I was hesitant about writing this. As I tapped on my keypads, I could hear the hopeless romantics gasping, "Mae's just bitter, jaded, cynical—you name it." Well, I can’t change that, and you may be right. Watching this show for a long while on the sidelines shaped my views.
Growing up, my parents were the ultimate Valentine's Day enthusiasts. They went all out—exchanging gifts, hitting the clubs with my Titos and Titas, the works. It was an annual extravaganza that I have seen every year without fail.
Fast forward to today. Walk into any mall, and you're greeted by waves of pink and red. Heart-shaped balloons, stuffed bears, cupids wielding arrows—all calling for your attention and wallet. Valentine's Day has turned into this consumerist shrine. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy good retail therapy as much as you do. But when buying stuff overshadows the real meaning of the day, we've seriously gone astray.
Years back, my son was still a grader, and he asked me to buy a teddy bear for his crush on Valentine’s Day. I went to a bookstore and grabbed the first thing I saw that looked like a bear with a heart. When I gave it to him, he complained, “Mommy, this is not a bear. It’s a lion!” And I looked at it again, indeed it was. I just thought it was because of the heart.
The pressure to pull off the "perfect" Valentine's Day can turn even the chillest person into a zombie. The frantic search for the ideal gift, planning a grand date, and the looming fear of not meeting expectations are exhausting enough.
Earlier, I overheard Jan asking for gift ideas. I couldn't help but jump in with some playful teasing. What started as harmless fun turned into a full-blown roast session, everyone chiming in, leaving him wondering how he became the bad guy just for wanting to celebrate.
And now the singles. On Valentine's Day, the world splits—those cozied up with their significant others and those left out in the cold. The singles get constant sticky notes of their solo status, making them feel like they need a special ticket to join the love brouhaha. It's a consumerist circus and everyone's clamoring for a front-row seat.
Now on to the financial side. Valentine's Day has ballooned into a multi-million-peso industry. People are shelling out serious cash on overpriced roses, fancy dinners, and all sorts of extravagant gestures. This commercialized celebration can burn a hole in your pocket, adding financial stress to an already emotionally loaded day. Love now comes with a price tag and a return policy, as needed.
But wait, press that pause button, and let’s set things straight. I don't hate Valentine's Day. I'm not here to dampen anyone's spirits. What gets to me is this idea that love needs to be proven through material things and grand displays. Love shouldn't stress us out or drain our bank accounts. It should be found in the little things—the everyday moments that don't come with a receipt.
Let’s rethink how we approach this day. Instead of getting swept up in consumerism, let's focus on genuine connections and heartfelt gestures that don't cost a thing. If I may suggest, it’s about time we stop trying to fit love into a gift box or circling the date on the calendar. Love doesn’t play by the rules. Be spontaneous and be in the moment. It’s like that couple dancing in their kitchen to no music (at all). Now, that’s romantic, and even I would be breathless.
