Valentine’s Day, as anticipated so by almost everyone, comes. It’s a special day where minds are infested with the sugarcoating of chocolates and illusions of romantic movie scenes people long to experience. A day so anticipated and hyped by everyone, except for some, including me.
I could vividly remember the only Valentine’s Day where I truly felt its essence and all the lovey-dovey things that’d make one scream in love. The cold afternoon breeze that Friday will forever comfort me in the loneliness of waiting for the next Valentine’s Day wherein I’ll truly feel again its essence.
Our school’s student government implemented a color scheme for those who want to express their status when it comes to romantic relationships; I found it boring, cringeworthy, and tasteless. I wasn’t planning to join in such a foolish game but I got guilt-tripped for still being killjoy at our last year in junior high school so there was nothing left for me to do than to join in the color scheme; I wore a rust-colored shirt.
I couldn’t feel the specialness of Valentine’s Day that makes everyone very much intoxicated about it, was I numb or was I bad at finding even the littlest of specialness in such a special day? It felt yet again like any other day when it was supposed to be special, it felt so ordinary that I had to rethink for a second and ask myself, “Is it really Valentine’s Day today?”
But what made that day at least a bit different from the other days was that it provided me a time to gaze at the skies and ponder about life.
It was nearly six in the evening, when our intensive training in campus journalism for the day was finished. It was a bit cold already, the breeze creeped through my uniform, the atmosphere was immaculate, so I took the chance to look at the sky; it was in a unique shade of blue and was covered majestically by clouds that seemed so mellow and soft when touched.
Then, I walked on through the empty hallway of the Gabaldon, it was at these moments when I thought, maybe life is a game.
A game set in a hellish landscape filled with a blanket of sky and stars that look so beautiful one would go insane and romance with life. A game with villains in the manifestation of deceitful people that look so ordinary that even your friends, your family, your classmates, or just people passing by may become the demons that will haunt your day, or even your whole life. A game so difficult, repetitive, and boring that it seems like every second that passes when you’re past the childhood stage will feel like you’re even barely living a life you so wished to have, and when you reach the end, you won’t probably even get that life you so wished to have because you change, your desires, behaviors, and attitudes change. A game so hopeless that it feels like a void with nothing to reach for help on because every character in the game is living for themselves, every character shares a common trait which is selfishness; ultimately, you realize you’re alone.
Writing this felt like writing a love letter to my life, I realized that I may not be able to romance someone in a day designated by society to be full of romance and love, but I was able to rethink and ponder about life. I guess in that day where I continued waiting for the cold afternoon breeze to let go of my body knowing that I would now walk hand in hand with someone special, I romanced with life. A life that, like what I wore that day, was full of rust serving as a constant reminder for me of how corroded it already is.
Let’s continue playing the game of life! 🦖
Thank you for stretching your attention span long enough to read until the very end! 🧡
REFERENCE/S:
Simberg, H. (1896). The Stream of Life; On the River of Life. [Painting]. Finnish National Gallery. https://www.kansallisgalleria.fi/fi/object/420221
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