By Kathleen Salazar

It's that time once again when grocery store shelves are lined with gleaming red and pink. In all its chocolate and roses and mechanical-dancing-dogs glory, Valentine's season is here. It doesn’t matter whether you’re in a relationship, single, a hopeless romantic, or a hater of the holiday altogether; we are seated on this Hallmark love train until the 14th passes. Until it does pass, the conversations around the holiday will surely be unavoidable. 

As someone who grew up with no expectations for the day other than counting on the sweet taste of classroom candy, I never felt strongly about romantic love or relationships. Frankly, I never thought about them at all. However, as I began dating in college (and specifically began dating as a queer person), a natural shift happened. I wondered if now I was supposed to have an opinion about having a Valentine or a relationship. 

It certainly felt like it in the collegiate environment. There was an omnipresent voice over my newly adult shoulder telling me how much more fun life would be if I were in love or could share the holiday with someone. Even as college came and passed, it seemed to cause so much animosity or anxiety for those around me. The thing I kept coming back to was the idea of rejection.

Rejection plagues us all. We cannot escape its clutches. At best, we expect it from casual plans with a friend who can no longer meet due to a cold. At worst, it is a slap in the face at one’s own identity. For queer folks, rejection is something we must wear, a given in our natural stasis. Its territory is an unavoidable evil when we try to live our full authentic selves, as the world around us leads us back to the same conclusion time and time again: being queer or perceived as such is a valid reason for the total rejection of one’s identity. 

Queer people need reminders to celebrate the way they exist; let a day celebrating love be that.

The other evening, I watched the State of the Union address with queer friends. Watched, as we have time and time again, Republicans (Sarah Huckabee, but really the entire party) use our lives, our existence, as political warfare in an imaginary battle of “woke” ideology/a takeover from the Left. This isn’t new, and sometimes it feels like it's getting worse. But if this is the way the place we call home, the place where we were born, talks about how queer people live and love, if this is truly how it conceives of the lives of other humans, then we can only know rejection in its purest form, and acceptance becomes a novelty. 

I think about this when I think about my time in college. Why did I cling to the idea of love and relationships? It was a way to hold on to my identity. And even if it seems silly, to have a Valentine meant I wasn’t rejected. I could participate in even the most trivial of moments in our society; I had a right to those moments. And once I felt acceptance and celebration from another, I understood better than ever that rejection makes itself a home in queer folks’ hearts—a home made by outside hands. I want more moments of celebration, because rejection is not what I am made up of, it is only a by-product of an outside force that queer folks are subject to. 

Valentine’s Day is a celebration; maybe that is how we should all see it. If you are queer, perhaps this is a time to celebrate the love you can give in everything you are. Queer people need reminders to celebrate the way they exist; let a day celebrating love be that. Give yourself and other queer folks affirmations or notes of celebration to let them know rejection is not their default state, no matter how much the rest of the world may say it. The hands building the home can be removed. A new home can be made beyond acceptance with joy and celebration. Q

Kathleen Salazar is a queer/non-binary artist hailing from the Bay Area. They moved to NYC to pursue their artistic endeavors including acting, music, and writing. Through all mediums of their work they strive to tell authentic queer stories and give a voice to those who feel outside of any classification. They are grateful for spaces like Queerful that give all voices of the queer community a chance to share their experiences. When not working on creative projects they can be found skateboarding through your local neighborhood :)