I love Valentine’s Day. Not because of the bouquets of flowers that flooded my room from my 33 admirers, or because every cable network seems to be running my favorite film genre on marathon. My love for the holiday even reaches beyond the fact that the hearts I mindlessly draw in the margins of my notebook in class virtually have a purpose today— I think it is the ideal happiness the holiday attempts.
You would think that this hell of a hallmark holiday would leave me as annoyed as I am when I witness PDA, which usually make me want to rip my eyes out. Or perhaps that the holiday would make me utterly depressed, yet surprisingly I find a certain optimism in it. Maybe it’s my age or my lack of maturity that allows this holiday to leave me optimistic, whatever it is I hope it never goes away. While I don’t have 33 bouquets surrounding me in my room this year, next year I might have one really great one, and if not next year, the year after that, or ten years down the row.
Ironically, it is only now in these final moments of today that I feel slightly depressed realizing that the one day a year where nearly everyone shares my sappy—sentimental obsession with loving happy endings, is coming to an end. Rather than boycotting this holiday, I embraced it, every last moment of it. While life may fail to produce the scenes I love so much in romantic comedy movies, romance novels, and TV shows, believing that there is a chance I will star in a scene like that is the most exciting thing in the world and I hope I never grow out of believing in that chance.
