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Valentine’s Day has just never been a big holiday for me. I know what you all are thinking: She must be some bitter and jaded hag who only tells herself these things to avoid an emotional breakdown every year. It might be surprising then to know that I’m not resentful from years of loneliness, rejection, and neglect. Actually, for some odd reason (two long-term relationships, each about four years in length), I’ve never been single for Valentine’s Day. That is, not until this year.
I can remember a time when Valentine’s Day meant passing out candy and cards, eating cupcakes, making pink and red mailboxes, and skipping math lessons for the big party.
However, as I move farther and farther from elementary school, February 14 becomes less important and more ambiguous. Gone are the days when the teacher would give out a list with all the students’ names so that no one would be left out; now I’m no longer guaranteed cards, sweets, or a festive break.
In fact, I no longer expect any of these things on Valentines Day, and, in all honesty, I no longer want them. Ever since I left the fifth grade, I have tried to refrain from celebrating February 14, and, more specifically, in the last eight years (after high school and college), the holiday has become practically nonexistent. What this has meant is no last minute flowers, no prefabricated cards, no cheap chocolate, no blinding jewelry, and no gaudy teddy bears holding an “I Love You” heart. For me, Valentine’s Day always seemed a little fake.
People in love should not need a predetermined day to show their affection and devotion for each other. Love is something that happens everyday and doesn’t need to be reinforced through gifts that will become future-clutter. For the first time in a very long time, I have no significant other with whom to “spend” Valentine’s Day, and even though I never celebrated it before, I now find myself more preoccupied than ever with the meaning of this holiday.
As a newly single woman, it’s difficult to know how I should be reacting to the big day. I suppose I could keep ignoring it as in previous years, but even then I could have taken some comfort in knowing that I was not truly alone. The joys of being single Another option would be resigning myself to the fact that there is no room for singles, but that would make for an unfair take on Valentine’s Day. Besides, without singlehood, the whole concept of a secret admirer would not exist.
More importantly, all this moping about feeling alone and excluded discounts the excitement and joys of single life. I like that I’m unattached and that I can set my own schedule, eat dinner where and when I feel like it, and flirt without guilt. Yes, I realize that single life isn’t all fun and games, but you have to keep in mind that most of this is new to me. At this point in my life, remaining single is a choice (I’m not saying that I have suitors breaking down the door), and it’s a choice that makes me happy.
So, in a time when singlehood is no longer a label for those who are unwanted or unattractive, why should one holiday make us feel ashamed about being alone? Feeling guilty about maintaining a single life goes beyond the one day in February; it’s part of a larger social scheme. Valentine’s Day is only a concentrated dose of the unrelenting expectation put on people to find a partner and marry.
Oftentimes, within the Asian community’s older generation, singlehood can be (and usually is) interpreted as a sign of failure. When I told my Hmong aunt that I was moving to Wisconsin for graduate school, the first thing she said to me was, “Great, lots of Hmong boys up there for you to marry!” Forget the fact that I had graduated from college and was moving on to obtain a PhD. My girlfriends and I have a running joke that the only reason why we’re even in grad school is because we failed to find husbands in college.
The pressure to find a mate can be overwhelming at times, so much so that I’m actually relieved to finally be single. However, even with all the demands to partner up, this generation is more willing to accept and celebrate singlehood. I myself don’t feel a need to apologize or feel depressed about my single status. With Valentine’s Day, I find a certain comfort and freedom from the pressure of not having to deal with this usually exclusive “couple holiday.” It shouldn’t make me feel bad for taking some time for myself and for being happy with the person I am without a partner to help define me. Instead it gives me the chance to enjoy what I haven’t had since high school: true alone time.
Yes, it’s very selfish, but it’s true. For someone who’s had to constantly think about what someone else wants, it’s a nice change to finally be able to concentrate on simply myself. If Valentine’s Day is a day for celebrating love, then I should be able to honor the love I have for myself. I should also be able to appreciate the other relationships in my life that don’t revolve around partnering up, such as friendship and family. Though most of American culture and the market economy push for a celebration of couples, I believe that Valentine’s Day should celebrate the general idea of relationships. It doesn’t even have to include those that are outside the realm of more traditional romantic love; it can still be about couples in love.
All I’m saying is that some couples can be happy to be in a relationship, and I can be happy to finally be out of one! It’s time for a compromise, a joint custody between those who are single and those who are not. Maybe, even after all these years of cynical maturation, I’m not so far removed from elementary school, as I previously believed. Perhaps my teachers were correct in making Valentine’s Day a celebration in which a nice neat list does exist and where no one is left out. Although it’s been a while since I’ve said this with any sincerity, here it goes: “Happy Valentine’s Day!”
Youth Culture
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