The Two Faces Of Valentine's Day

       When I reached the LRT station last Tuesday, February 14 at around 1 PM, I saw a couple ( a man and a woman who were probably both in their 30s), talking at the top of the stairs. The woman was carrying a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates. Nothing unusual with that, until I was just a few feet away from them when the man suddenly grabbed the woman and kissed her torridly on the lips. The woman placed her arms around the man’s nape and returned his kissed with the same intensity. You could hear the slurping and smooching sounds they were making. Eww, yes. Lol. They were still kissing and talking and kissing again (the whole shebang lasted fifteen minutes) when I went to the ticket booth and I was so amused by what I was seeing that I answered “Sogo” when the teller asked for my destination. I mean, the kissing couple should have gone to a motel and not to an LRT Station.

       But then, love probably just conquered them that day. And that’s what you should do with love, be an exhibitionist, er, exhibit it, show the world how much you’re in love.

       I reached the office at around 2 PM (I was fifteen minutes late) and went out at around 6 PM. A beaming woman in red who seemed in love went out ahead of me, probably rushing to her dashing date.

       And when I climbed aboard a passenger jeepney on my way home, I saw the opposite of what I witnessed at the LRT station. Sitting in front of me was a man in his mid-twenties, looking melancholy while holding something covered by a not-so opaque plastic bag, you could see the efforts he made on trying to cover what he was carrying but he failed—it was a bouquet of red roses.

       What happened? Were the roses rejected and returned to him? Most likely. If the roses were yet to be delivered, then he was ruining its beauty with the unsightly plastic bag he used in covering it. Common sense would dictate that it had been returned, that’s why he was trying his best to hide it, that’s why he looked embarrassed and on the verge of tears, why he looked defeated and mauled by love.

       I found myself imagining the conversation that occurred to him and and his lady beloved:

                Him: Hi, Happy Valentine’s! Roses for you!

                Her: I’m sorry, I can’t accept that. I already have a boyfriend.

                Him: Boyfriend? Who? You’re still single yesterday.

                Her: Jack. I said yes to him last night.

                Him: (gasps) B-but he’s already married!

                Her: He’s annulled.

                Him: A-annulled? When?

                Her: Yesterday.

                Him: He’s a playboy.

                Her: He’s not.

                Him: He’s been married four times! For Cripes' sake!

                Her: All annulled.

                Him: He’s going out with a stripper.

                Her: They broke up last night.

                Him: He has an STD.

                Her: He’s cured.

                Him: Cured? When?

                Her: Last night. He showed me his medical certificate.

                Him: (voice trembling) B-But why him? Why not me? I’m a certified bachelor, never been married, never been afflicted with a disgusting disease… never been inside a sleazy bar… Choose me, I’m begging you…

                Her: You want an honest answer?

                Him: Yes, please, sock it to me!

                Her: He’s rich. In fact, we’ll be touring around the world next month. I will finally see the Chocolate Hills.

                Him: (stunned) C-Chocolate Hills? But the Chocolate Hills is here in the Philippines! I can take you there tomorrow.

                Her: (smugly) Well, the Philippines is part of our world tour, FYI.

                Him:  (silent for a whole minute) I-I wish you the best…. (shouts) and I wish that he gives you AIDS soon, you dumb gold digging wh--e!

        Then, he walked away, stopped in front of a bakery, bought a few pandesal, then, threw the pandesal away and used the plastic bag to cover the roses he still was carrying. No, he wouldn't throw the roses away. He'd keep it as souvenir, as a remembrance that a woman like her existed. He waved a passenger jeepney down, climbed aboard it and sulked.

       And after a few minutes, it was my turn to wave that jeepney down and boarded it.

       He alighted ahead of me, still carrying the covered roses and the mystery behind it, and then I remembered the kissing couple at the LRT Station. And I found myself thinking about them. Well, she probably got pregnant today, I thought fondly.