This piece might be better suited for the Valentine’s Day issue next spring, but there’s something in the air that makes me think winter is also a good season to talk about love, or to consider writing and performing ethnography on love lives,
valentines day flowers her anyway.
For my senior thesis, I’m writing an autoethnography—assembling together anecdotes from my life up until now and organizing them by the thread of similar thematic elements. Afterward, I plan to create and perform a one-woman show about my work and share these stories with the community on campus.
Since the thesis makes it necessary for me to constantly dive into my pool of memories and pick out the fragments that mean the most to me, I’ve begun honing my powers of observation. I’ve found myself reflecting over significant moments and milestones through the lens of my younger self, my present self, and the others involved in my experiences over time.
Last night, I went out to dinner and drinks with some good friends at Border Café. As we sipped margaritas from salt-rimmed glasses and munched on warm, crunchy nachos, one of the guys talked about his interaction with a woman at a grocery store. He had taken over for the cashier during the afternoon and since the woman in line was purchasing alcohol, he had to ask for identification. She looked about 45 years old, he told us—but when she flashed her driver’s license, he realized that she was actually well over 60. He couldn’t help but ask her how she managed to look nearly 20 years younger than her age, and instead of displaying obvious offense or self-injury at his bold query, she leaned over conspiratorially and shared her secret.
“As long as you have love in your life, you’ll be forever young.”
Chuckling at this point in the story, he revealed to us in an (admittedly cute) self-deprecating manner that he was single at the moment, and he then went on to recount how he’d told her that he currently had no love in his life.
As he talks, I begin to trace over the love lines in my life. I don’t believe they’ve run too extraordinarily deep—when it comes to boys, guys, men, dudes, etc., I’ve never really experienced anything too profound.
There was a time in third grade when I wrote and distributed handmade Valentine’s to everyone in my class. I’d designed a special one for my crush at the time, writing in my loopy cursive, “Dear Vincent. I like you. A lot. Love, Sanyee.” Within five minutes of passing out my cards, Vincent’s best friend, David, had marched over to my table and waving the flimsy card in hand, asked in a demanding tone, “Do you really like Vincent? Because it says here in the card you gave him that you do.”
Instead of feeling mortified, I felt liberated. My sister calls it “the admitting-fest,” which is the moment in which you reveal to someone that you like him or her. After my admitting-fest for Vincent, I realized that I actually didn’t like him so much anymore. It had just been fun to crush on someone and now the excitement was over.
Following Vincent, there was Ben in middle school. Nothing but constant gossiping, plastic promise rings, and long insubstantial phone conversations were exchanged.
Then there was the First Boyfriend in senior year of high school, who was my host brother during my stay with a host family in California while I was competing in California’s Junior Miss. It was a perfect example of the proximity principle in relationship psychology.
After him, there was the First Dating Experience, consisting of actually going out with a guy who I’d known since middle school but had never gotten to know. My energy and enthusiasm rapidly expended soon after the time spent watching plays and attending dances together. Plus, it was time for college applications.
I moved into the virtual realm of relationships with the Facebook Pen Pal, a guy with whom I shared an epic wall-to-wall but did not meet in person until three months after our continual correspondence. Everyone’s got to have at least one cyber-relationship in his or her lifetime, right?
Two summers ago came the First Real Relationship, combined with the First Long-Distance Experience. Coupled with highs and lows, we started with a storybook romance, living next door to each other on our summer program in Cambridge, UK. Europe became the backdrop for us as we explored the Eiffel Tower together, ate gelato side by side in Italy, and took midnight strolls along the Tower Bridge in London. But, as in true Taylor Swiftian fashion, the lighthearted, sunny summer dissipated as the cold, unforgiving winter descended and our level of compatibility dwindled as we spent more time apart.
“Are you going to finish that?”
One of my friends at the table points at my dark red sangria, with the fine orange wedge glistening at the edge of the glass. I’m jolted back to the present, surrounded by my friends, plates of Tex-Mex cuisine, and strains of inaudible country music.
I smile back at him. “
valentines day flowers her”
The friend with the grocery store story asks for a sip too. It becomes a communal drink and I can’t help but marvel at how I haven’t felt this happy and carefree in months. This is the kind of love and companionship I’d prefer any day: having friends to go out with so we can laugh over our adventures and embark on even crazier ones.
Maybe this is the kind of love I should write about for my thesis.