THERE was emotional tremor of high intensity yesterday as millions celebrated Valentine’s Day. This is a day set aside every February 14 to remind scientists and astronomers that it isn’t the moon, the sun, or gravity that makes the world go around but love.
My “moles” reported that yesterday there was traffic congestion not just in the busy streets but also in the lobby of hotels, motels, pension houses, and in cottages by the sea. The day could just be an opportunity for lovers… married, unmarried, to be married, and no chance of getting married to demonstrate “lovapalooza” and “piercing love” to each other.
Millions “rocked the boat” as they defined love as a violent biological and emotional disturbance in which a person who is minding his own business suddenly goes gaga over another person the moment he or she comes into view. That would depend on how one views love… courtly, erotic, ludus, mania, or unrequited. (Don’t blame yourself if you don’t have at least one.)
That simply reminded me of a “friend” who dated a “friend” yesterday and both of them ended in the wrong restaurant. Love can sometimes be like that, “lackadaisical.” One “kumare” admitted that she got “goose bumps” while in bed. In love, that is “paresthesia,” a tingling sensation of the skin that feels as if one is being brushed by a peacock feather. That could be normal between husband and wife but… “kumpare” died last year.
And there was this employee who dated a “sassy tuna” in a movie house. That was not the end of story. They decided to refill their sinking feeling in a nearby restaurant. After eating, this employee found out that his wallet is no longer in his pocket. I don’t want to tell you what happens next.
Love is the color of Valentine’s Day. My former student is now the “second mate” (according to him) in an international luxury vessel. He introduced to me his girl (young and innocent-looking), “Sir, meet my future wife.” I gave her a confused smile. That “second mate” introduced me to five other “future wives” last year.
I am reminded of what Dorothy Parker (my favorite satirist) said, “Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, a medley of extemporanea; and love is a thing that can never go wrong…” Love has its beginning but parting can always happen just like what Romeo told his Juliet, “Parting is such a sweet sorrow, that I shall say goodnight till it be tomorrow.”
And there was this one guy (a husband) who was caught by his wife “in flagrante delicto” (in Latin, while the crime is blazing) inside the bathroom… as in caught with his pants down, playing “Adam and Eve” with the laundry woman. The wife was so cool in telling the husband, “Honey, you’ve got some ’esplainen’ to do. Wuz up?”
At the Ruins, my attention was caught by a pair of senior, senior citizens holding hands while listening attentively to a balladeer singing the theme of the “Twilight Zone.” They are very old but still they engage in tantric sex. That could be an ancient Indian love practice in which couples honor their bodies for what they are and not for what they aren’t and whose simple but intense sexual practice can rejuvenate erotic fires.
In love, age doesn’t matter.
This Jurassic playboy in the neighborhood commented, “In my sunset life, the trouble with life is that there are so many beautiful women and so little time.” This could be interpreted that it’s hard for an old rake to turn over a new leaf. “If you aren’t going all the way, why go at all?”
Well, one can always become a spectator of his own performance.
Valentine’s Day made the world whirl with love, sex, romance, quarrel, reconciliation, confusion, and expenses. Different persons of different races, religions, ideologies, and convictions come to understand “love” in the context of Valentine’s Day in their own way. Love involves a peculiar unfathomable combination of understanding and misunderstanding.
Sex alleviates tension. Love causes it. One fool may say that love is just a system for getting someone to call you “darling” after sex. To love without role, without power plays, is revolution. Love ceases to be a pleasure when it ceases to be a secret. Many don’t believe in rheumatism and true love until the first attack.
After Valentine’s Day, I can always proudly say that the richest love is that which submits to the arbitration of time. All mankind love a lover. You can wish you were in love, but you have to wait until the object of your affection knocks on your door… better still, leave the door open. Eros is just around to haunt you with love.