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Words by: Stephanie Camp

Image by: howieluvzus

I’ve hated Valentine’s Day ever since elementary school when I was forced to hand out heart-shaped cards to all my classmates. I was teased a lot in school, and I didn’t understand why on this particular day I had to pretend to not only like my bullies but also declare my love for them on a cute, pink card. I also didn’t understand why I was receiving the same cute, pink cards from kids who went out of their way to make me cry during recess. I resented their cards, and tossed them in the garbage as soon as I got home.
Then high school came, and I was relieved that I no longer had to pretend to like anyone, even on Valentine’s Day. But now I had to endure the candy-grams and single red roses delivered during geography class to giggling, lip-glossed girls. I admit I was a little heartbroken always leaving school empty handed, but I didn’t want to be a giggling lip-glossed girl, and I certainly had no interest in being pursued by a horny, hit-his-head-too-many-times jock.

Valentine’s Day hasn’t changed. It’s still a popularity contest. It’s still a day of pretending. Go ahead and declare it as an opportunity to express to your partner your undying love, but we all know Valentine’s Day is nothing more than a money-making charade. And now you can go ahead and assume I’m bashing Valentine’s Day because I’m a single, broken-hearted, man-hating girl who has given up on love.

The truth is I love Love. The consuming, can’t think of anything else but him kind of Love. The first Love. The everlasting, been married 45 years kind of Love. The tragic, unrequited, don’t think you’ll ever love again kind of Love. All of it. And I could never be in favour of a holiday that mocks and devalues my one true love: Love.

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