On Valentine’s Day

Famous German philosopher, Martin Heidegger, often begins his essays or work as, “On…” such and such (technology, the work of art, etc.).  And so, in this tradition, I title this post, “On Valentine’s Day”.

For the first time in what seems like forever, I have a partner during Valentine’s Day. Of course, I’m excited about this, but not because of the prospect of being able to spend Valentine’s Day together, but for the simple fact that we ARE together.

Not to say that I don’t like Valentine’s Day. I’m sure that very busy people need a specific day of the year, set aside, to remind them to remind their loved ones just how much they care/love them. I, however, don’t; and so, I did not actually spend Valentine’s Day with my partner– we have every other day of the year to tell each other how much we love one another.

I did come to a few conclusions in regards to the topic of love, or what is often considered and perceived as love.

To quote Jacque Derrida’s famous words:

“The relation to the Other, even if it remains asymmetrical, open, without possible reappropriation, must trace a movement of reappropriation in the image of one’s self for love to be possible. Love is narcissistic” (1995).

Derrida’s very point crystallized before my eyes today. The first couple was the typical gothic-couple– both with tall leather boots, jiggling fat thighs under a girl’s red plaid skirt, matching leather jackets, and surprisingly clean, but stringy blond hair on the man. It struck me– these two were so in love with themselves that they fell in love with each other.

Some interesting points, though. Like most couples I’ve observed lately, the girl was, by the expression on her face, tolerating her boyfriend’s incessant, and embarassing verbiage. It struck me as possible at that point that either the man or woman could easily have been disillusioned by one another, and tried to compensate for their relationship’s shortcomings by becoming one another, by displaying to the world that aesthetically they were one and the same. To accomplish what? To feed their own self-love perhaps; to illustrate to the world: this is my other half, an extension of myself– love me, like I love myself.

Am I being too skeptical, and reading into physical appearances too much? Perhaps. It is 2:31 Am, and I did have a couple of beer (often the ruination of any argument I try to put forth). But I do feel that people are in love with themselves more than they wish to admit. Am I exempt from this narcissism? I think not– and I’m okay with that, because I think I’m actually quite nice to love. On top of which, I think that these ideas can help everyone cope with unrequited interest. Perhaps instances, that can be disheartening, in which our infatuation and desire for specific people are not returned only means that we are not them. Which, in a world that glorifies individuality, isn’t such a negative thing after all.

It’s simple: we, our selves, are not the same as the self of whoever we may have once desired. This unrequited ‘love’ (infatuation more so) is entirely understandable on the basis that we truly love ourselves, and those who are like us (physically, intellectually, or both).

I hope this makes sense, because I think it does. Then again…

The second interesting couple that I saw were two, practically identicaly, oval type people with curly mops atop their heads. The woman’s head was a purple mop, and the man’s head was, as an extension of his partner’s purple mop, only a quarter purple at the tips. They looked like a purple spectrum, almost– from purple to brown, they were one– blended.

Not to say that I am removed from this love observation. I too want to display to the world that my partner and I are similar, a part of each other, and together. But tonight, on Valentine’s Day, I have never seen such self-love as today, on a day in which we are meant to express love to another person, our partner, we actually end up expressing love to ourselves.

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