You seemed to have missed me this past Tuesday. It would appear that Feb. 14 has come and gone without your arrow leading me to the love of my life. It’s possible that my many eager suitors overwhelmed you when they were begging you to stick it in their butts. Or perhaps you have come to realize that my obvious romantic prowess is simply too much for a mere mortal to handle. Whatever the reason for your neglect, I want you to know that it’s alright that I’m more single than the matchless sock that gets left behind in the sediments of the white load. Left to be a nomad in this cruel and unforgiving world of rogue laundry misfits, I forgive you for the oversight this year and don’t hold it against you whatsoever.
While I acknowledge that Tuesday would’ve been much more exciting if I were madly in love with a certain someone, I’m not interested in pulling any of that angsty anti-Valentine’s Day crap. The higher powers that be didn’t put me on this planet to curse Saint Valentine’s name and scowl at every candy heart I see. My Snapchat is free of self-pitying solo stories and sarcastic captions about being forever alone. Don’t get me wrong. I love self-deprecating memes as much as the next edgy teen, but I think it’s important to remember that you don’t have to be picking out engagement rings and joint retirement plans to celebrate Valentine’s Day.
I mean, if you’re happily committed in a relationship that involves copious amounts of dairy products and other cheesy grossness, get down with your bad self. You and yours can run through fields and touch foreheads as the sunlight backlights your budding romance to your heart’s content. Who am I to judge? While I personally wouldn’t get near that mess with a 10-foot stick (lactose intolerance aside), there’s no reason I have to ignore the idea of Valentine’s Day. Nobody ever said you were limited to sharing the day with people you like to get freaky with. There are plenty of people that I love in this world without knowing what their saliva tastes like. Honestly, it’s actually pretty lit. The day is dedicated solely to celebrating love, and if that’s enough for the Beatles, it’s enough for me.
If the whole thing really gets your panties in a wad, just think of it as the same day between Monday and Wednesday that happens every seven days. The passing of the second week of February shouldn’t bear any significance on our current relationship status. Why do romantic interests dictate such a large part of our lives, anyway? Could it be that we’re just looking for something exciting to break up the six assigned readings and two problem sets we’re currently avoiding? Maybe the mind-numbing boredom that comes with most of the schoolwork we have to get through is what makes the excitement of a relationship that much more appealing.
My roommate and I frequently spend our nights sitting up in bed imagining how our lives will be with our future boyfriends. We procrastinate on actually being productive by discussing the ins and outs of our entirely made-up relationships. From Instagram anniversary captions to future children’s names, our wild imaginations know no bounds. Our remarkably detailed discussions regarding these fabricated romantic situations would be far more understandable if there were any air of plausibility to them. But alas, the likelihood that my weird make-believe will ever come true is similar to the likelihood that it won’t rain here for the next six weeks.
The best part is that I’m undoubtedly in no place to be involved in a relationship. Considering the fact that I can barely keep myself alive at this point, it’s probably best that I don’t adopt any more responsibilities or serious time commitments at the moment. I know that you’re probably all hurling at my air of self-importance, but I’m not mentioning my current struggle for survival because I’m running for ASUC senate and programming an app and maintaining a pristine 4.0 GPA and exercising six times a week. I’m saying this from an it-took-me-three-tries-to-successfully-hard-boil-eggs point in life.
The only reason for my weird obsession with the relationship that I neither have nor need is simply that it’s more fun than my present list of responsibilities. It’s not that I’m actually lonely or, God forbid, in love with someone. It’s just that I get bored from time to time, and if the four Pop-Tarts that I ate while getting through last Monday’s all-nighter have taught me anything, it’s that boredom can lead to some crazy things. In this case, said boredom-driven nonsense is convincing me that I could use a boyfriend for anything other than entertainment in my current state of existence.
I’m still banking on meeting my future husband after our fingertips touch as we reach for the same yam in a crowded Trader Joe’s produce aisle. Because, questionable motives aside, I’m just looking for my Fruit Loop in this world of plain Cheerios.
Amanda Chung writes the biweekly Clog column on the peaks and pitfalls of romance for today’s college students.Contact Amanda Chung at [email protected].