too, show affection through physical closeness – that’s their language. If a cat deliberately chooses to be near you, lets you pet it, and begins to purr –  that’s love.

When it comes to domestic animals, I believe cats and dogs take first place in showing affection. I’ve often wondered about people who have hamsters, rabbits, or even snakes as pets. Their love seems to me a very generous kind of love – one that gives without expecting much in return. Perhaps I feel this way because I’ve never had such pets myself, or maybe I’m not entirely selfless – I still expect to feel loved back.

Sometimes the therapist in me thinks that people choose these less expressive pets as a form of protection – a defense against rejection. They love knowing that their affection won’t be turned away. It’s a safe measure.

Human love, though – that’s another story. It’s so very complicated. Is love simply having feelings toward someone? Thinking about them? Wishing them well? Longing to be with them or talk to them? If it’s not a blood relationship, how do we decide that we love one person and not another?

Even among family, why do we love some and not others in the same way? If parents share the same bond with all their children, why do favourites exist? It’s all too complex.

That makes me think of my brother.

I don’t think he has ever verbally said he loves me. To be honest, being Sri Lankan, I don’t think many of us really say “I love you” or “Mama oyata adarei.” It sounds rather cringy. Even I’ve never said it to him –  it would be too embarrassing.

Still, there have been moments when I’ve wondered if he loves me at all, or if my priorities ever cross his mind when he makes decisions. I know it’s probably just my mind playing tricks – creating doubts, trying to chip away at my self-esteem.

When we were both under ten, this thought bothered me more. We fought like arch enemies sometimes, but couldn’t fall asleep if one of us wasn’t home. Still, I used to think he hated me.

Until he started schooling.

He used to take the school van to Ananda College – about a forty-minute commute from our home. That’s roughly eight to ten songs on the van radio. He must have been in Grade 2 or so, still tiny. He loved that playlist – typical “bus songs” we never heard at home.

When he came home, he’d sing them loudly, one after another, exactly in the order they played. Since he sang them like a parrot, I ended up memorizing the playlist too.

But there was one song, maybe sixth in the order, that he always skipped. He would only sing the first line and never continue. No one could get him to sing the rest. It was a song about a sister – “Akke obe podi malli mamai kiya.” I used to get annoyed, thinking his skipping it said a lot about how much he cared or rather, didn’t care — about me.

This went on for a while.

Then one day, we were on a bus with our mother, heading to her maha gedara from Pettah to Nalluruwa, Panadura. It was a long ride. We were seated two or three rows behind the driver when the conductor changed the cassette. It happened to be my brother’s favourite playlist.

Shamelessly, he began singing out loud, and soon the whole bus was paying attention. Then came that song – the one he always skipped. He stopped singing and begged me not to listen. But there was no skipping this time.

The song played – and my brother cried.

It was about a brother mourning his sister’s death.

That was the first and only time I saw him cry like that. To this day, it remains the only proof I need that my dear brother does love me deeply — and that he fears the day he might have to live without me.

And selfishly, I do hope he still feels the same way.

     If you'd like to give it a listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y3-N4yrOL-0&list=RDY3-N4yrOL-0&start_radio=1