|sent from: Esher, Surrey, UK. destination: Minsk, Belarus|
As a teen I dreaded Valentine’s Day. I never got a Valentine’s card, except for the pity ones from my sister and mother – with poorly disguised handwriting pretending to be from an anonymous admirer.
When I moved to the USA I was confused when a cute work colleague gave me a Valentine’s card. Confused because she had a partner, and yet here she was all smiles. Then she left my cubicle and walked to my neighbour and gave him a card, and so on down the line. This mass handing out of Valentine’s cards confused me – weren’t you supposed to hand out a card to that one special person you might have been harbouring a secret crush on, not give them out like candy? After a couple of years I came to see it as charming and inclusive, a celebration of good feelings amongst friends rather than the popularity contest it represented as a child.
My wife and I don’t explicitly acknowledge it – every day is Valentine’s Day. I know that sentiment is corny but it’s true, so there.