From Money Bouquets to Honmei Choco: A Tale of Two Valentines

From Money Bouquets to Honmei Choco: A Tale of Two Valentines

In a few days, it will be Valentine’s Day.

You can already feel it creeping in. The memes are warming up. The subtle threats are circulating. The “if he doesn’t…” posts are making their rounds. The pressure is pressure-ing.

Every year I watch it unfold like a reality show.

Who got flowers.

Who got nothing.

Who posted.

Who stayed silent.

Who is suddenly single on the 15th.

Valentine’s Day has a way of turning love into a performance review.

And I’ve always had mixed feelings about it. I don’t hate it. I’m not anti-romance. But I do think it’s fascinating how one date on the calendar can determine people’s emotional stability. Relationships break on this day. Some feel unloved. Some overspend. Some compete. Some perform Olympic-level romance for Instagram.

Sometimes I sit back and think… have we made one day too powerful?

This year is my second Valentine’s in Japan, and living here has completely shifted how I see this whole thing.

Because Japan said, “Plot twist.”

Here, women give chocolate to men.

The first time I experienced it, I blinked twice. I thought maybe I misunderstood. But no. February 14 in Japan belongs to women.

But it’s not just random chocolate. Oh no. Japan categorizes everything beautifully.

There is giri choco, obligation chocolate. This is the chocolate you give to your male colleagues, your boss, your brother, your acquaintances. It’s polite. It’s social. It’s structured. It says, “We exist in the same professional space, here is chocolate.” No romance. No hidden message. Just courtesy.

Now imagine that in Zimbabwe. Giving chocolate to your male coworker and everyone understanding it’s purely professional? The rumors would start before lunchtime. 

Then there is honmei choco. This one is serious. This is love chocolate. This is the one you give to your husband, boyfriend, or the man you secretly hope will finally notice you. These chocolates are prettier. Higher quality. Sometimes handmade. There’s intention behind them. There’s softness. There’s hope.

And then my favorite, tomo choco. Chocolate for your girlfriends. No romance. No pressure. Just “I appreciate you.” I love that Japan made space for friendship in the middle of all the romance.

And the entire country leans into it. Department stores transform into chocolate kingdoms. Heart-shaped molds. Fancy wrapping. Luxury brands. Limited editions. Even Tokyo Tower glows differently. Valentine’s here feels like a beautifully organized chocolate festival with emotions quietly woven in.

And just when you think that’s it… exactly one month later comes White Day.

March 14.

That’s when the men respond.

If you received chocolate in February, you are expected to return the favor. Sometimes with something of equal or greater value. So technically, the pressure is delayed. Women move first. Men follow up.

Balanced. Structured. Almost strategic.

Now let’s fly home.

Zimbabwean Valentine’s is loud. It is passionate. It is red roses everywhere. Hotels fully booked. Restaurants hosting “Love Through the Decades” dinners. Live bands playing old R&B classics. Fairy Café dates. Backyard Lounge vibes. Matching outfits. Grand gestures.

And let’s not forget the money bouquets.

Nothing says romance in Zimbabwe like a bouquet of U.S. dollar bills wrapped in cellophane. It’s practical love. It’s economic awareness. It’s “I love you and inflation is real.”

Valentine’s back home feels expressive. Public. Celebratory. Slightly competitive. It’s a production. And social media amplifies it.

You log in and suddenly your relationship feels like it’s sitting for an exam.

“If he loved you…”

“If she valued you…”

“Real men do this…”

And the comment section becomes a battlefield.

Watching all this from Japan, where the loudest thing about Valentine’s is chocolate packaging, has made me reflect.

Maybe love doesn’t have to scream.

Maybe it doesn’t have to trend.

Maybe it doesn’t have to prove itself in 24 hours.

Living between Zimbabwe and Japan has shown me two different expressions of the same emotion. One bold and dramatic. One subtle and structured. Both beautiful in their own way.

But in both places, I’ve noticed something, when we let one day define our relationships, we give it too much power.

Love is not February 14.

It’s the random Tuesday kindness.

It’s the consistency.

It’s the quiet support when no one is watching.

It’s choosing each other again and again.

So this year, as my second Valentine’s in Japan approaches, I’m less interested in performance and more interested in presence.

If there’s chocolate, beautiful.

If there are roses, lovely.

If there’s just peace and laughter and simplicity, even better.

And if social media gets too loud?

I’ll probably log out, buy myself good Meiji white chocolate, and remember that love, real love, is not a circus.

It’s a daily practice.

And that, to me, is far sweeter than anything wrapped in red.