Childhood was the best time to experience Valentine’s Day. I clearly remember carving a square slot in a Cocoa Krispies box and carefully cutting out hearts of pastel paper for decoration. Each one was strategically placed on my makeshift mailbox with care and a purple glue stick. I felt so proud of my handiwork as I placed it prominently on my desk, making sure not to cover my nametag (lest my classmates forget where I sat).

        Then, the distribution would start. We’d all dance around each other to get from one side of the classroom to the other, dropping Valentines as we went like a small herd of Cupids. As I made my way back to my desk, I’d anxiously wonder if I got a card from my not-so-secret crush. I always would by default, because my elementary school required that you provide a Valentine for everyone in the class. Regardless, the butterflies were still there, along with a prominent sugar high.

        As a kid, Valentine’s Day was pure fun. No one got left out, everyone had arms full of candy, and there was always that one kid who got holographic cards for the class. Those were honestly the coolest. I would probably still be wooed by one of those today (hint, hint).

        After elementary school, there was a shift. Suddenly, Valentine’s Day wasn’t for everyone anymore. I remember girls in middle school swooning over cardboard hearts taped on their locker doors, and Hershey’s Kisses passed shyly between admirers during passing time. I was an onlooker to the gushiest holiday of the year. Looking back, it really wasn’t a big deal, but when I was thirteen it felt like the most embarrassing thing in the world to not get a piece of cheap candy or a card made of recycled math homework.

        Valentine’s Day got more exclusive in high school, when my district’s Student Council sold dollar-a-pop carnations. These were delivered during class. Everyone knew who got a carnation and who didn’t. Without fail, there were people who would end up with none and a couple people who would literally have a mountain covering their desk. I found this to be so messed up. It was a feeling worse than middle school. When did Valentine’s Day become a competition?

        Just when I thought I was over this holiday, I had my first Valentine’s Day with a significant other. We were in high school, we couldn’t drive, and had very little money. But you know what? For what it’s worth, it was lovely. It also made me realize something: Valentine’s Day doesn’t need to be some big show of affection.

There’s such an unreasonable amount of pressure put on this holiday, and for what? To prove to the world that we love each other? To outshine one another with our extravagant plans? Why is this necessary? Some people will probably brush me off as being cynical, but I don’t think I am.

        We don’t need a big holiday to showcase love. If people are lucky enough to find that deep connection with someone else, they should feel it every day. Love takes work, and love takes time. Love is a commitment, and should always be a priority. At the same time, I understand why people get excited about Valentine’s Day. It’s an excuse to be extra affectionate and eat some chocolate. But think about the day after Valentine’s Day, when all of the candy, cards, stuffed animals and flowers go on sale for 75% off. What happens then? Does the celebration of love suddenly come to a halt?

        I like to believe that Valentine’s Day is actually every day. It doesn’t matter whether you have a significant other or not, everyone needs love. So forget about the holographic cards, Hershey’s Kisses, and wilted carnations. Go ahead and take the pressure off yourself. What does Valentine’s Day mean to you? What does love mean to you? Let’s ditch the overpriced Hallmark holiday and instead work on spreading love all year long.