Feb 14, 2010: D-Day or V-Day?

Another puzzling event or phenomenon – 2nd Sunday of February – has come and gone. I have to confess that media was my only accomplice that I remembered this day of festivity as TV and radio ever so faithfully blasted the world with commercials of chocolates, flowers, cards and, of course, jewelry. Some of my coworkers, as all dutiful lovers would do, had even agonized over the tokens or surprises to affirm their devotion. Despite of 20+ years of being part of the “lovers” category, I continue to marvel how this day has such a hold of human race across different cultures, mine included. I remember as a young and impressionable teenager browsing through those Valentine cards at the bookstore back home, my heart pumping with wild imagination and wonder for this amazing thing called love . The truth is, I have no excuses of blaming my lack of diligence or effort in this matter on this culture. On the receiving end, I have indeed benefited once – twice, counting yesterday – when my lover surprised me with roses delivered to my dingy, roaches infested apartment. We had then just started talking to each other. It was a sweet and memorable gesture from him, considering it was my first dozen of roses. The proclamation stopped after the 1st dozen. I may have received another bouquet on a different occasion after our wedding, but never again anything on Valentine’s Day.

Most friends or acquaintances have wondered how slacking we two are with this sacred day. “What!? You don’t do anything at all?” “NO! You have to do something” I always become more intrigued by their frustration than worried about my own pathetic excuses. As an outcast of this tradition, still, I have no doubt in our devotion for each other. The sensible me calculates that roses last for at best 3 days, chocolates much shorter than that, and diamond, though forever, never the right choice for me. My lover needed no more confirmation to drop the dreadful task from his to-do list. In fact, I am quite sure he thanked his lucky star for his good fortune and praised God for having found this virtuous woman on the day he was excused from this yearly torture.

Coincidentally, this year the V day fell on a better alternative and passion for him: Daytona 500. Unlike the rest of his sex, most of whom dreaded this day of atonement, he eagerly looked forward to its coming and carefully planned out all details: DVR was set, as the race would start before returning from church; lunch afterwards, followed by a trip to the gym, and finally the well deserving grand finale and ultimate reward: a few hours of bonding with his sofa and remote. Amazingly, he even managed to picked up a box of chocolates in between activities, granted the day before I had done my part of grunting “where is my Valentine card?”. So, there we were on Valentine afternoon…. While I shoved my face in my Godiva, he too in his HDTV, we concluded the dreadful love test of the year with flying color. Still I couldn’t help wondering: did we feel move loved? The million dollar question is: does love need to be gifted in the form of chocolates or roses? I know what the answer should be, but my less-than-overwhelmed heart was not convinced then and there. To me, the much preferable choices may be our Saturday mornings with a cup of coffee, a blanket on my lap and an hour of idle talk, a phone call from him from one of their father-son, male-bonding trips telling me that they are almost home, or his calming words and sometimes kind forgiveness in my distressing moments of self-torture. They are far more precious not only in magnitude but also in the essence of being shapeless and timeless. And, I may have it any time or any day.

Could I have possibly just come up with an ingenious innovation of celebration for lovers or is it another ploy from a contrarian, anti-tradition rebel such as I? I don’t know about the rest of the world, but I know my soul-mate would gladly chime in “AMEN” and happily announce: Feb. 14, 2010: D-Day definitely!