So it’s that day again. Such a pressure to look happy, to make out, to appear completely at ease among all the hearts and cakes.
To be honest, I’ve always felt alone on this day. And oh boy, you’ve no idea how I shamed myself for that. I believed in what the heteronormative society was saying on repeat: you need to have a romantic partner on Feb 14th, otherwise something is wrong with you. The funny thing is that I never really wanted a partner. Feb. 14th was a toxic reiteration of my search for something I never wanted in order to be accepted.
So I was on a mission. I searched far and wide for a relationship that would survive till St Valentine’s. I looked for it like I’d look for the Holy Grail, at the very least.
It took me a while to wrap my mind around love. To understand that love is present in my life at all times, that my life is actually oversaturated with it. But I just looked away, deeming it less significant because society said so.
I choose this day to celebrate the love that is already part of my identity: love for my family, for my friends, for my community. For my plants, for my books, for my essays. For my cat. For the causes I fight for.
I understand how hard this day might be. For those grieving the loss of a loved one, or going through a separation: you are not alone. The intensity of the day will end, and you will be able to work through it in peace. Hang in there. I love you.