Well it’s Valentine’s day again. That wonderful feast day to celebrate the saint of love, marriage and strangely beekeeping.
But, being the bitter singleton that I am, and having never actually had a gift or a card from someone other than my mum on Valentine’s day (cue sad violins…) It’s only appropriate that I write a bitter post about the day.
To me, all these holidays and special occassions, Christmas, birthdays, weddings, mother’s day, Hallowe’en and even St Patrick’s Day have one thing in common; they organise when fun and happiness is supposed to be. And yes, there are many occasions that many of us have had great days, but there are also many where people haven’t.
Much like having a night out is usually the funnest when it is not planned, love is usually most honestly recognised when it is either unexpected or perfectly timed.
Don’t get me wrong, although the stalls selling roses sprouting up around London Bridge have made me cringe with jealousy, the thing is that I would actually adore to be given a bright red rose by someone who loves me.
But just because this holiday is here doesn’t mean love should be forced. And neither does it mean that we shouldn’t recognise it on other days of the year, when a great friend is there in a difficult time or a parent or carer is there doing their best to keep you warm, fed and dry.
Having love concentrated like this morphs Valentine’s day into something like Christmas; a retail, advertising and merchandise holiday which never truly expresses the depth of the emotion. And isn’t sensitive to lose who have been recently broken-hearted or lost a loved one.
Love is for life, not just for Valentine’s.