February 14

I bit into the coconut-covered vanilla Ferrero Rocher candy - the almond in the middle splitting in half with a familiar crunch…

It tasted flat. 

Snickers ice cream bar was next - nutty, chocolatey, melty… And, I couldn’t really taste anything besides sugar. 

What followed was a bite of hazelnut white chocolate bar, and then, another Ferrero Rocher candy (this time, dark chocolate). 

I felt… Nothing.

Just the taste of excess sweetness. 

What was I expecting?

Redemption, actually. 

I was expecting for it all to taste like Valentine’s Day. 

The holiday dedicated to celebrating love has always felt complex. I remember being about 12 and wanting to get a lingerie set. It was conservative but still more adult-looking than something a tween would wear - I thought it would fit me, though, as I was considerably taller than most of my peers. My mother vetoed the request, saying it’s not a holiday to worry about at such a young age. “Why is everyone so obsessed with Valentine’s Day needing to mean something? Some poor girls may even harm themselves, if they don’t have a boyfriend! It’s ridiculous.” 

At that age, I wasn’t “boy crazy”. But I already felt the pressure to celebrate somehow… In ways symbolic of concepts that were far too grown for a child.

With time, Valentine’s Day evolved into a self-love celebration anchor. As someone who does not seek commitment and monogamy in romantic relationships, I felt that the best way to be part of the holiday was - to participate in a way that celebrates my choice of being free and loyal only to myself. When partnered, in a relationship or married, the celebration felt like a dress rehearsal, a play-pretend. Necessary gifts and sweeping love confessions landed as mockery of the deep-seated feeling that I wasn’t being truly loyal to what matters most to me… I wasn’t really free while promising myself to someone else.

This year, I decided to see if February 14 could be just an ordinary day.

It ended up being less than ordinary - it was outright challenging. 

Landing right on the first day of my menstrual cycle, it had me feeling weak and dizzy. The neighbor’s dog downstairs was barking non-stop from morning to night. I felt sleepy and ended up taking multiple naps. When I ventured out for some gentle movement and wellness-oriented exercise at the gym in the evening, I discovered that Planet Fitness closed earlier than usual. Back home I could not bring myself to force any kind of productivity. 

I had a gift, though. I gift from me to me - sitting in a box, waiting for the right moment. Was this it? Was this the moment to open something I’ve kept in its packaging for over a week? 

No. Definitely not. 

The gift is incredibly significant to me, both symbolically as benchmark of my growth and success. If I open it now, I thought, it will be about Valentine’s Day. But it isn’t. 

Should I write something, then? I had a few blog post ideas around the theme of Valentine’s Day. I could… But, I decided, I will write them after. I didn’t want to succumb to temptation to “override” the lackluster holiday with some narrative symbolism. 

What if I just opt out?

I sat there and thought about it. 

Wait, hold on - candy! I can have some candy. I’ve been following a strict regimen of careful meal planning, regular workouts, losing excess body fat and building muscle mass. I could use a “cheat day”!

Some part of me lit up with a glimmer of hope. Perhaps vying to reconnect with the meaning of Valentine’s Day through eating sweets, I ordered several options using Uber Eats. The currier arrived within an hour and I began tearing into the wrappers. 

I haven’t had sugary sweets in a while… And everything tasted flat. Chocolates and ice cream did not re-ignite a craving - instead, they landed as overly sweet and not nearly as enjoyable as I presumed they would be. After trying several different things, felt very thirsty and disappointed. 

The sweets were a perfect metaphor for what the holiday became for me… Arbitrary. 

Why does Valentine’s Day need to mean anything? Because of societal pressure? Because of advertising? Because of other people celebrating? 

As someone who doesn’t participate in traditional romantic relationship dynamics, I don’t really need to make it mean anything else. Celebrating self love is not something I reserve for a special occasion anyway - it’s a form of everyday lifestyle for me.

Meaning-making in response to trends and externally enforced cycles is not uniqueness - it’s weakness masquerading as originality.

I no longer need to redefine Valentine’s Day…

I can simply let it go.