It must be love

Despite evidence to the contrary I’m actually quite a romantic at heart. That doesn’t mean I count myself among the ranks of the ‘flowers and chocolate’ brigade (I don’t), or that I’m an avid fan of the outpourings of Mills & Boon (not that I’ve ever read any, if I did give it a chance then I may indeed find myself addicted), or even that I can’t get enough of so-called ‘chick flicks’ (not that I’m adverse to them either. I do allow myself the occasional concession to fulfilling female stereotypes). It doesn’t even mean that I’ve given up on thinking that the majority of relationships are more trouble than they’re worth and have the tendency to turn otherwise interesting people into complete lame-o’s. What it does mean is that I like to see two people become bewitched with one another body and soul. I like knowing that two halves of a whole have beaten the odds and found themselves on the same path, at the same time, and for whatever inexplicable reason, managed to make it work. When that happens it makes you think that the world is actually doing something good for once. It makes your belly feel all sunshiney.

So on this day, a sunny and crisp February day, a Thursday much like all the other Thursday’s in the winter/spring crossover, what I want to hear and be reminded of is that love exists and it is special. On one hand it could be argued that falling in love is the most ordinary and average thing a person can do. It happens all the time, everyone knows of love in one incarnation or another. If it didn’t we wouldn’t be faced with the avalanche of pop songs and poetry and art and literature all devoted to the pursuit of love, the capture of one’s partner, the destruction of one’s heart, and the peace that comes with finding the person that fills your soul up to bursting point. There’s no doubt about it, by anyone’s standards, if it happens to us all then it can only be described as ordinary. Yet love has the added dimension of being utterly extraordinary at the same time.

What I want from Valentine’s Day is this fact emphasised and, to a certain degree, proven as such. I want to know that absolute love and true connections can be formed between two disparate people. I want to have faith that finding one’s soul mate can, and does, happen; that you’ll meet someone who will bring out the best of you and yet see you and accept you completely as you are – warts and all – rather than, as I often witness, people becoming less interesting, less vibrant, less exciting, less EVERYTHING than when they were single. I want to understand why this is so common, is it just because the pursuit, the yearning, the disappointment, is what makes people interesting? (A lot of the blogs I have read over the years would suggest that this may indeed be the case and not something confined solely to the realms of the heart. The more successful people become the more their writing seems to suffer. Whether this is just because once they get paid to write and create the less effort that goes into the writing they don’t get paid for is certainly debatable. Having said that, how many bands can never really follow up on the passion and fire and talent contained within their initial musical achievements once they’ve found success? It’s certainly not an unusual phenomenon). Or is it just that once people have found someone willing to put up with them they feel free to breathe a big sigh of relief that they now don’t have to put as much effort into living because they have someone to share the burden of such things, and they can start relaxing and just exist instead? OR is it merely that most people are willing to settle for having someone, anyone, rather than continue waiting for the person that makes their world stop? In fact, love had nothing to do with it. Love was out the back having a crafty smoke when these people find themselves together and as such can’t claim any sort of responsibility for it at all (except for the fact that it happened on Love’s watch. If this is the case, Love probably needs to cut down on the fags a bit. He’s obviously chaining it like a pro).

I basically want reassurance that it’s all worth the hype.

However, the reality of Valentine’s Day is nothing of the sort. Valentine’s Day is merely adding to the hype without providing you any substance. It’s the NME of the romance world. It’s women reading out text messages to the whole office that make you want to spew (‘…AND he’s put four kisses at the end!’) and men complaining that their wives brought them a mug with love hearts on them.

Man: What am I going to do with that?
Work colleague he was talking to: Drink out of it?
[Note to self: lol]

It’s all a contest to see who got the biggest bouquet, who got the most glitter-ridden card, who has physical proof that they are wanted by another human being on this planet. The celebration of love – in all it’s fabulous, beautiful, and indeed evil, glory - doesn’t come into it. It’s another one of those capitalist tick boxes that we’ve been collectively asked to fill in. Yet again, even on the day that Love is being eulogised, Love is on a smoking break and texting his mate Dave to arrange what they’re doing at the weekend. I can’t help but think that Love needs to sort himself out, stop slouching and start doing his job. Or maybe I need to give up on my romantic notions, stop putting any degree of faith in some ethereal force that guides us, and just do my own thing. What I do know for certain is that the Valentine’s Day I yearn for, I’m never going to get… and maybe I need to accept that this stands true for love itself as well.