Twenty years later, I’m still waiting for the magic to happen.
I still have the roses I bought that Valentine’s Day in 1990 for the Special Someone who’s now married with three kids to somebody else and looks like a hippo conjoined with a balloon.
Boy, am I glad I didn’t sign on the dotted line that time and man, those beautiful flowers then really stink now.
The first time I went on a Valentine’s Day date, the movie I brought her to see was 'Dances With Wolves'.
Up until the Red Indians started shooting arrows at white people and cutting their scalps off, I thought it was a dance movie.
Back in those days, you see, we were innocent people in innocent times. We were so naïve we actually believed in love.
Now, of course, most of us, except convicted serial killers, still do, but it’s not like the kind of love between a young man and a dying babe in the 1970 weepie, 'Love Story', where somebody reveals: “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”
That kind of statement implies a certain sense of acceptance, a certain sense of loyalty, a certain sense of being together forever no matter what.
Like King Kong and his hot blonde chick before the ape jumped off the Empire State Building. Times have changed.
Today, love on Valentine’s Day can go as deep as Bill Gates’ pocket, but it can also get as deep as a Paris Hilton thought about nuclear disarmament.
You can say anything you want and mean any damn thing right there and then, while looking into the sweet, lovely eyes of the Special Someone.
And take it all back in a SMS right after it.
Don’t know how to do that? Here are two sure-win-win lines: “Thanks babe, cya” and “U owe me $7.90 for the green tea and fried Hokkien mee”.
Look, I guess you know by now that I’m a bitter old coot with VD who’s pi**ed off that other people are having fun.
I am old, I am bitter, and yes, I have a problem with VD.
VD is not a venereal disease.
I don’t have it because I haven’t gone venereal or corporeal with anybody since Valentine’s Day, circa 20 years ago.
Lovebirds call Valentine’s Day – V Day, Very Lovely Day, Very Special Day, Very Day I Lost My Virginity, etc.
Hatebirds like me call it VD.
And in case you think I’m just being mean because I’m such a loser, yes, I’m that too but I’m not the only one.
In the movie 'Valentine’s Day', which shows beautiful R & F (rich and fabulous) people Anne Hathaway, Jessica Biel, Jennifer Garner, Taylor Swift, Jessica Alba, Ashton Kutcher, Patrick Dempsey, Bradley Cooper, blah blah blah having a ridiculously tough time with love, Jamie Foxx plays a cynic who totally doesn’t believe in VD.
“It’s not even a holiday,” he complains when people go gaga over it.
I totally agree with that fella, although I know it’s just a movie for Jamie, he gets paid a lot of money and he can nail anybody and anything he wants to anytime in real life, including a naked picture of himself on his bedroom wall tomorrow.
In my real life, though, nothing happens. Ever.
To underscore my point, there’s also another movie called 'I Hate Valentine’s Day', a kind of counterstrike flick about a woman who avoids relationships by never going on more than five dates with the same man.
Man, to me that’s so fifth-base advanced that it’s like fatherhood, divorce, alimony and death from old age thrown in.
Now my therapist, who messes with my mind with the hope of making it better, tells me that I’m a chronic self-fulfiller.
In other words, my pessimism breeds more pessimism, like a player for bankrupt Portsmouth knowing he won’t be paid until Christmas.
VD, my shrink who’s happily married with a China mistress for Friday – and another one for Saturday – tells me, is the best day to feel a little loved.
You can’t really feel this way on National Day, National Courtesy Day or National Return Your NTUC Trolley Day.
The best thing for a neglected, needy and nutty person like me is to realise that if thousands and thousands and thousands of people can enjoy a day of love, then something’s truly wrong with me and I should stop driving on the wrong side of the road.
Stop, my psychiatrist says, trying too hard and breathing too strong.
Stop being jealous about everybody finding love, happiness, roses and the joint bank account that doesn’t bounce.
Stop pretending to be 20, hot and smokin’ on Facebook and take down that photo of Megan Fox.
Stop calling my bolster Jolin Tsai.
Be yourself, be happy, be optimistic, and love will find its way, he assures me. Be positive.
Know what? I am. I’m really positive now, I feel so much better, and I’m up for anything, ready to take a chance again.
I’m a changed man, I love VD, I’m looking forward to it, and I’ve got the venereal disease pamphlet right next to me.
Happy Valentine’s Day. You’re going to have a wonderful time.