blueroom There is always something to share: My mind is overcharged with longings to disclose to you everything I feel about the world. Come inside, and sit down with sympathy. This book of letters is dedicated to a beatiful friend, whose endearing disposition radiates still with tenderness and warmth, even if only in rememberance. *** Come. Let us have a cup of coffee, then, shall we?

122愛的鼓勵 0訂閱站台

The end of century is nigh, and Valentine's falls on a Sunday. It is strange that the very last Valentine's Day of this millennium should fall on an English Sunday, which to me is always likely to be as the life in Liverpool, depicted by Morrisey, where“everyday is like Sunday; everyday is silent and grey…” Quietly desperate words uttered in a melodious singing voice give an indication of falling, not knowing where from or to, only down…
Definitely not my idea of a perfect Valentine's Day.

Fin de siecle anxiety pushes me to feel more than I would otherwise do for the festivity of every holiday, Christmas, New Year, Chinese New Year…, and of course, Valentine's. I never used to notice the cheesy air that hangs over the world in mid-February, but this year I almost anticipate my own disappointment and misery —way too early...

This year, for the first time in my remembered life, I actually want to celebrate Valentine's Day. Unfortunately with people who either could not or would not spend the day with me. An elusive love interest is only the last straw; I just knew I'd be unhappy when the day comes, even if it isn't all about romantic love, and it is also about other kinds of love. My best friend is dead; my second best friends are not in the same place. My family has not a clue what Valentine's Day is; they don't know English. I'm just ALL BY MYSELF in the City of London, amongst the other 8 million minus one people, of the 16 million population of Greater London, the thought of which renders me self-consciously insignificant to … anyone! Suddenly I hate this city and all of its charming beauty.

Sunday morning, I sat on the edge of my bed envisaging bitterly the pictures of lovers and couples, looking and smiling at each other sweetly. In fact I could almost see the droplets of sweetness dripping before my painfully envious eyes. However, a dull character such as mine has very little capacity for highly emotional disquiet. Very soon I found myself extremely bored with the company of an ill-humoured ME, and was craving for some pleasant activity on this gloomy Sunday, which somewhat shouts for attention to be treated as if very special. Perhaps it was meant to be very special indeed.

So I took my camera, an old manual made-in-East-Germany one, and set out for Hyde Park. I had decided to take some nice photos, so that years after I leave for home I can have something evocative of my young life in this great city to contemplate. Perhaps especially when I become a toothlessly aged person, ho- ho- ho .
Valentine's Day, Sunday it happens to be in the year of 1999, is perfect for such a task. In the park there must always be couples walking hand in hand, sitting on the bench, rowing a boat and enjoying their quintessential privacy, or lying on the grass and doing whatever it is that lovers often do when they're on their own. The sad truth that I couldn't make part of the whole picture needn't mean that I could not appreciate its loveliness. And I did intend to seek views. For I believe there is certainly something that touches the human soul or moves the human heart, in the way people express love to their loved ones. Photography serves well the purpose of capturing at one moment the beauty of eternity.

It certainly was not a cheerful day in terms of weather. I got wet from the drizzle, and it was chilly out there. But the scenery was good and although it may sound silly, physical proximity to beauty surprisingly made me feel like I was pretty, too. Rather to my delight jealousy did not spoil the fun at all, and I took pleasure in observing the joyful and loving expressions in the lovers' faces.

Wonderfully, not having a valentine seemed so insignificant after all. I felt fulfilled and content when I left the Park with my camera and a finished roll of film. It was a perfect day.


February 1999