In the recent years, I have started a Feb. 14 tradition. I lie in bed, only to get up because the pizza-delivery guy wants his money, and to move my finger on the remote. Valentine’s Day is not a day I’ve come to enjoy. This day represents everything I don’t have in my life: a caring boyfriend, hugs and little chocolate squares. I understand it’s cliché to rip on V-Day, but I figure this is my one opportunity to publicly bitch.
Why does there have to be one day a year specifically set aside to make single people feel bad? And why do we feel so shitty? I think we feel so shitty because it’s about being alone, alone in a crowded room. Unfortunately, the grass always looks greener on the other side of the proverbial relationship fence. I think it is we, the singles, who fuel the Valentine’s Day obsession.
I would like to argue that Hallmark carefully crafted Valentine’s Day — including the heart symbol — and plastered it all over five-by-seven cards, then wickedly laughed all the way to the bank. But, of course, I would be wrong. It’s time for a bad history lesson.
The history of Valentine’s Day is shrouded in mystery. Some believe that a few thousand years ago, the Romans decided to honor the Goddess Juno on this seemingly random day. They paid homage to women and marriage by pairing off young Roman children for the celebrations. Don’t assume anything naughty (although the Romans did some freaky things). Some of these couples remained together for life.
At some point further down the timeline, Christians claimed Feb. 14 for St. Valentine’s Day. There are many St. Valentines, and many stories surrounding their origins. Some stories say that St. Valentine rebelled against Roman law by performing secretive marriages in a time when young soldiers were prohibited to marry. This law was created out of fear that marriage — and, more specifically, sex — would hinder their performances in battle. For this act, St. Valentine was martyred and will be forever remembered as advocating sex.
Even with the long history behind Valentine’s Day, the commercial and cultural aspects of this day outweigh its image in our minds. This brings me back to my argument. We are taught to spend this day sharing warm, fuzzy feelings blanketed by the aroma of rose petals. Each couple is made to believe they must do certain rituals: pick up flowers and chocolate (maybe even jewelry, if she is really lucky). Dinner becomes pushing your way to the front of the line and having your name put two hours behind every other couple. Eat, exchange loving glances, drink, repeat. Then go home to cuddle on the couch. To those of you who get to do this, screw you.
I’m very bitter toward V-Day on the basis that I have never had the chance to experience this ritual. No matter how silly the clichés about flowers and chocolate sound, everyone, including myself, wants to feel cared for and thought of, if only once a year. Although harsh, Valentine’s Day reminds every “single” person that they are unloved and unwanted. Emotions run higher for some than others, but on some level, this is true for all of the unattached.
Feb. 14 has held only one marginally decent memory for me. It was my junior year in high school. I was in the midst of my bitchiest and most popular teenage years. So prideful I was. Though I held no flowers or valentines, I held my head high as I sauntered down those school corridors. A half-smile lingered on my face. No one waiting outside my classroom door.
After work that evening, I walked to my car and saw something sitting next the driver’s-side door. As I got closer, I saw them: there, in all their glory, were two-dozen long-stemmed red roses. I was shocked to see it was a casual friend who had written some obscure message including, “I thought you might like these, since you didn’t have anyone.” I relished those flowers for about two months; even so much as to dry them. Later, I found out he bought them for a friend with benefits, and things turned sour just before he gave them to her. He was passing off second-hand flowers because he didn’t want to waste 80 bucks. On that day, I turned bitter toward red roses and Saint What’s-His-Name Day. I carelessly threw out hope that I would ever have love on the holiday that celebrated it.
Although common, stories such as mine are still hurtful and leave bruised egos. The most unromantic men still get their girlfriends a fake rose from the corner gas station. Even plastic petals, in the same way as the most expensive jewelry, can symbolize a union between two people.
I must reiterate that those of us who bitch about Valentine’s Day are actually the ones who love the idea of Valentine’s Day the most. We just have no one there with whom to celebrate our romantic hearts and share the couch. You’ll hear many complaints in the next few days. Take the opportunity to hug that person, and … who knows? Maybe you’ll end up with a valentine after all. I’m hoping for something better, but the Papa John’s delivery guy might have to do.
Lindsey is a junior majoring in graphic design. She hopes a certain someone will get the hint by reading this article. You can reach her at [email protected].
