I'm a feminist, but I think that romance has been taken away a

The words of Emma Watson resound like a lament of the modern soul: “I’m a feminist, but I think that romance has been taken away a bit for my generation. I think what people connect with in novels is this idea of an overpowering, encompassing love – and it being more important and special than anything and everything else.” In this utterance lies both a confession and a warning. She acknowledges the rightful triumph of feminism, the noble pursuit of equality, but at the same time, she gazes with yearning upon the fading flame of romance—that ancient fire which once bound hearts together with an almost divine intensity.

For in the days of old, love was not a trivial amusement, but a destiny. The poets sang of overpowering love that consumed reason and reshaped the course of kingdoms. Helen of Troy’s beauty launched a thousand ships, Antony abandoned empire for Cleopatra, and the troubadours of medieval courts risked all for a single glance of their beloved. This is the kind of encompassing love Emma speaks of, a love so radiant that all else appears small beside it, a love that stood not in opposition to equality, but in harmony with the eternal longing of the human heart.

Yet in our age, the rhythm of life has grown hurried and fragmented. Technology gives us swiftness, but not depth. Relationships are often measured in fleeting gestures, shallow exchanges, or fears of vulnerability. The romance that novels once promised—the kind that made lovers believe they could conquer kingdoms together—seems elusive. In this, Watson voices not only her own thought but the quiet ache of a generation: the fear that love has been reduced to convenience, stripped of its sacred power.

Consider the tale of Heloise and Abelard in the twelfth century. Their love was forbidden, marked by tragedy, yet it endured through letters that still move hearts today. Despite suffering, exile, and separation, their bond burned with such ferocity that it transcended the boundaries of flesh and became eternal in memory. Their story reveals what Emma describes: that true love is more important and special than anything else, even when tested by suffering. It is not meant to be comfortable, nor always safe—it is meant to transform, to lift, to pierce through the ordinary veil of life.

Watson’s words also reveal a tension: she stands as a feminist, desiring freedom and equality, but she also longs for the fullness of romance that seems missing. This is no contradiction, but wisdom. For equality does not extinguish passion; rather, it purifies it. When two souls meet not in dominance but in mutual strength, love has the power to become even more encompassing. Yet, if society reduces romance to cynicism or transactional convenience, then hearts, though free, remain unfulfilled.

The lesson here is clear: love must not be feared or diminished. One may be strong, independent, and just, and still yearn for a love that overwhelms. To deny this is to deny part of human nature. The ancients knew that even the fiercest warriors carried tenderness for their beloved. To embrace both justice and romance is to live fully, not partially.

Therefore, let all who hear take heed: seek not a pale shadow of love, but the fire itself. Read again the novels and histories where love was larger than life, and let your heart be reminded of what is possible. Do not settle for the half-light of convenience, but dare to love in a way that is true, deep, and transformative. Speak words of devotion, write letters of sincerity, and guard time for intimacy in a world of distraction.

For if Emma’s generation is to restore what has been lost, it must learn once more that romance is not weakness but strength, not a chain but a liberation of the soul. To love with all one’s being is the greatest act of courage—and the greatest gift one can offer to another.