Third World Writer

Yesterday was an interesting day at the office — people wearing blood-red clothes, women holding bouquets like they validated their self-worth, and men scrambling to buy chocolates and flowers from the makeshift shop at the cafeteria. There seems to be a season of celebration in the air. I found it interesting. I didn’t know so many people celebrated Friday the 13th.

Or were they perhaps celebrating this “Valentine’s Day” I keep hearing about. It can’t be. That sort of thing went out of style back in high school.

Valentines is for people who have forgotten how to be in love. As my roommate put it, some people need to be reminded. What is most unfortunate, though, is that their chosen form of expression is something utterly predictable, and even expected. How does one expect something expected to make someone happy?

Chocolates I can understand. I mean, you can’t argue with chocolates. But flowers confound me. Do women use them to enhance the beauty of their surroundings? Do they carry them around all day to proclaim, “Hey, someone loves me enough to.. give me flowers on this day where boys are expected to give girls flowers for no other reason than it’s just that day of the year..” Huh? I’m confused.

This day of hearts is actually both sweet and sad. It’s sweet when you see a girl with a single rose beaming with delight, clinging lovingly to her boyfriend’s arm because he gave her a flower. And it’s sad when you see a girl with a single rose beaming with delight, clinging lovingly to her boyfriend’s arm because he gave her a flower.

I mean, it’s a flower. All it does is die.

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