Emotional Independence vs. Shared Identity 

What does love mean across cultures? In some traditions, emotions are a shared responsibility—an unspoken duty between family and partners. In others, they are a personal burden, managed in solitude. A reflection on emotional detachment, cultural conditioning, and the East-West divide in relationships.

By Kate Xie | Published on: March 7, 2025

I had already been out of work for two months, frustrated with my physical state. The days passed without much contact with the outside world, except for the occasional calls home.

One neighbor saw me unloading groceries from my car one day, warmly approached me, and asked how I was doing. Even he had noticed that my car hadn’t moved for far too long.

The occasional calls home weren’t enough to relieve the emptiness. Conversations dried up quickly.

"I have no updates on my end," I would tell my cousin.

One weekend, Cedric slipped into the house to pick up some of his old construction tools. After rummaging around upstairs for a while, he waltzed into the living room and went straight to the coffee machine.

As if responding to a scripted line triggered by the presence of coffee, he casually asked,

"So how’s life?" - The same robotic small talk one might hear at the gym, the office, or, in this case, an ex-partner’s house.

He knew I hadn’t left the house in two months. Yet the lightness in his voice still shocked me.

"The biomarker isn’t improving, and I’m still on medication. I’m really fed up. I feel like I’m falling into depression—if I’m not already there."

The words tumbled out of my mouth before I even realized it.

"Ahuh," he murmured absentmindedly, watching the slow stream of coffee pour into his cup.

I had mentally prepared myself for indifference—after all, we had been separated for two years—but his complete lack of reaction still bordered on the sociopathic.

Suppressing my anger, I hurried into the other room, pretending to check emails on my laptop.

A few seconds later, his cheerful humming drifted in from the living room.

Through the glass door, I saw him leaning against the kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand, bathed in the morning sunlight while casually scrolling through his phone.

History was repeating itself.

Once again, I found myself caught in the same familiar rage—watching him effortlessly detach himself from my sadness, living blissfully on his private island of untouchable positivity.

"How could you react like this?

I’m telling you about my life. My illness. My depression.

And all you can say is ‘ahuh’?!"

Unfazed, he looked up from his phone.

"What can I do? I listened, didn’t I?"

His calm expression was completely out of place for the moment.

"How can you be so—so—sociopathic?" My voice rose, my body trembled.

It worked. He raised his voice too, but still remained composed.

"Hey, I spent thirteen years making sure your depression—your negativity—didn’t sink into my life. I’m out. I told you I’m out. Your problem is your problem. Manage it. Don’t take it out on me."

He downed his espresso, grabbed his jacket, and walked over to kiss the children goodbye.

Then the door closed behind him.

As the door clicked shut, I was transported back thirteen years—to a cab ride in Shanghai, his voice echoing in my head:

"Your happiness is yours to make. I can only complement it. You are in the driver’s seat."

Then another memory surfaced—his father’s apartment in Amsterdam, around the same time.

His father’s words to his sister:

"Be responsible for your own emotions. Don’t let your partner’s feelings affect you. His problems are his own."

Then came the countless incidents over the years, where he followed this ethos with unwavering conviction—leaving me standing in the dark, in the rain, alone.

Perhaps I was the unreasonable one, asking for the impossible.

But the Chinese attitude toward romantic relationships is the polar opposite:

"Two bodies, different in form, yet sharing one spirit.”
“Following each other through life and death.”
“Time is like a blade, but I will shield you from its cuts.”

If there is no basic empathy, no shared burden—then where is the love?