ARTICLE | Longing Without Illusion

We just celebrated Valentine’s Day this week, and though it was meant for couples to celebrate, it also meant celebrating love in many forms—because love should never be confined to just one kind of act.

For many gay singles, Valentine’s Day arrives with a peculiar quiet. Not always loneliness in the dramatic, movie-scene sense, but something subtler—an awareness of absence. The world seems briefly organized around pairs: reservations for two, bouquets meant to be received, hands meant to be held in public without explanation. And in that arrangement, those who stand alone are asked, silently, to account for themselves.

Yet growing older—especially as a gay person—often means learning that longing and clarity can coexist. The desire for affection does not disappear. The wish to be chosen, to be seen, to build something tender with another human being remains deeply real. But alongside that desire comes a harder-earned understanding: romance alone is not enough to sustain a life. Practicality, self-preservation, emotional independence—these begin to matter just as much, sometimes more.

There is an existential honesty in this space.
To admit: Yes, I want love.
And also: I cannot pause my life waiting for it.

Because many gay lives are shaped early by waiting—waiting to come out, waiting to be safe, waiting to be accepted, waiting for the right city, the right people, the right timing. After years of postponement, something shifts. Survival turns into intention. You begin choosing stability over fantasy, peace over chaos, truth over performance. Not because you have stopped believing in love, but because you have learned the cost of building your entire future around the possibility of it.

So Valentine’s Day becomes less about roses and more about reckoning.

It asks quiet questions:
What does a meaningful life look like if romance never arrives in the way you imagined?
Who are you when no one is watching, desiring, or choosing you?
Can a life be full without the narrative we were taught to expect?

Existentialism tells us that meaning is not given—it is made. And in that sense, the gay single life can be strangely liberating. Without the default script of marriage, children, and convention, you are left with open space. Terrifying, yes. But also honest. You must decide what matters. You must build structure where none is promised. You must become, in many ways, your own home.

Practicality, then, is not the enemy of romance.
It is what allows you to survive long enough to experience real love if it comes—and to live fully even if it does not.

It is choosing financial security so you are never forced to stay where you are not valued.
It is nurturing friendships that hold real intimacy, not just distraction.
It is caring for your body and mind because your life is not a waiting room.
It is understanding that affection is beautiful, but dignity is essential.

And perhaps the quiet truth many gay singles carry—especially on Valentine’s Day—is this:

We are not less romantic.
We are simply less willing to disappear for the sake of romance.

So while couples celebrate love across candlelit tables, there is another, quieter celebration happening too. One without flowers or photographs. One made of endurance, self-knowledge, and the stubborn decision to keep building a life that is meaningful—even in solitude.

Because love, in its most existential form, is not just something we receive.

It is something we choose to continue living for.