Since the beginning of time (or Saint Valentine’s birth, or whoever), Valentine’s Day has never been novel. Or traditional. Or tasteful? Flashback to my Valentine lament here in 2007, I remember how we all get to be suckered every year by this Hallmark holiday to do the trick for dinner and flowers and dates and Instagram-ful #Valentines hashtags. February 14 swung around before we knew it anyway and its just a matter of creativeness for some to come up with a unique itinerary every year.
This year, Shangrila Mactan invited us for a preview of their Chinese New Year specials to welcome the Year of the Goat at Tea of Spring.
While a romantic outing is out of the picture, it was enough to stuff our hearts and stomach with joy and tikoy and that yummy Yee Sang salad. If there’s anything in this world that is beyond stuffing ourselves during Valentines week/season/festivity/carnival is the quest for cold, hard love – that thing they call that works in mysterious ways – how it governs our lives and how it is never going to be found in a lab, poll result, smartphone app or www.
So let us just let our hearts aflutter, allow these blasted paramours to haunt us, and never spend the day solo. We should always have a floor plan regardless of marital status and not authorize Valentines to become the most frustrating season in the history of us all. Stop reading generalizations on “what women want on Valentines,” or “what men want you to wear on Valentines” – no one can even actually be right in the blandest terms how anyone feels, wants, or needs during this holiday. If everyone did try — then every blogpost would end up, “… and then you shove your middle finger up his bunghole”.
We can be cocky if we did quantify, qualify and disseminate love and know what makes it work or not. Lovelorn citizens, we don’t. Ever.
Never easy, folks. Happy Valentines Day nonetheless!