I have been giving my wife a bouquet
almost every year for nearly two decades.
Consistently.
Every Valentine’s Day.
People often ask me why.
Women will say,
“No, we don’t even want flowers.”
“Let's be practical”
Maybe.
But sometimes what they really mean is,
“You don’t have to.”
That is different from,
“I don’t want to be chosen.”
Some people argue that
I have fallen for the marketing of capitalists.
Maybe.
But if marketing reminds me to pause
and honor my wife deliberately,
I am fine with that.
Because this is not about roses.
It is about ritual.
It is about consistency.
It is about never letting the woman who stands beside me
wonder if she still matters.
I would rather let my wife be the envy of others
than let her feel envy toward anyone else.
Because here is what people rarely talk about.
Imagine this.
It is Valentine’s Day at work.
Someone walks in holding a bouquet.
Trying not to hide her smile.
Her coworkers notice.
“That bouquet is so nice.”
“Your husband is so sweet.”
“You’re very lucky.”
How do you think she feels?
Seen.
Chosen.
Proud.
Now imagine the others.
The ones who did not receive anything.
The ones who say, “It’s okay.”
The ones who pretend it does not matter.
It always matters.
Not because of the flowers.
Because of what they represent.
Effort.
Thought.
Consistency.
Public affection.
A quiet announcement that says:
After all these years,
I still choose you.
My wife has never demanded flowers.
Which is exactly why she deserves them.
Love should not be given
only when it is requested.
It should be given
because it is deserved.
Some people say,
“It’s just once a year.”
Exactly.
If you cannot show up intentionally
once a year,
how are you showing up the rest of the time?
For me, flowers are not an obligation.
They are a promise.
A reminder.
A choice renewed quietly.
Every year, I am telling my wife:
I still notice you.
I still pursue you.
I still take pride in loving you.
And one day,
when we are older,
when life is slower,
when the house is quieter,
I hope she looks back and thinks:
He never made me doubt.
That is why I buy her flowers.
Not for tradition.
Not for show.
But because love,
when practiced consistently,
becomes security.