The One About Love (and Lack Thereof)

Devotions: Valentine's Day Edition

It’s no secret that I’ve never been in a relationship. It’s nothing that I’m ashamed of, but this time of year always seems to amplify my singleness. It echoes in so many things: Hallmark cards, radio advertisements, two for one deals. The chair across from me at dinner looks more empty than usual. It’s like my single body bounces off the walls in a reflected ghost balloon, looking for my other half, and it just deflates to the ground when it’s unable to find it. Most of the time, I’m content with waiting, but February can be hard.

When I was in middle and high school, my longing for a relationship was more fuelled by the constant stream of representations in the media than anything else. I wanted the Troy to my Gabriella, the Michael to my Mia Thermopolis, the Robbie to my Georgia. It never happened, but the desire stuck with me. I was so desperate by the end that I convinced myself I had a crush on one of my best friends right before graduation. It was just as humiliating as it sounds. I don’t blame myself for any of it, though. I was a teenager, wanting someone to prioritize me enough to correct all of my insecurities. That desire blinded me to so many other sources of love — female friendship, my family, myself — all of which I’m trying to make up for now. But now that I’m about to graduate university, having entered my early twenties, I find the longing to be more about partnership. Someone to bring home to family, to walk you home at night, to hold your hand through the transitions, to travel with you and navigate the world at a time when it feels too big for one person. That loneliness can feel suffocating, sometimes, like I have all this love and nowhere to put it. Like my heart has gotten too big for my body and I have to peel off layers of it so it’ll fit back into my chest.

by Beya Rebai

I know I’m young, and that there’s plenty of time. It’ll happen when I least expect it, everyone says. I appreciate it when people tell me that, but it doesn’t make the feelings disappear. They will remain as long as love songs exist, in wavering levels of intensity. They will remain as long as people ask what was your first kiss like? or what was the worst date you’ve ever been on? and I answer with silence. How do I stop expecting it? How do I stop searching for love wherever I go, when society places partnership at its center? To answer my question: I don’t think the solution is to stop searching, but rather to broaden my definition of love, to turn my head in other directions.

I first read this poem by Mary Oliver on Valentine’s Day last year:

"Of Love" 

I have been in love more times than one,
thank the Lord. Sometimes it was lasting
whether active or not. Sometimes
it was all but ephemeral, maybe only
an afternoon, but not less real for that.
They stay in my mind, these beautiful people,
or anyway beautiful people to me, of which
there are so many. You, and you, and you,
whom I had the fortune to meet, or maybe
missed. Love, love, love, it was the
core of my life, from which, of course, comes
the word for the heart. And, oh, have I mentioned
that some of them were men and some were women
and some—now carry my revelation with you—
were trees. Or places. Or music flying above
the names of their makers. Or clouds, or the sun
which was the first, and the best, the most
loyal for certain, who looked so faithfully into
my eyes, every morning. So I imagine
such love of the world—its fervency, its shining, its
innocence and hunger to give of itself—I imagine
this is how it began.

I think about this poem constantly. It was her poetry — and just poetry in general — that helped me supplement these feelings of loneliness with feelings of platonic and natural love. I’ve always wanted to be a poet but felt like I needed to experience romance to do so — as if it was a requirement. Reading poetry about friendship or nature or ordinary experience taught me that it most definitely is not. I write poems about my late grandma, about my best friends, about the way the light streams through the clouds. Pat Schnider writes: "It’s a kind of love, is it not? / How the cup holds the tea” and she ends the poem with “And what is more generous than a window?” I am learning how to deeply love the world and the people and places and things it has given me. In the process, I am learning to love myself, too. That’s where I can put all the layers. And it’s enough, for now.

These days, most of my friends have significant others. They fondly mention them by name, even if I’ve never met them. Their eyes light up when they speak, sometimes even years in. For so long, I wanted that radiance. If I could feel that love externally, I could only imagine the euphoric bliss of it internally. Before I left for London, I met my high school English teacher for coffee. I gushed about my family and books and my best friend and being by the ocean. She told me I looked radiant when I spoke, and I cried on the way home. I do know what love feels like. There is no “right” kind. There’s one word for a reason — it’s all just love.

Further Reading

“Things I Didn’t Know I Loved” by Nazim Hikmet

“I Think Love Is Something That Happens to Other People” by Michael Gray

“For Twenty Year Olds Who Have Never Been Loved” by Meggie Royer

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What I Enjoyed This Week

Recent Reads

• Open Water by Caleb Azumah Nelson. This is a debut novel by a contemporary British-Ghanian author, set in South London. At first glance, this is a love story, but it provides a deep insight into race and masculinity. It reads like poetry, and the story is set out-of-body in the second person, which provides a stunning multi-layered awareness of the characterization of the main character. It touches on identity and what it means to be seen as your true self in the eyes of another person. It was incredible, and I’m looking forward to reading more from this author in the future.

• Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata. This is a short Japanese novella about a thirty-six-year-old woman who has worked at the same convenience store for eighteen years. She has never been in a relationship or considered getting another job. Despite pressure from society and her friends and family, she remains comfortable in her place. The story follows her as she attempts to find a “normal” role in society, and it provides a gentle yet critical commentary on conformist society. Though it was a quick read, I’ll be thinking about it for a long time.

Other Wonderful Things

• I saw Hamilton on Tuesday on the West End with my cousin who was visiting London for the week. I’m about six years late, but I get it now. I remember being in high school and struggling to put together the story with only the soundtrack, but adding a visual element just made everything click. It was so fun.

• My Astro Poets horoscope: “Week of 2/6 in Aries: Something new will enter your life. You can dress it in all of your hope. There will be many days of wonder. There will be time spent in awe.”

• This song, this song, and this song. Playlist

Thank you for reading, and happy Valentine’s Day! Celebrate love! I love you!

<3

Tara