“Connection is why we’re here; it is what gives purpose and meaning to our lives.”
– Brené Brown
IN the quiet aftermath of festive seasons, when celebrations subside and routines reclaim their rhythm, life resumes almost instinctively.
Calendars fill up again, notifications return in full force, and the pace we once paused quickly accelerates. In this return to normalcy, something subtle often happens, where relationships, particularly the ones closest to us, begin to recede into the background.
Not out of neglect, at least not intentionally, but out of habit.
It was during one such stretch of ordinary days that I found myself watching Perfect Crown on Disney+. It was not something I sought out for reflection, nor was it introduced with any particular expectation. Yet, this recent drama has somewhat caught my attention. Somewhere between its unfolding scenes and quiet dialogues, it began to mirror something familiar, but one we seldom articulate.
At its heart, the drama is not just about love. It is about the spaces in between, with the pauses, the silences, and the words left unsaid. It gently reminds us that relationships are not sustained by milestones or grand declarations, but by the consistency of everyday presence.
Which we don’t see much of these days.
You can just step into any café today, and a common observation emerges. Two people sit across from one another, yet their attention is elsewhere, mainly drawn into separate digital worlds. There is no conflict, no visible tension. Just silence.
It raises a quiet question: when did being physically together become enough?
Communication, in its truest sense, goes beyond the exchange of information. It is not merely about asking what needs to be done next or coordinating the logistics of daily life. It is about asking questions that do not demand immediate answers such as “How are you, really?” or “Is something weighing on your mind?”
These are not complicated gestures. Yet, they require something increasingly rare – attention.
What Perfect Crown portrays with subtlety is that presence is not defined by proximity. One can be near, yet distant. At the same time, even brief moments of genuine engagement like a shared conversation without distraction and a willingness to pause to truly listen can anchor a relationship in ways that grand gestures cannot.
Beyond communication, there is another layer the story touches on, one that feels particularly relevant within many Asian contexts: the delicate balance between family and partnership.
Have you come across moments when your spouse or partner asks, “If your mum and I are in the water, whom will you save first?” Or, “If your mum and I get into a fight, whom will you side with?”
Sounds familiar?
Family, in many ways, forms the foundation of who we are. Respect, loyalty, and a sense of duty are deeply ingrained values. Yet, when two individuals come together to build a life, a new unit is formed, where that requires its own space, voice, and mutual protection.
There are moments when a partner does not necessarily seek resolution, but reassurance. A quiet affirmation that they are not alone in navigating complexities, especially when external opinions or expectations come into play. Standing by one another, in such instances, is not about defiance or conflict. It is about unity. And just having that one person on their side means the world.
I recall one particular memory, still vivid, of how a husband stood up for his wife in front of a crowd, even though she had made a mistake. There was no scolding or embarrassment. Instead, he stood by her, and that was something truly admirable.
As simple as it may seem, this is where many relationships find themselves tested.
What becomes evident, both in fiction and in life, is that connection is not static. It shifts, evolves, and at times quietly weakens if left unattended. The ease of early conversations often gives way to the weight of responsibilities, and without intention, what was once effortless becomes occasional.
Which brings us back, once again, to communication and the need to engage genuinely.
It can begin with something as simple as putting a phone aside during a meal. Allowing silence to be filled not with scrolling, but with conversation. Listening without preparing a response. Noticing, even in passing, when something feels different.
Over time, these small acts accumulate. They create a sense of being seen, heard, and valued. And these elements form the quiet backbone of any lasting relationship.
In a world that competes relentlessly for our attention, choosing to be present for someone is no small act. It is, in many ways, a deliberate decision.
Not just to be there, but to be engaged.
And so, a simple question lingers – when was the last time we truly checked in with the person sitting across from us?
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at Shirley.suat@gmail.com.
