I am not bitter. I am evolved. When I see happy couples on the street, I only have a minor, natural, inclination to spit at their shoes. But I’m not bitter.

The fact that according to Vogue magazine “having a boyfriend is embarrassing now” doesn’t make me feel any better about being single on Valentine’s Day. Because being loved isn’t embarrassing. Being loved, for me at least, was security and comfort, though paired with frustration at times (we broke up nearly 10 months ago and I still can’t bring myself to pick up my stuff from his house).

I have been dreading Valentine’s Day for weeks now. Each milestone since the breakup brings on a fresh wave of melancholy. It feels cosmically unfair that the 14th of February is going to be the only sunny day in the past 2 weeks —The Met Office has clearly chosen a side, and it’s not mine. So, I have to watch all the happy couples take slow romantic walks in Christ Church Meadow, linking their arms and carrying their flowers, laughing like they’re on the cover of Bob Dylan’s The Freewheeling album, or a poster for When Harry Met Sally. I have also, after thoughtful consideration, decided that I shall NOT be scrolling Instagram on Saturday, so that I don’t have to see the stream of girls’ stories of men with bum fluff and blazers at some fancy restaurant, with captions such as “Best 2 years of my life” or “Love you to the moon and back.” Only for the same exact picture to be reposted on the boyfriend’s Instagram. Like I said, I’m not bitter.

I did attempt to cure my ailment of ‘singleness’ by downloading the mobile dating application named Hinge. Dare I say it hasn’t gone very well. Actually, I loathe it, and overall, it’s just very bizarre. How can I just swipe past someone, be it Danny, Matt, Jack, Tim —a whole person — and reject them? Moreover, how could someone do that to me? Unlike them, I’m a person, not just a profile. It’s like I hold validation, rejection, romance, sex, all in my pocket, accessible with a gentle swipe of a thumb.

 It’s like I have to market myself like I’m a house on Rightmove:

2 bedrooms. Central location. Scrap of land outside that has potential. The “bones” of the house are good but needs some substantial work doing. Boiler is temperamental but house located in a quiet neighbourhood.

In other words, “In decent shape but has a tendency to overshare.”

I had hoped that I may be able to secure myself some form of boyfriend before the 14th, but unfortunately that hasn’t worked out so well. Instead, I have had a series of regrettable dates. And the worst part is that it’s unavoidable to dodge the Dannys, Matts, Jacks, and Tims when Oxford is such a small city. They lurk in every library and every pub, like mildly awkward ghosts of romantic decisions past, or in my specific case, on Turl Street eating burritos. I have had 2 dates in Oxford in the past few weeks and ended up spotting BOTH of these people out and about, accelerating my Voi and staring at the pavement as to avoid eye contact. Alas, maybe Hinge isn’t the answer. I may have to surrender to the curse of being single and survive Valentine’s alone.

So, instead of sulk (which I would never even dream of doing), I present to you the Loner’s Survival Plan for today. Singletons, feel free to adapt it as you wish:

The Singleton’s Valentine’s Day Survival Plan:

  • No Instagram (total digital blackout)
  • Buy flowers for a friend (platonically)
  • Buy flowers for myself (self-love)
  • Post a Valentine’s card to my Grandma (to secure unconditional familial love and a place in the will)
  • AVOID Christchurch meadow at all costs (hopefully next year).
  • Cook a nice dinner. Light candles. Pour wine. Pretend I chose this life.

And if all else fails, I’ll remind myself that statistically, at least three of those “best two years of my life” couples will be single come next February.

I, meanwhile, will still have my scrap of land. Maybe I’ll plant a garden.