The ’80s I Love You: Party Line Problems

The phone—without caller ID—rang.
I picked it up.

“Hello?” I said.

Silence on the other end.

Then he said my codename.
I smiled, careful not to let my parents hear that I was talking to him.

“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m good. What about you?” I replied.
“I just thought about you,” he said.

We talked about childhood things the way tweens did—awkwardly, sweetly, innocently.

Then the party-line interrupted us.

“I need to use the phone,” a woman said.

“But we just started talking,” I protested.

“Oh, are you entertaining suitors over the phone now?” she dared ask.

It was the late ’80s—when conservatism ruled and curiosity was hidden in coded words.

“This is an emergency!” she claimed.
We let her take the line. He promised to call back later.

Half an hour passed. I picked up the handset.
She was still there—talking with her boyfriend. Clearly not an emergency.

I interrupted, “I’m expecting a call.”

“You rude little girl! We’re still talking!” she snapped.

Rude? I showed her how rude I could be.

I placed the handset beside a loud walkie-talkie.
I heard her screaming in anger.
I won.

Then the phone rang again—it was him.
We continued talking… until I heard my father’s footsteps.

“I need to hang up,” I whispered.

“I love you,” he said.
I didn’t respond.

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The ’90s I Love You: The Operator-Assisted Call

“Hello?” I answered.

“Why did you ignore me this morning at school?” he asked.
“I didn’t notice you,” I replied.
“But you noticed him,” he said.

We shifted the topic to Science, our shared favorite.
Then he said, “I’ll be out of town this weekend. What do you want as pasalubong?”

“I’m not after pasalubong,” I said.

“Okay, I’ll just buy what my money can buy. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I blurted—and hung up.

The phone rang again.

“What did you just say?” he asked.

“Ah, that’s nothing,” I said.

“No, I heard you say you love me, too.”

“Brotherly love!” I insisted—and hung up again, blushing.

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Three years later…

The phone—still without caller ID—rang again.

“Hello?” I said.

“This is an operator-assisted call. Will you accept the charges?”

I did.

“I miss you,” he said.

“I miss you, too.”

We ranted about how long the sem-break felt. First love made time feel heavier.

And as always, he ended with, “Bye for now. Take care. I love you.”

“I can’t hear the last words,” I teased.

He shouted them louder—enough to turn heads in the phone booth.

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The 2000s I Love You: The Age of Shortcuts

A text came in:

“Mis u. Luv u.”

I replied:

“Luv u 2.”

Simple. Fast. No awkward pauses.
By this decade, love had become abbreviated—compressed into SMS, later into chats, emojis, and gifs.

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Reflections

From the 1980s to the present, I’ve seen, heard, and felt love expressed in many forms.
And over time, I noticed something:

Saying “I love you” has become easier.

Maybe it’s because emojis and instant communication make it easier to show affection. These days, “I love you” can be as normal as saying “Please” or “Thank you.”

Don’t get me wrong—I support expressiveness between lovers, families, and friends. But when strangers or acquaintances say “I love you” just to show approval or agreement, it sometimes loses the weight it once held.

I remember a time when saying those words meant more.

When you whispered it in secret.

When you waited by the phone for hours.

When you hoped those words and the love behind them would last.