The RANTS of a BUSTED BULB

Kung walang aray, hungkag ang buhay.

“Without a hurt, the heart is hollow.”

—

It’s Valentine’s again. I’m wearing red… again.

I don’t get, however, this feeling of emptiness… or maybe I do. It’s strange. Just a year ago, I was all chipper. Running around with the energy of cupid—or something to that effect. Was I high? Probably. Though it definitely wasn’t on love if that’s what you’re assuming.

Now… I just don’t know. Is it the stress? Or is it the thought that I’m alone once again. Wow, I managed to depress myself once more. Great job.

Twenty years, and I haven’t managed to make something concrete out of this so called loneliess. Bummer. Not that I need a relationship to sustain me, but it would be nice to hold somebody’s hand once in a while. Make you feel something you otherwise can’t make up on your own.

I’m definitely not on the bandwagon of anti-Valentine’s people. It’s kind of depressing, I’d say. Though I wouldn’t put it on the commercial pedestal of glorification. I’d like to think of it as that one day for you to notice that you’re loved. Because days go by that you’re overwhelmed with love, so much so that you take it for granted. So to me, the holiday is all about being extra sweet and somehow reminding that person you’re there for the next three hundred and sixty four days.

Problem is there is no other person. No worries though… I’m not rushing. While, yes, it is quite embarrassing to answer the frequent “Do you have a girlfriend? Why not? You should” combo pack, I’m taking my time. I want things to be perfect.

I don’t mind. I’ll wait till the next Valentine’s.