When I was in high school, a friend and I once had one of those late-night, serious conversations before sleep. She asked me about the peak of intimacy in movies—what a topic, gurrlll… 😁.

“I know you like watching films and paying attention to details,” she said, “but have you ever wondered why, at the end of a movie, they’re almost always just kissing instead of having sex?”

I remember answering without much hesitation:

***

A few months ago, I finished the K-drama My Troublesome Star and found myself enjoying short clips of it on TikTok. While scrolling through the comments, I noticed someone saying the drama felt modest because it didn’t include intimate scenes like most dramas today.

Growing up in a modest environment, intimate scenes used to make me uncomfortable—even when I watched alone. Do you feel the same? 😁.

Sometimes I feel as though producers and writers feel guilty if their work doesn’t include intimacy, as if they’re obligated to seduce the audience. 

I remember my high school teacher once praising K-dramas for this very reason. “They don’t overdo it,” he said. “Just two people touching lips.” To him, that was the most modest way to visualize intimacy 😅.

Lately, I’ve found myself skipping intimate scenes altogether. Not because they offend me, and not because I’m trying to be morally superior—but because they no longer move me. They feel predictable, almost mechanical.

I miss the old days when a kiss was placed carefully at the end of a story, when it marked the emotional climax rather than serving as a routine checkpoint. Back then, sex felt like an optional side dish, not the main course we were expected to consume.

Maybe we’re living in an era obsessed with reaching the peak of intimacy as quickly and explicitly as possible. Or maybe intimacy has simply changed its language.

Or maybe—quietly, honestly—I’m just not ready to meet it where it stands now 🙂‍↕️.

And perhaps that, too, is okay.