In love with myself

A day of martyrdom. A day of commemoration. A day for celebrating the love between two lovers, star-crossed or not. 14th of February. We are not unfamiliar with the history of Valentine’s Day.  Yet on Valentine’s Day, neither do we rustle the pages of our memory to acknowledge the selfless sacrifice made by Father Valentine, who secretly married soldiers to their ladylove against the wishes or  the laws of Claudius who emphasized on his soldiers remaining single so that he was not burdened by disciplinary issues nor do we linger on or cherish the simple yet profound emotion without commercializing this universal phenomenon.

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When I say ‘Experience is the best teacher’ none can deny it. Call it narcissism or height of feminism, I am so deeply in love with myself that I have no time for male chauvinists or self-centered pathetic excuse called the opposite sex. No offence my male counterparts but you are guilty of being emotionally unavailable when the damsel is in distress or yearns to bare her heart. I think I may not be overstepping the boundaries if I played ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham to prove my point that there is no such thing as everlasting love except a golden period which is good as long as it lasts. And being the philosopher that I am, I have observed that it is easy to fall in love but it is difficult to stay in love.

 

A huge commercial success, Valentine’s Day has caused a drain on many a mordecai’s purses as the advertising world advocates an outwardly show of romance than the intense passion of Heathcliff that withstood the test of time as portrayed in ‘Wuthering Heights.’ Yet Hope, which is a worse flatterer than death, witnesses the young and the old fall in love and withdraw themselves into their own romantic world where even the sun is chided for intrusion as in John Donne’s ‘The Sun Rising’ 

BUSY old fool, unruly Sun, 
      Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us? 
Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run? . . .

Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, 
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

. . . Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we, 
      In that the world’s contracted thus; 
   Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be 
   To warm the world, that’s done in warming us. 
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere; 
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.

To all those lovers whose love has strengthened with the passage of time, though cynical , I seize this opportunity to wish a Happy Valentine’s Day !

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