What Love Is To Me

Hello Readers,


If you know me well, you know that I’m not a huge Valentine’s Day person. I was thinking about the reason for this a couple days ago, wondering why I did not hate nor love this day. Some people are upset because it reminds them that they are single. But I do not need or want a boyfriend. I don’t feel any different on this day.

I came to the conclusion that it was because I don’t need a day to be loved. Because I feel loved every day of the year, just as much as on Valentine’s Day. I don’t need a day to tell me I am loved, because I know without a doubt that I am loved.

I don’t need any other love at this point in my life. I am safe and content. Why go searching for something I don’t need yet?

Lots of my friends pity me, because I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t understand why, as I don’t feel the need to have one, nor do I want one. I’d much rather have friends than something that won’t last and just adds stress.

I don’t need to worry about that weirdness yet, so why jump in? I’m perfectly content, and I honestly don’t think any man could love me more than my dad, so why do I need one?

I don’t need a day to be loved, because I am loved everyday. (Though Valentine’s Day is a good excuse to randomly hug my brothers [they aren’t big huggers]) And my little sister loves it because she can shower us with cut out hearts and sing songs and hug us as much as she wants because it’s Valentine’s Day.

She used to randomly proclaim days “Valentine’s Day” when she was younger, just so she could give us cards and tell us how much she loved us. That’s because she loves to give gifts.

Me? I give cards that are written on notebook paper, but that make everyone cry. (I hope because it’s wonderful, not because of my handwriting, but you never know…) I have a reputation as the writer in the family, so I don’t know why they keep asking me to write cards because I just make everyone cry.

I don’t think that love is really what we show in commercials on Valentine’s Day, sure, we like a big show and cut out hearts and red confetti and love everywhere.

But that’s not really what love looks like.

Love is when someone listens to your ramblings even when they don’t really understand you, love is when someone wakes up early to take you to the airport, even though they have to rush to work right after. Love is when someone makes you a sandwich without you having to ask.

Love isn’t this huge grand display, it’s the little things that are whispering quietly, “I’m staying with you.”.

Love is my sister making my bed to surprise me, love is my little brother not stealing my notebooks and drawing in them because he knows I don’t like that. Love is my mom watching shows I like and listening to me talk about them constantly. Love is my dad taking me to restaurants and listening to me when I feel lonely. Love is my brothers not waking me up early on Saturday. Love is when my baby brother hugs me, love is being asked to play X-box and legos. Love is blanket forts and messy rooms and laughter.

Love isn’t a huge expensive display, though we love that. And love isn’t just for husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends.

There are other kinds, and I think, especially at my age, the other kinds are far, far stronger.

The bind between brothers and sisters, that say “While we complain about how annoying my sibling is, if you dare to say a word against them, I will punch your face.”

Love is not all flowers and Starbucks gift cards, love is my brother threatening to destroy anyone who even thinks about trying to ask me out. (Though this hasn’t happened, he has on multiple occasions reminded me that if this does happen, he will personally beat them up and chase them away because I am HIS sister and they don’t get to have me.)

Love isn’t a dozen red roses to me, love is a handful of weeds that got picked and presented to me with a dirt smudged face and a wide grin.

Love isn’t always “I love you.” sometimes it’s a “Play Legos, Ruby?”.

Love isn’t romantic ballads or moonlight serenades at this point for me. Love is my sister singing at the top of her lungs and asking me to dance, and I do it, even though I hate dancing, she loves it and she doesn’t care, so I’ll dance with her.

Love isn’t dramatic proposals to me. Love is late night conversations with my best friend and staying up just to talk to my family in America. Love is the sound of my friends playing music, or randomly singing Disney songs.

Love isn’t an expensive box of chocolates.  Love is when my brother brings me food without me asking, when my sister asks me if I want tea. Love is my dog laying his huge head in my lap and letting me hug him and lay in the sun.

This is what love is to me. I don’t really know about “romantic love” as I have never experienced it, but this kind of love, this strong pure kind, that gives me strength each day? That’s all I need right now. I am safe and content in this.







5 thoughts on “What Love Is To Me

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