Valentine’s Day never meant much to me before. Even last year, my first February 14 with a steady boyfriend, all we did was eat some chicken at Kenny Rogers and read in bed. Very low-key. That was all I wanted.
This year is very different. I’m longing for Valentine’s Day to hurry up and hit me on the head with all its lovey-doveyness and silliness and joy and commercialism. I want to treat myself, indulge in a fancy meal, go on a shopping spree, embrace my friends, appreciate my family, snuggle up to my fiancé and remind him I love him.
But for me, this Valentine’s isn’t about romance. Instead, it’s a calendar event that’s early enough in the year to mark a new beginning, a much-needed third start to 2012.
Because the first two really sucked.
For the Gregorian New Year, I was too busy panicking over a life-altering event to pay much attention to the new year.
For Chinese New Year, I was too busy grieving over a lost dream to pay much attention to the new year.
Writing is my therapy, and if I decide I’m brave enough to bare my soul, I may post a short series on what happened as a way to resolve some conflicted feelings and pay tribute to a brief hope.
But before that, I intend on having a splendid third new year, and I hope you do to. Happy Val’s.
Christine
