Valentine’s Day—it comes every year, whether you like it or not. It’s the day when your love life (or the lack of it) is put on display; when there’s always a chance for romance. Or disaster. It can be confusing. And it can be lonely.
I’m writing this note in an outdoor cafe in a side street in my hometown, sipping espresso as thick as the devil’s sweat. I just came from the airport, and when I arrived home, I played a few records my grandfather had left me. Then I immediately went out for brunch.
Coming home for Valentine’s is not like coming for Christmas. I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. Sitting here, asking myself “Why am I in this city?” is all I can think in my mind. Everything around me starts to look unreal. Of course, if I trace the tracks of how I got here I can come up with an explanation. But on a different level, I do not understand.
The me sitting here and the image of me I have are not in sync. That sort of feeling. Can you understand what I’m getting at?
There’s one thing I can say for sure though: today is a bad day to go home.