Hilal Nakiboglu: The rituals of a meaningless holiday

Commercial expressions of love are tacky. Most of us recognize this, yet feel obliged to engage in the rituals of Valentine's Day. Together, we keep alive the idea that love ought to be asserted through the giving of disposable uselessness -- an overstuffed teddy bear, a fuzzy heart-shaped pillow or an "AA-batteries-not-included" plastic dancing rose. Each year, we are guilty of sending one another singing "love-o-grams." We take out cheesy ads in The Daily Pennsylvanian which read "You are my North Star" and gush with the nonsense that "Snookum-ducker-bum loooves her Pooh Bear!!" Those more cowardly participate in the season anonymously. Like the prankster who generously sent me a raunchy wake-up call last week. Complete with loud kissy smacks and unmentionable disclosures of lust, the phone call bore certain testament to someone's elemental loneliness. It is just this sort of loneliness, coupled with deep-rooted fear, that acts as the driving force behind not only Valentine's Day ceremony, but our daily behavior as well. We are afraid of being alone. Society informs us, especially around Feb. 14, that not being coupled is a problem. It is something to be feared and dreaded. It is a sign of inadequacy. We think in terms of better halves, significant others and soul mates. The story of Romeo and Juliet teaches us while Bert, Ernie, Adam, Eve, Dharma, Greg and all of "Must See TV" help reinforce it, lest we forget: having a partner is what makes life worth living. The strength of this message is the primary reason we settle, falling into relationships we ought not to be a part of. It can cause us to cling to the dysfunctional and push us to marry too hastily. It is the reason we obsessively tune in to Joe Millionaire and is the grounds of that anxious discomfort we feel when a bachelorette gets eliminated. Too often, we hear proclamations like "He's the one" or "We're meant to be" which place far too much importance on another, on union. In an eager rush to fill the holes in our lives, we turn outside, looking for that proverbial knight, or, foolishly, turn to previous relationships that are dead for good reason. Solo, we are made to feel vulnerable, then summarily exploited based upon those very feelings. Entire industries exist, dedicated to primping, then setting up sad and lonely people with one another. With catchy, casual names like "It's Just Lunch!" matchmaking services let grown adults reveal bits of themselves through print and video profiles. For an "affordable fee," customers awkwardly meet to tell one another that they are discriminating wine devotees. Smokers. Yoga-practicing, remarkable parallel-parkers. Educated consumers. Regular flossers. Dedicated dog lovers. Heavy sleeping, lightly-tattooed, medium liberals. Some latch onto one another ("We just, like, clicked, you know?") while the others get tossed back into that merciless pile stamped "reject." It is endless and miserable. Around Valentine's Day, the urgency toward finding a partner becomes particularly thick. Flipping through Cosmopolitan magazine's checklist of "10 sexy ways to catch his eye," it is hard not to pity yourself, as you slurp on your food truck purchase of wonton soup for one. "Singletons are missing out" is the message pounded into your head this time of year. Accordingly, you throw yourself out and into a world where every kiss begins with "Kay." Joining the ranks of the perfumed hopefuls sitting on barstools across Center City, you engage in thrilling conversations about your schoolwork and hometown. After meeting two people somehow connected to the adult film industry and one over-eager pervert from Drexel, you decide to call it a night. Yet as a dutiful masochist who fully believes in the Disney-meets-Hollywood fantasy of love, you vow to return to the wet alleys of nightlife where hope and vodka are routinely thrown up together. But don't be discouraged. Options do exist for you on Feb. 14. You could take the traditional and oft-preferred route of excessive drinking followed by the incoherently sloppy and regrettable phone call to the ex-lover. Or you could do the unthinkable, pushing those fishnet stockings to the back of your drawer and tossing out your well-thumbed copy of The Rules. By pulling on some sweats, putting on some Coltrane and digging into your wonton soup, you might just succeed in making this one your happiest Valentine's Day yet. Hilal Nakiboglu is a second-year doctoral student in Higher Education Management from Ankara, Turkey.

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