Each year you make it to Feb.14th without a special someone, the few lucky ones get to add yet another year to our membership in the “single and not so ready to mingle” club. I’ve been a card-carrying member of this club for 17 years running, but I want nothing more than to fall off the wagon.
I celebrated my first Valentine’s Day like I imagine most people do: in my kindergarten classroom. Mrs. M had us wrap old shoe boxes in pink and red paper, sprinkle them with glitter and cut holes in the top. After a few finishing touches including a couple of googly eyes and pipe cleaners, we positioned our boxes on the edge of our desks and eagerly waited for candy and notes to be dropped in. When you’re six years old, everybody gets a valentine. But as you get older, valentines become few and far between for some people. I’m one of those people.
I’ve never been in a relationship. I’ve never kissed a boy. I’ve never even been asked on a date or to a school dance. And I’ve certainly never been asked to be someone’s valentine. Now 22, I’m trying to learn how to be happy being single. I know that I don’t need a man to feel whole. But there are times when I can’t help but feel like Samantha Baker in “Sixteen Candles,” glued to the wall in a dimly lit high school gym, hoping and waiting for my very own Jake Ryan to notice me.
And I’m not the only one who has a complicated relationship with this oh-so gushy holiday.
“I just wanted someone to ask me out, even if I wasn’t excited by the person,” Ronny Hu said.
Hu, a senior majoring in journalism, used to get excited by Valentine’s Day when she was younger. It meant catching someone’s eye and, if you’re lucky, getting a free meal, she said with a slight chuckle. But Hu has come to realize that most college guys just don’t take relationships seriously at this age. So instead of pining after ever-elusive sweethearts, Hu now looks forward to spending Galentine’s Day with friends who are a lot more reliable than men.
“Your girlfriends never leave you,” she said.
However, others have a more cynical view of Valentine’s Day. For Isabella Corona, the holiday is nothing short of a cop-out. It’s a day when people express their feelings when they don’t have the guts to do it any other day of the year, she said.
“Feb. 14th feels very arbitrary,” Corona said. “If you love people, you should share that with them every day.”
Corona, a senior studying accounting, used to like Valentine’s Day more when she was younger because she shared the day with her mom. Instead of exchanging chocolates, cards and other objects of affection with boys at school, she looked forward to the Valentine’s-Day-themed books and heart-shaped pancake breakfasts her mom would surprise her with at home.
Like Corona, my parents also gave me and my brother cards and small chocolates on Valentine’s Day morning. While these gifts didn’t help me feel any less forlorn walking past lip-locked couples and flower bouquets tied to lockers in the hallways at school, they reminded me that Valentine’s Day isn’t just about romance. It’s about love and all its different forms.
I don’t have a sweetheart this Valentine’s Day and that’s okay. We’ll see what next year has in store. But for now, instead of romance, my heart is full of love for my friends, my family and—dare I say it— for myself.
This article is part of a special column series for Valentine’s Day 2022 and was created in Prof. Miki Turner’s JOUR 431: Feature Writing course. Visit the Valentine’s Wishes page to view more perspectives on the holiday of love (or lack thereof).