Chapter 22: What's the Difference Between Saint Valentine and Pigeon Squirting: Thoughts on the Off-Tinderland Trail!

So there you have it, I did it. I deleted the apps.

My index finger doesn't know what to do with itself in the evenings anymore, so I started to direct all my attention to things that have real meaning - or at least things that can be made into a good salad. Don't worry, I'm still here on the blog and on Facebook, because now that I'm out of the bubble, I have a lot more to tell.

Suddenly I discovered a whole world of interactions that can't be swiped:

Cucumber quality report (and the peace in the supermarket) 🥒

Today in the vegetable section, I found myself examining cucumbers with the concentration of a diamond in the rough. It was a refined moment of sanity. This cucumber didn't make me promises it couldn't keep, it didn't send me a picture of its abs, and it certainly didn't disappear from my mind after half an hour of fascinating conversation. It was just there - green, fresh, and crunchy. There's something reassuring about knowing that what you see is what you get. No filters and no stories about "I'm just going through a difficult time."

Zion and Herzl – the telenovela on the windowsill

Ziona the pigeon returned this morning, and this time she brought another pigeon with her, we'll call him Herzl. They stood on my windowsill and had a heated argument about the location of the nest. No "power games", no strategies of who answers who and when - just nervous wing flapping and direct communication. If Herzl doesn't answer her cooing, it's probably because he found a piece of pretzel in the garden, not because he's trying to seem "hard to get". It was so much more real than any polite and forced dating conversation I've had recently. There's something reassuring about the fact that the most stable relationship in my life right now is based on breadcrumbs and the cooing of a pair of pigeons.

Anthropologie in line for the checkout 🍨

Instead of analyzing profiles, I analyze carts. Today I saw a young couple having a deep philosophical discussion about what kind of ice cream to buy. I looked at them and felt a huge sense of relief that I didn't have to compromise my taste in ice cream for anyone tonight. My most fulfilling relationship today was with the cashier Sima, when she asked if I wanted to donate a shekel to children at risk. I said yes - and that was the most fulfilling interaction of the week.

And then I remembered Saint Valentine (may God have mercy on him) 🌹

Here comes Valentine's Day, or by its official name: "National Chocolate and Flower Company Stock Remembrance Day."

The city was painted red with the blood, sweat, and tears of "Walt"'s emissaries. The flower shops looked like a rose crime scene: piles upon piles of petals trampled under the speed with which they had to assemble "Romantic Arrangement No. 4" (the one featuring a little teddy bear with a heart that says "I Love You" in Chinese).👩❤️💋👨

It's the one day of the year when the men of Tinderland remember that flowers have a scent, and not just an Instagram filter. They send huge bouquets that cost as much as half a mortgage, as if this bouquet is "atonement" for all the ghosting they did between January and December.

They stand in line, holding a bouquet that looks like a small jungle, and send flowers to someone today, but in their minds they are already designing next year's bouquet for someone they haven't met yet, who is currently 4 kilometers away from them and looking for a "serious relationship" (just kidding).

And the flowers? They are poor. They stand in a vase, upright and proud, unaware that they are nothing more than a Band-Aid on a deep wound of digital loneliness. By the time the last leaf falls, their sender will be back to posting in the "Singles and Enjoyers" group about how "there are no normal women today."

Oh Valentine.

The man was a Roman priest who died in rather tragic circumstances, and he certainly never imagined that his legacy would consist of teddy bears holding glittering hearts. There's something wonderfully ironic about a Christian holiday becoming the holiest day of the new religion: consumerism. On this day, everyone in "Tinderland" feels like they've failed a test they didn't sign up for in the first place.

It's a day when men feel a strong need to prove they're "romantic" by purchasing a bouquet of flowers for the price of a kidney, only for those flowers to wither at exactly the same rate that their new relationship fades on WhatsApp a week later.

This day is a holiday of "romantic optics." It's the day when people who haven't exchanged a word beyond "pass the sign" for six months suddenly remember that they have to show up. They go out to overcrowded restaurants, sit at tables that are too small (called a 'double table' but in reality your elbow is in your neighbor's pasta), and eat a tasting menu for the price of a flight to London.

And the climax? The climax is when the dessert arrives. "Heart-shaped chocolate soufflé." Everyone pulls out their phones at the same time. The flashes blind the waiters. It's a truly religious moment: the offering of the soufflé to the Instagram gods.

Saint Valentine must be turning in his grave.

The silence from the pursuit of love

Meanwhile, I'm sitting at home, eating my perfect bloody cucumber, and waiting for Ziona to come say goodnight. It may not make a good photo for a story, but at least it doesn't leave an aftertaste of industrial chocolate.

It seems to me that the greatest gift that Saint Valentine can give us is simply the ability to laugh at all this trolling from the sidelines, with a glass of red grapefruit juice (that I bought for myself!) and without any Tinder notification popping up and ruining the peace.

Sometimes the best love to celebrate on this day is simply the silence from the pursuit of it.

Chapter 22: What's the Difference Between Saint Valentine and Pigeon Squirting: Thoughts on the Off-Tinderland Trail!