valentines
Wake early, or be woken up by your mother, in the early hours of the morning. Pacing the top of the stairs, waiting for your sibling to hurry up putting his socks on so as not to get cold feet from the kitchen tile floor. Decorations are already catching your attention, little eyes catching glimpses of balloons along the stair bannisters. Running down the stairs with your sibling, excitement pumping through your blood as you reach the final steps. Sounds like Christmas, right? Feels like it too. Until you push open the kitchen door, you’re greeted with balloons, table decorations, gift bags overfilling already spoiling some of the presents you’ve received, beside the gift bags, your breakfast is already plated. Muffins, chocolates, juice and two roses, one real and one made of chocolate, to go with your breakfast. It feels like Christmas, but it’s not. It’s Valentine’s Day. This is how I grew up viewing Valentines day. How I spent the first nineteen Valentine’s days of my life, thanks to my mother. It was never about romantic love, but rather a day to celebrate all our loved ones and be grateful to have each other. Never have I dreaded Valentines day.
It was never about romantic love. It was always just about love. The fact that I could give love and was deeply, unconditionally loved. Even into my teenage years, that dreadful spit of fomo frothing at the mouth wasn’t an issue. Valentine’s tradition continued at home. Walk into school after a breakfast consisting of chocolate, love, activmal and muffin, only to be met with whatever lover I had at the time. That makes me sound like some skank. Some sort of popular pretty girl. It was never like that. From the ages of twelve to sixteen, I just always (somehow) ended up with a Valentine.
12. A British boy who asked me out about two days before Valentine’s Day, after our home economics class together. He gave me a card he had forced his dad to buy from a petrol station on the way into school that day. Evident by his messy handwriting. Told him I hadn’t got him anything since, apologising in the cafeteria as everyone around us was running off to roll call. We broke up a few weeks later, than his best friend asked me out within the day. Being twelve was weird.
13/14. My ‘first love’, I suppose. Dated each other for two years. Believed there was no one else who’d ever understand me as she did. On our second Valentine’s Day together, as part of her gift, I gave her a jar full of things I liked about her. Which, looking back, was sort of sick on my end, considering the only reason we were dating. Basically, broke up with her on the spot after she tried to hug me before roll call (bad timing on my end). Got back together after she gave me a note in a jar asking us to get back together. How romantic, right?
15 . Had to fact-check the dates and timing on this one because basically all of this relationship is blank in my mind. Was dating this guy, but we both weren’t into each other at the time. He definitely wasn’t into me ever. I’d stupidly fall for him years and years down the line. When I was 15, however, we were not a cute or romantic couple. Not even 100% sure we spent Valentine’s Day together.
16 . Finally single! And the entire world is in lockdown. Realised I was going to have no Valentine for the first time in my teenage years and felt genuinely a bit excited. Until I got asked out on a date by a girl from my all-girls Catholic school. I never would’ve guessed she was gay. A lot of people from that school ended up being some form of queer. Anyways, agreed on the date, had a whole plan. Tried to hide it from my mother because dating friends is not the best decision, looking at my past record. Especially not an old friend you haven’t hung out with one-on-one since you were like twelve? Eleven? Anyways. Last minute cancelled the date because of a few reasons
i. Mother hates liars
ii. I wasn’t really interested in anyone
iii. Part of me felt sick and unsure about seeing a girl from my old school in a romantic sense (you may call it internalised homophobia, I call it Catholic guilt. Some would argue that’s the same thing)
iv. I’ve a touch of commitment issues
Present day. Twenty-one years old. Travelled to the Capital to see the family, keeping up our traditions of engaging gifts, laughing, eating and loving each other. Came home to Four of The Roomates, two sharing a hoodie, making food together, one shouted my name as I was walking, scaring the life out of me and the other one who I would end up ordering food with. All ended the night watching Coraline. Isn’t that what it’s all about? Being surrounded by your loved ones.