Valentine’s Day has been a historically cruddy holiday for me.
I have never had a Valentine and have only received chocolates and cards from my mom and friends. What makes things worse is seeing all of the people on Instagram and TikTok with their comically large bouquets and hot boyfriends.
Up until this Valentine’s Day, I scorned the holiday. It was not fair that everyone was in a relationship except for me. The day was brutal. It’s like being in the toy store, seeing all the cool toys and being told, “Not this time!”
I was the Scrooge of Valentine’s Day.
I probably would have been less reminiscent of Scrooge if I were whisked away by a prince in a chariot — off to the North End — for some gnocchi and conversation, or asked to get pizza. I’m not that picky.
Tick, tick, tick.
My chariot does not await, and I’m left alone in a ballgown with an empty stomach. I am not too pleased. This twisted fairytale occurs every year, and I have only recently started to learn my lesson.
On February 14, 2025, I was not waiting for a chariot outside. I spent the day with people I love, doing things I love. Recently, I’ve started to appreciate love for everything it could be.
Love isn’t something that can only be felt between people in a relationship. I know that’s not a profound revelation, but it’s something that I need to remind myself.
I’ve always been a very sensitive person. Goodbyes are tough for me and usually filled with tears. I cried for three days before I came to Boston University. By the way, BU is only 20 minutes away from where I grew up, so it wasn’t even a goodbye.
In part, it felt like I was leaving behind many things that I felt a lot of care for. I was turning away from people and places that I loved.
From my sensitivity, I’ve learned that it’s important to tell yourself and others about what you love — that you love them, you love the rain or you love strawberries and whipped cream.
Because then, it becomes quite clear that love is everywhere.
There are so many things that I love. I think that’s why I have a hard time saying goodbye or breaking away from routine.
This is why I stopped fixating on my lack of relationship status and could begin sharing all the love in my heart with the people and things that deserve it.
I have a metaphoric bouquet of roses in my hand — all of us do. It’s essential that we give people their flowers and let it be known that we love them.
One rose is for my family.
I am eternally grateful for the rewatches of “Four Days in October,” the multi-day road trips and the arguments that resolve in ten minutes. I am also grateful for the hours they spend listening to me vent over the phone, when they come the second I call and the inside jokes that have been running for decades.
Another goes to my friends.
I could write a sonnet about our walks back from Allston. I am also willing to write one about the various times I’ve cried from laughing with them. Perhaps a novella could be produced about our Kupel’s debriefs or about our late night drives to McDonalds.
Another rose goes to the things that make life just a little bit sweeter.
A petal goes to my walks along the esplanade. Another petal goes to a good night of sleep. One goes to fried eggs and breakfast sandwiches.
When I think about it, I have a lot of roses to hand out. And I’m sure I’ll have more roses to give out very soon. With all that love, who needs a chariot?
Who says we should only be grateful for the love in our life on one day a year?
I, for one, think that’s a load of crap. Every day, we should look at all of the things in our lives that make us feel that wonderful feeling called love, and breathe it in.
Stop and smell the roses, my friend — and breathe it all in.
