t was a sunny afternoon when a small wooden stool was left on my porch. No note. None needed. The same stool we saw as we strolled for coffee last evening. The exact one with all its rough scratches. The one that I adored, and firmly responded by the owner ‘not for sale’, no matter how relentless I induced.
It was a February. It’s now February.
And yes. Its’ roses all around. And pink everywhere you go. It’s funny how couple’s expression looks warmer this time around. I think it’s almost useless to be all skeptical about it. At least in my case. I’d rather go with the fever, as a romantic sucker that I am… or - in a more manipulative dignified term those academics would say ‘cultural strategic’.
It is without doubt extremely difficult to hide from all decorated heart shape filling shops, the vast ‘loving’ discounts, stupendous romantic events on billboards and leaflets, even reading the news on our mobile phones would have frames filled with candlelight dinner offers, and… my god… all that selected songs they are playing on the radio. There’s no escaping it. Even if you stayed at home, HBO would drag you to crouch under the blanket by the corner of the couch with a box of tissue before you. Time has come to ride the Cinderella vibe. It is after all a February.
With all that - a box of far gone comes barging in.
The rush unfolded us.
Pumped pink - when we silently climbed our window room dashing to the beach. Leaving the silence under the moon to skin-dip. Pumped pink – ignorance to the glaring eyes giving that huge bouquet after every show. Screaming how much I love you at strangers passing by. Pumped Pink – dropped off to say goodnight and ended up saying good-morning. Flouting the last boarding call for one last kiss. Pumped pink – literally running the miles to knock on your door at the first waken moment, for your smile is the break dawn. The cuddles, our breakfast. Pumped pink – even after over a hundred dates, still standing by the mirror pondering; what to wear. What to dress. How do I do my hair.
It’s February. And silliness are socially pardoned.
Pumped pink will always leave you smiling. It’ll be the only things without consent folded neatly in your treasure chest. The silliness are always forgiven, even socially pardoned. Because in some way or another, deeply we understand it takes courage
Pumped pink is that little gush of irrationality. Spontaneity. Inanity. Incongruity. And most probably, stupidity. But undoubtedly, it is these little bumps that makes us human. Coz we all need to be a little bit off the ordinary, a bit of absurdity, a bit of something we call – magic. To engrave some kind of idiocy in appreciating the mindlessness are precisely the saneness.
In any given natural day, I would be apt to be skeptical to the rhizome of desire. But hey, we all need a break - even for a day. Coz even if it’s just 24 hours; every woman deserves to be a girl, whilst every boy deserves to be a man.
Wishing you a pumped pink February.
on this blog
Just ordinary day to day notes.. But as we know.. there is nothing normal in this world.