"Last Valentine's Day, I went to the dentist, thereby delivering a resounding 'Fuck You' to all things good and romantic."

Yes, I do unabashedly quote myself, and I won't stand down from what I appear to be saying. With the number of sappy articles on Valentine's Day (whose first letters I note with glee to also represent another, less savoury, by-product of romance) hurtling upwards like the price of roses, it is much too easy to see that singles (singles; yes, like cheese singles, watery and cold) feel a mix of resignedness and embitterment on this day. It is like when one goes to the races and bets a small sum on the horse that finishes dead last, then he shrugs his shoulders and goes 'Ah well, better luck next time' and then goes home to a hot meal and warm bed, without much injury to his well-being and ego.

I've always held this belief in such matters (people say that you need to go slow, like that horse you bet on) but there are those punters who go home and contemplate pouring kerosine down their throats. And on 'special' red-letter days like these they sigh even more loudly, as though wishing to expel their very lungs, and then they write overwrought and terrifyingly depressing articles about their heart-rending plight.

While I try to think of it as a pretty ordinary day, as it is, I sometimes do also mull over certain connotations of the day as I am given a slight onus by the hype that surrounds it. After much thought-grinding, I come up with a certain bunch of ideas; Being especially punchy about love and stuff this year (no particular reason, perhaps just being more extra cheesed-off), I now think that Valentine's Day reminds me of the part of love that is obligatory and a little bit creepy, of holding hands until your palms sweat and your little finger goes to sleep (yes, I reluctantly admit I do know what this feels like). Naturally, this is not a positive thing to say, and I foresee a torrent of views to the contrary.

But it is not singles alone who lead the revolt against the tyranny of social expectation for the occasion. Many 'couples' (I quite dislike this word, for it reminds me of physics, or trains) too find the sheer arbitrariness restrictive and domineering. But nevertheless it is probably the world's largest, most widely celebrated non-official holiday; nowhere in the world is February 14th a public holiday, yet after Christmas and New Year it is one of the most important festive occasions, both in terms of the number of people who "observe" (for lack of a better word) it and in terms of its commercial impact (and appeal, for merchants). It is also one of the few that, like New Year's Day, transcends ethnic and religious boundaries.

Unlike Christmas, where I believe that everyone is united in joy and revelry (whether in the material sense, or at least at heart), the feelings of people on this day are often mixed, as I've noted. Some people are deliriously happy, some are resigned, some become sad, others become delighted. It is one holiday where there is no universal way that one should feel about it, unlike the happy mood that everyone usually has reserved for other holidays. It is fully reflective of the see-sawing, conflicting, intermittent nature of matters of the heart (why heart? I use it out of tradition, but everyone now knows that emotions originate from the brain. But matters of the frontal lobe just doesn't cut it) that this day is supposed to be dedicated to, a real life embodiment, with human emotion, of this nature.

Valentine's Day is like the cherry on top of the tasty cake of romance – ostentatious, flamboyant, pretentious(!), but wholly useless other than for that purpose of ornamentation and completeness. The rest of the year is like the rest of the cake, as least for those who have a chance to eat it. But in employing such awful, cheesy metaphors I am similarly falling into the trap of how people express their tender feelings this day.

But I get ahead of myself. Cupid's arrow has made a martyr out of me.