The Love Me Knot

Thoughts on being alone on a day made for two.

New Girl

Let’s get this part out of the way, because you’ll all be thinking it by the end of this anyway: I hate Valentine’s Day, I’m single, I’m bitter, and I’m probably the problem. Judge me if you like, I can’t be angry if it’s true.

My beef with Valentine’s Day began when I was eight and confessed my love for a little boy in my class. He threatened to punch me in the face. A little harsh, but I learnt my lesson. On the other end of the spectrum was my sister, who received handmade cards by the dozen as a result of her shiny chocolate brown hair and Disney Princess-like eyes — an easy target for admirers. I can’t help but think it was then that I decided that this holiday wouldn’t be for me. It must have been, because seventeen years down the line that fist to the nose is still the closest I’ve come to a Happy Valentine’s Day.

The thing about Valentine’s Day is it’s exclusive, and that’s okay. Despite the best efforts of marketing managers around the world, what with their Self-Love Clubs and Galentine’s Nights In, I know deep down that I can’t really participate in the celebrations. The bottom line is Valentine’s Day is a celebration of romantic love, and nice as it is that the marketing team want us all to get involved, my Galentine’s events are still on the 12th because all my friends are in relationships. Sometimes we can’t all be involved with everything - not everyone can get Gold Medals at the Olympics because we didn’t all win the race. I can’t get a bouquet of red roses because I don’t have a partner who remembered to buy them.

Instead, Valentine’s Day works as my annual reminder that life isn’t fair. “There’s a seat for every arse!” I’m reminded, and it begs the question, why is no-one uponeth mine? I feel as though it’s a universal experience for single people to have their singledom explained to them. I love it - the inquisitive looks people get behind their eyes as they try and work out the reason why nobody wants to be with you. There’s a variety of categories, such as:

1. The Complimentary - “you’re too good for them!”

2. The Back-Handed - “you’re wife material, it’s intimidating!”

3. The Downright Rude - “you’re undateable!”

And, of course, there’s the fixer-uppers. I’ve been offered somebody’s 40-ish son and another’s freshly 18 year old grandson. At 24 neither of these choices are jumping out at me. What doesn’t seem to happen, which honestly surprises me, is the myth of your friends setting you up. In the movies people meet at dinner parties, but in the real world people don’t mix their friends together due to fear of the awkward silence. Shame. Everyone’s up for pushing you on an app with total strangers but God forbid you make conversation with Stephen over spag-bol.

Barbie (2023)

I know how this might sound, but I’m really not complaining. I don’t have a problem with being single. When I was at university, a girl who had recently broken up with her boyfriend asked me how I “cope” with being alone. I find this confusing, because not being in a romantic relationship doesn’t equate to being alone. I have lots of friends and a family I see often, so I’m very rarely alone, and even when I am (I used to live by myself) I don’t mind at all.

It struck me that I probably wasn’t the best person for her to ask: she had just lost somebody she considered to be part of her, whereas I have never had that. I’ve never had a romantic entanglement that was so entrancing that I noticed their absence once they had gone. The feeling people describe as though a piece of them is missing is something I have never felt. Because of this, I don’t need to “cope” with being alone. I just am, and know no different. I think I told her to go on a solo trip to the cinema, which I sometimes worry about now because it sounds a little insincere, but that was genuinely what I did when I felt a bit lonely.

And that’s what’s tricky about being single on Valentine’s Day, at least for me. It’s not just a day, it’s a whole month of walking into the supermarket and being met with a romantic dinner for two, huge bouquets of red, and teddy bears clutching stuffed hearts. I can’t help but feel like I’m missing out on something here? Not distinctly Valentine’s — the day itself is very commercialised and a little forced and, let’s be fair, St Valentine didn’t seem like the nicest bloke — but love on the whole.

I consider myself very fortunate that not a day of my life has gone by without love.

The love in my life is found in my Grandad and his friend Ron, who I take to watch the football every week. We talk about cataracts and mortality. I try to explain to them what ‘Taylor’s Version’ means. They’re confused, but impressed. It’s in the birthday cake I baked for my sister’s 27th, carefully practicing my decorating skills and buying special colourings for the occasion. It’s in my friend Liza and the way she runs to hug me from across the street like a puppy. In my cousin Ben, who texts me to say “well done!” when I’ve done something good.

But being in love is different. So I’ve heard. Let me know in the comments lol.

I’m happy to go about my days on my ones, taking good care of myself and laughing at my own jokes. When February rolls around again, I’ll be forced to ask myself ‘what if?’ again, a knot pulling tight in my stomach as I envision a life where another hand holds mine and maybe if I’m very lucky buys me daffodils just because. Or listens and learns and accepts. I don’t know, and if I spend too long wondering then I’ll miss the happy moments I can make for myself now. So I’ll allow myself a thousand words, and then I’ll move on, because it doesn’t do to dwell.

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@selenagomezThe struggle man lol

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