This is not supposed to be an obligatory post, especially about that date when bouquets of flowers are much more expensive than my workday lunch, but seeing that I haven’t written anything in here for a long time I might as well get into the fair.
If there’s anything significant on the 14th of February, it is simply the fact that it follows my father’s birthday. He’s turned 56 today. And on the fourteenth itself, it is also the birthday of someone I know who I’ve tagged along with to participate in a college Valentine songwriting competition three years ago only to fail right at the very start of the screening period. Aside from these, there’s nothing else I could think of.
I am neither dense nor jaded not to notice its sugary presence with Hallmark messages crisscrossing the country (or all over the world), or tearjerker primetime telenovelas raking up ratings from the masa with their supposed universal theme, or endless songs of lost and newfound love serenading many jeepneys. Heck, it is even linked to “Up to 70% Off” mall sales and discount packages in hotels (and motels).
My nonchalance to the whole festivity is a—hold your breath for the coming word—choice.
Yes, it is my choice not to entertain sudden appearances of “attic acquaintances” (people casually linked to your social web for a while then left in a corner for good out of ennui) in my inbox, unanswered calls and messages in my phone, or even seedlings of short talks in some gatherings. Someone might call me lackluster, or even conceited, but I guess I am through with those things. For me, they are like rain in a sunny morning; they are arresting at first and instantly draining next.
As the last ray of light from the sun took its last wave yesterday in the horizon, I left the open window and went downstairs to watch Simpsons. It was just another day, only a little bit different because many people were just too caught up with Cupid’s consumerism. As to how an acquaintance puts it, the 14th of February might as well be Singlehood Awareness Day.
I know what I’ve said may paint a bad picture of me but, I like to share, I still keep them coming: the appearances, the messages, the calls, the short talks.
No harm’s done anyway.
If there’s anything significant on the 14th of February, it is simply the fact that it follows my father’s birthday. He’s turned 56 today. And on the fourteenth itself, it is also the birthday of someone I know who I’ve tagged along with to participate in a college Valentine songwriting competition three years ago only to fail right at the very start of the screening period. Aside from these, there’s nothing else I could think of.
I am neither dense nor jaded not to notice its sugary presence with Hallmark messages crisscrossing the country (or all over the world), or tearjerker primetime telenovelas raking up ratings from the masa with their supposed universal theme, or endless songs of lost and newfound love serenading many jeepneys. Heck, it is even linked to “Up to 70% Off” mall sales and discount packages in hotels (and motels).
My nonchalance to the whole festivity is a—hold your breath for the coming word—choice.
Yes, it is my choice not to entertain sudden appearances of “attic acquaintances” (people casually linked to your social web for a while then left in a corner for good out of ennui) in my inbox, unanswered calls and messages in my phone, or even seedlings of short talks in some gatherings. Someone might call me lackluster, or even conceited, but I guess I am through with those things. For me, they are like rain in a sunny morning; they are arresting at first and instantly draining next.
As the last ray of light from the sun took its last wave yesterday in the horizon, I left the open window and went downstairs to watch Simpsons. It was just another day, only a little bit different because many people were just too caught up with Cupid’s consumerism. As to how an acquaintance puts it, the 14th of February might as well be Singlehood Awareness Day.
I know what I’ve said may paint a bad picture of me but, I like to share, I still keep them coming: the appearances, the messages, the calls, the short talks.
No harm’s done anyway.
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