I hate Valentine’s Day.

I hate the wave of loneliness that crashes on the shores of the fourteenth; I hate the cheesy love letters; I despise how superficial love is on that day.  

I was in a relationship last Valentine’s Day, and it was nothing special—the day was uninteresting; it was something that I convinced myself would be something special. Truthfully, Valentine’s Day is overrated, overpriced, and overvalued. Valentine’s Day is the most money-sucking, trivial day—people are splurging on their loved ones with material things like Tiffany & Co, Etsy, and Pandora, a bunch of dainty jewelry, essentially saying that “the price of this is how much I love you.” 

It’s stupid and it’s profane.

In a way, the expectations for Valentine’s Day are so high in a relationship that it defeats the point. Standards for the holiday have been excessively dramatized over the years, so much so that if the boy doesn’t meet perfection—whether it’s roses, a fancy dinner, or a luxurious gift—the day seems to be a failure. You see everyone posting what their significant other has done for them to honor them on Valentine’s Day, and you cannot help but compare yourself and your relationship. Virtually, this holiday has traits of toxicity. 

And I’m sure all single people feel the same about Valentine’s Day; selfishly, we hate seeing couples in love on Valentine’s Day. It makes us feel left out, but perhaps we’d feel differently about this Hallmark holiday if we were in a relationship. 

But I also can find some spirits of love on Valentine’s Day.

I love the cute, little candy hearts that taste like chalk; I love the boxes of rich chocolate assortments that my grandma always gets me; I love the auroras of pinks and reds that decorate the holiday in its delicacy. 

And I love the childhood memories that come with Valentine’s Day. I remember the jitters I had the night of the thirteenth as I created my masterpiece of a Valentine’s card slot box. I was so beyond ecstatic to bring it to my fourth-grade class party. And of course, I had made my own Valentines to pass out—ones that I was proud of and passionate of.

Those are the memories that matter—giving and receiving immature Valentine’s to every single person in my elementary school classes. That was the best part; everyone got one and nobody was left out. Every student felt appreciated, noticed, and loved on that day. And some, like my fourth-grade crush, got some extra love in their shoe box. 

And every year, without fail, my grandma drops off me, my brother, and sister a little gift box of her own. She tends to fill it with chocolates, a stuffed animal, and a hand-written card stating how we’ll forever be her Valentines. I’ll never be too old to accept her gratuity.

So this year is for Galentine’s Day. That’s what Valentine’s Day is really about. It’s about spreading love to not only your partner, but to everyone around you who deserves some love and some Ghirardelli chocolate squares.