On love, emotional memory, and the curious science of making foolish decisions.

The human heart has been accused of many things throughout history, most of which are entirely outside its job description. We blame it for falling in love with the wrong person, holding on to memories we would rather forget, making irrational decisions, and occasionally turning an otherwise intelligent human being into a complete fool. Poets have written about its suffering, musicians have made careers out of its misfortunes, and lovers have been declaring themselves heartbroken for centuries. Meanwhile, the poor organ has been quietly pumping blood, maintaining circulation, and wondering how it became responsible for everybody’s disastrous romantic decisions. If the heart could defend itself in court, I suspect it would have an excellent case.

I used to find it rather amusing that people speak of the heart as though it possesses an independent personality. We say that our hearts choose people, remember feelings, and refuse to listen to reason. We describe love as something that happens inside our chests, perhaps because strong emotions can produce physical sensations that are difficult to ignore. A racing heartbeat, an uncomfortable flutter, or that peculiar feeling when somebody unexpectedly appears can make the metaphor seem wonderfully convincing. But as much as I appreciate a romantic explanation, my nursing education has introduced me to a considerably less poetic suspect.

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the limbic system.

Located within the brain, the limbic system refers to a group of interconnected structures involved in emotional processing, motivation, learning, and memory. Among its important components are the amygdala, which contributes to processing emotionally significant experiences, and the hippocampus, which plays a major role in forming new memories. These structures work alongside other brain regions rather than operating as a single command centre for everything we feel. Still, they offer a fascinating explanation for why certain experiences seem to remain with us long after the circumstances surrounding them have changed.

Consider the experience of remembering somebody you once cared about. You may have gone weeks or months without thinking about that person, only to hear a familiar song and suddenly find yourself recalling an entire conversation. Perhaps it happens when you pass a particular place, recognise a familiar perfume, or encounter something that reminds you of an ordinary afternoon you once shared. The memory seems to appear almost without effort, accompanied by feelings you had assumed were safely packed away.

And there you are, an otherwise respectable person, staring thoughtfully into the distance because somebody played the wrong song at the wrong time.

How terribly inconvenient.

What makes this interesting is that emotionally meaningful experiences can become closely associated with memory. The amygdala helps assign emotional significance to events and can influence how strongly certain experiences are remembered. The hippocampus contributes to organising and forming memories of events and their contexts. Together with wider brain networks, these processes help explain why emotionally important moments can feel particularly memorable.

Of course, this does not mean every emotional memory is accurate. Our brains are not perfect recording devices. Memories can change as we revisit them, sometimes becoming influenced by our present feelings, later experiences, or the stories we repeatedly tell ourselves. It is entirely possible to remember an old relationship with extraordinary tenderness while conveniently forgetting the disagreements that made it complicated in the first place.

The brain, apparently, is capable of producing its own highly selective romantic film.

And I must admit, that explains quite a lot.

There have been moments when I wondered why people continue thinking about someone even after recognising that a particular relationship may no longer be good for them. We often assume that understanding a situation should automatically change how we feel about it. Once we recognise the facts, surely our emotions should cooperate. Yet human behaviour rarely follows such a tidy arrangement.

Emotional responses involve interactions among several systems responsible for memory, reward, attention, and decision-making. The prefrontal cortex contributes to evaluating situations and regulating behaviour, while networks involved in reward and motivation can influence what we find appealing or worth pursuing. These processes do not always produce feelings that agree neatly with our conscious intentions.

That is probably why somebody can confidently announce that they have moved on, only to become unexpectedly sentimental after encountering an old photograph.

I am not saying this has happened to me.

I am merely acknowledging a scientifically plausible possibility. Ahem.

But perhaps we are too quick to describe emotional decisions as foolish. Feelings are not inherently irrational, even when they complicate our plans. They can tell us what matters to us, direct our attention towards meaningful experiences, and influence how we relate to others. Problems arise when we assume that the intensity of an emotion automatically proves that the decision inspired by it must be correct.

Feeling strongly about someone does not necessarily mean the relationship is healthy. Missing a person does not automatically mean returning to them would be wise. Remembering a beautiful moment does not erase everything that happened afterwards.

And perhaps that is where judgement becomes important.

Our emotions deserve acknowledgement, but they do not have to make every decision on our behalf. We can recognise affection without acting impulsively, appreciate a memory without attempting to recreate it, and accept disappointment without turning it into a permanent explanation of who we are.

I think there is something reassuring about understanding that emotional memories are part of ordinary human experience. It means that remembering someone unexpectedly is not necessarily evidence that we have failed to move forward. Sometimes an experience has simply left a strong association in our memory, and something in the present has brought that association back into awareness.

The challenge is deciding what significance, if any, we should give it now.

As a nursing student, I was fascinated by how much of human behaviour could be explored through anatomy and physiology. We spend years learning about organs, nerves, hormones, and the complicated systems responsible for keeping us alive. Yet behind the technical terminology are explanations for experiences that have inspired literature, arguments, songs, and heartbreak throughout human history.

Science can explain aspects of how emotional memories form and why particular experiences influence our responses. It cannot, however, reduce the personal meaning of love to a single structure in the brain. Human attachment involves biology, personal history, relationships, culture, and individual interpretation. There is no solitary switch responsible for making us fall in love, nor a convenient button we can press to erase somebody from memory.

Which is rather unfortunate, considering how useful such a button might occasionally be.

So perhaps the next time someone claims that their heart has betrayed them, I shall be a little more sympathetic towards the cardiovascular system. It has enough responsibilities without being blamed for questionable relationships and poorly considered declarations of affection.

Still, I doubt we will ever abandon the language of the heart. There is something far more charming about telling someone they have captured your heart than announcing that they have influenced the activity of several interconnected neural circuits.

Imagine receiving a romantic confession that begins, “My amygdala responds quite strongly whenever you enter the room.”

How touching. I might recommend a neurological consultation.

For all its scientific complexity, the human brain has given us the remarkable ability to experience affection, remember meaningful moments, learn from disappointment, and form connections with other people. Sometimes these abilities work together beautifully. Other times, they leave us wondering why we continue feeling something our better judgement has already questioned.

Perhaps growing wiser does not mean becoming immune to emotional confusion. It may simply involve understanding ourselves well enough to recognise when our feelings deserve attention and when they require a little assistance from reason.

In the meantime, I think the heart deserves an apology.

For centuries, we have blamed it for broken promises, regrettable choices, and relationships that should probably have remained casual acquaintances. We have accused it of being stubborn, reckless, and incapable of learning from experience.

All this time, it has been faithfully doing what it was designed to do.

So, dear heart, please accept my sincere apologies for the accusations. You may continue pumping blood without further interference.

As for my brain, particularly those fascinating networks involved in emotion and memory, I have only one request.

The next time I decide to forget somebody, could we please discuss the matter before you start playing our favourite song?

— Just Anj

An occasional dreamer, a student of the human body, and someone who now knows better than to blame the heart for every questionable decision.