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The Saint Who Died of Shame
He Lost His Head for Love… We Lost Love in Our Heads
I must confess that it deeply irritates me how we let ourselves get tangled up, year after year, in a celebration that has completely lost its original meaning.
As a woman who critically observes the society we’ve built, I feel compelled to confront the grotesque transformation of a story of martyrdom and devotion into a commercial parade that only serves to feed our most basic insecurities.
Think about it…
A man was beheaded for defending true love, for performing forbidden marriages, and for believing in the power of human bonds above the impositions of power.
And how do we honor his memory today?
With overpriced dinners in mediocre restaurants, flowers that wilt in three days, and mass-produced chocolates we buy out of obligation. The irony is so bitter it almost chokes you.
What disturbs me most isn’t just the rampant commercialization — that’s already a given in our capitalist existence.
What revolts me is our collective inability to see beyond this farce, to question why we need a specific day to express love, as if feelings could be scheduled and wrapped in cellophane.
