February 14th. A day that conjures delight and dread amongst the population. A day in which you’re treated; whether it’s breakfast in bed and a dozen red rose, or a stream of boastful over sharing of gifts, couple selfies and engagements.
Valentine’s day is a day to celebrate romantic love. We are expected to celebrate our singular ‘Valentine’ of the moment, buy them gifts and cards, and revel in the perfection of our relationships’ constructed image. For the same way I hate Christmas, I also hate Valentine’s day – it is a commercial, capitalist concept; a manipulative money making scheme with the false pretence of spreading joy and love. And for some, a not so gentle reminder that they are ‘alone’.
But on the other hand, I also love Valentine’s day, and not for the reasons that many girls do. I surprising dislike bunches of flowers (why would you gift somebody you love with a collection of dead things?), jewellery (I’ll buy it myself, thank you), fancy dinners (who are we fooling?) and PDA’s (just disturbing). However, I absolutely adore love, in whichever way it may manifest itself.
When I woke up this morning, I sent my mum, step-dad and grandparents texts telling them I loved them. I came home to a single red rose and my favourite incense from my flatmate. I cooked tuna courgetti for my best male friend and I.
There are countless versions of love. Whoever you are, wherever you are, I am almost certain that you have at least one person in your life that you love and who loves you back. So don’t feel bad about yourself that you aren’t at dinner and some flashy restaurant, or that you didn’t receive an Agent Provocateur pink box in the post, or that you didn’t wake up next to the love of your life: BE the love of your life. Cook yourself scrambled eggs. Buy your own flowers, if that’s your thing. Have fun with your friends. Tell your nana that you love her. And failing that, don’t fret – tomorrow is plain and simple February 15th.