Valentines

A few days back, I was telling everyone how I would spend Valentines with my mum. Well, I had a sudden change of heart. Since I am only going to be here for another 10 days, I thought what the heck, let’s just throw caution to the wind. Whatever happens will be strictly no strings attached. Obviously.

So I began sms-ing “victims”. At this point of time, I intercede by saying that sms is NOT a good way to ask someone out. It is devoid of sincerity, at the same time, indicative of a ball-less man. In my case, I couldn’t be bothered. I cast my net far and wide though limited only to girls not in my social group. Things can get messy if you are both well connected. Needless to say, most of them were either already taken or couldn’t give a piss about me. I take this as a compliment. Like “See? I’m not the only one who wants them”. *Sardonic laugh*

Anyway, tomorrow night, I shall date this ACJC J2 girl. I know virtually zilch about her except that she’s hot stuff and she does econs. I think she is even more ignorant/misguided about me, since my friendster profile etc. is all either bogus or outdated. She is in fact, some 3rd degree friend whose phone number I was sabotaged into obtaining a few weeks back.

I’m prone to character and taste swings, having seemingly given up on my Japanese girl craze. Come to think of it, it all started with Miko. No offense Mik, I love you but honestly, I should never have delved into younger women. I no longer have the mentality of an 18 year old. I don’t know what’s cool and funky. I only know middle age women who bitch and even though I hate that, I’m used to it. I’m used to the scandalous and outrageous. If you know what I mean. I’m used to chivalry and all things gentlemanly, as opposed to the rash, crude, brute force of youth.

I pity Ms ACJC. In fact, I have half a mind to cancel everything. However, it will be very impolite and despicable of me. I don’t know whether she’s looking forward to tomorrow or not. To be frank, I couldn’t care less. I’ve had no time to prepare (my fault) anything for her, nor do I know what she likes blah blah blah. But nonetheless, tomorrow I promise to be on fire, to go for the kill. What I lack financially, I will more than make up with creativity and good humour. I see little point in getting roses, bears and lumps of crap that would normally cost a fraction of Valentines’ special prices. Still, she will have a good time. And I mean that. Worse come to worse, 240 hours left in this god-forsaken country – even if I muck it up, does it really matter?

While doodling around work today, I wrote a poem for my fair lady – the one at the window with the long and curly hair.

Les vignes tombent sur la table.
Les feuilles tournent vers la fenêtre,
vers le soleil.
Mes yeux les imitent.
Je sens la lumière du soleil
sur ma figure, sur mes lèvres.
Mes yeux se ferment,
et je sais que tu m'aimes.

J'ouvre les bras, je danse.
Je fleuris dans cette lumière.
Comme les vignes, les feuilles,
qui se parent de vert pour le soleil,
je ne sais pas que tu me vois.
Néanmoins, je danse pour toi.

In case you don’t understand French, here’s what it means in English:

The vines fall across the table.
The leaves turn toward the window,
toward the sun,
as do my eyes.
I feel the sunlight on my face, on my lips.
I close my eyes, and know that you love me.

I open my arms, I dance.
I bloom in that light.
Like the vines, the leaves,
who adorn themselves in green for the sun,
I do not know that you see me.
Nevertheless, I dance for you.

Personally, I reckon French is a rather effeminate language. I can’t think of a more masculine translation. Assuredly, I’m perfectly straight.

Salutations, Moi