Some love it, pretend to love it, hate it, and pretend to hate it.
Those who love it are most probably in a relationship, married or dating happily. Others who "love" it and are not attached, committed or in-love, are probably in-love with the idea of love. Sappy love-struck-with-love type of people.
Then, there are those who hate the idea of a day devoted to love–romantic love, in particular. These may be the bitter ones. Bitterness may not always be a result of loneliness. You can be bitter because you don't care (yes, that's possible). Bitter because you don't see the significance. Or, you may be just naturally apathetic.
As for those who pretend to hate it, may do so simply because of the fact that they'd want to seem "cool" by not wanting to care. They try to treat it like any other day–only this one's candy-coated, rose-filled, balloon-swarmed, red-painted, flowery, and lovey-dovey. They won't wear red or pink on Valentine's, instead, they'll wear black. They won't send a million cheerful messages to their phonebook just to greet a Happy Hearts Day. They will do the same old things, only with a twist–maybe party with their single and fun friends or chill at home and read a good book.
Let's say they go for the first option. They will toast to single-hood and will constantly remind themselves, with glorious cheer, how lucky they are to be free, flirty, and fabulous. They won't worry about sending gifts to anyone special. They will expect nothing... to feel nothing.
However, underneath that thick layer of carefree sophistication, these people still want that mush. They do. They want to feel special, by someone potentially special. They want to feel wanted, especially on a day like this.
I know these people all too well, because I am one of them.
So why the need to pretend? Why do you have to hate it?
You hate it because you don't want to expect. There's no room for useless expectations. Pessimism, although discouraged, may be good, sometimes.
It'll save you, kid, from getting hurt once in a while.
I dread the coming of that day. The day that would only remind me of one thing:
I don't/won't have you.
I don't mind being alone, don't get me wrong. It's more of the idea that I don't and won't have you to make me feel that it's fine to like something as cheesy as Valentine's–even if I try so hard to convince myself that this... this... day is nothing but a product of malls and retailers, marketing and advertising folks.
Unfortunately, this day, no matter how hard I try to ignore it, will only haunt me with the thought of not having you.
I don't and won't have you to see me through my pretensions–that I don't believe in that crappy, eeky, mushy stuff. You'd see through me. Deep inside (even on the outside), you'd see this little girl, who believes in love and romance. She believes in it so much that you'd see how it makes her giggle and blush. How her eyes would well up to a sappy line or a cliché gesture in almost any given romantic movie. You'd see her and would know exactly what to do. You may not like it the same way that she does, but you will pretend anyway. You'll reach out your hand, flash that shy smile and say "Psst. Huy."
But... You won't be there.
I won't have you to look forward to. To have a reason to say "I love you. Happy Valentine's Day."–what I'd look forward to doing as soon as I wake up on that day. To have that excuse to send a million text messages to just one person in my phonebook. To stare into your eyes, at the end of the day, with only tenderness and warmth, that only leads to you asking me "What are you thinking about?". Most importantly, to be able to not celebrate or plan things with you, but be with you, nonetheless, would be the best thing a pretentious person would want for Valentine's.
So yes, I will dread that day, as much as I will dread the seasons or holidays that will come after that. 'Til I have you, of course.
However, I do have you now, as an inspiration and a perfect enough reason to write about this pretentious hatred I have for Valentine's.
Whoever you are.
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