I'm a romantic.

Hear the simple yet profound declaration of Tom Cruise: “I’m a romantic.” Though these words are few, they carry within them the weight of centuries, for to be a romantic is not merely to believe in love, but to hold faith in beauty, in courage, in the noble fire of the human heart. It is to walk through a world of shadows and still seek light. It is to suffer, and yet to dream. To call oneself a romantic is to claim kinship with poets, with warriors, with dreamers who dared to live not only by reason, but by passion.

The origin of this spirit stretches back to the Romantic Movement of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, when poets and painters, weary of cold rationalism, rose up to declare that imagination, nature, and emotion were sacred. To be a romantic was to gaze at a storm not with fear but with awe; to see in love not mere biology but the meeting of souls; to look at the world and say, this is not only what is, but what could be. When Cruise, a figure of modern cinema, utters these words, he is not inventing new ground—he is standing upon this ancient soil, affirming that even in our mechanized, hurried age, the flame of romance still burns.

To understand this more deeply, let us recall the story of Cyrano de Bergerac, the great lover of French lore. Cyrano, scarred by what he saw as his ugliness, poured his passion into letters and poetry, speaking words of fire that another man carried to the beloved Roxane. Though his love remained unfulfilled, his spirit of devotion, sacrifice, and beauty marked him forever as a true romantic. Cyrano teaches us, as Cruise’s words echo, that to be a romantic is not about possessing love easily—it is about believing in its grandeur, even at cost to oneself.

In our time, the world often scoffs at the romantic. To be practical, efficient, and shrewd is praised above all. Love is treated as transaction, art as commodity, beauty as distraction. But the romantic stands apart, insisting that life is not only about survival but about wonder. To be a romantic is to believe in destiny when the world preaches randomness, to trust in loyalty when others abandon it, to hope in the face of despair. It is no small thing to call oneself a romantic—it is to declare war upon cynicism.

Yet there is danger in romance if it is untethered, if it floats into fantasy with no anchor in truth. For even Cyrano, with all his passion, knew suffering. To be a romantic is not to live without pain—it is to live with it and still sing. Tom Cruise, known for roles of daring and intensity, embodies this paradox: the warrior of action who yet confesses to tenderness of heart. This reminds us that strength and romance are not enemies, but companions—that one may leap from towers and still whisper poetry at night.

What, then, is the lesson for us? It is this: guard your romantic heart, for it is the treasure that gives meaning to all else. Love deeply, even when the world calls it foolish. Seek beauty, even when others are blind to it. Dream boldly, even when the cynics laugh. To be a romantic is not to live easily—it is to live greatly. It is to give your soul to something larger than yourself and to let passion shape the story of your days.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, do not be ashamed to say with Tom Cruise: “I am a romantic.” Let the words ring like a vow. Let them guide your choices, your loves, your labors. Let them remind you that the highest life is not measured in wealth or conquest, but in the depth of feeling, the sincerity of devotion, and the courage to believe in beauty when others have abandoned it.

And so the actor’s simple confession becomes a timeless teaching: in a world of haste and hardness, to be a romantic is an act of rebellion, an act of faith, and an act of glory.