| Power outage! Suddenly, my computer crackles and | | | | to give them to and decide against it...I walk further...into |
| the screen blacks out. That means I can neither write | | | | the main shopping area and notice more flower-sellers |
| nor browse the internet nor check to see if I have any | | | | as they push their wares into the faces of |
| interesting emails or Valentine's Day wishes. I pull on | | | | couples...they don't bother me...single men with beards |
| my thick winter jacket and step out of my apartment. | | | | have no need for flowers on Valentine's Day, they |
| Might as well go see the sights of Huainan on this | | | | probably reason. I ignore them as they did me. Tat for |
| special lovers' day, I tell myself as I step out the door | | | | tit!Crowds swell in the prelunch hour as I stroll singing |
| of my sanctuary.The stairwell windows are frosted. I | | | | my song that no one seems to hear or understand if |
| wonder if that means it's warmer outside than inside. | | | | they do. I hope some pretty girl will smile at me and |
| As I step out the glass doors of the building that | | | | push her arm into mine. No one does...my song lies |
| houses us guests I sense the balmy warmth that | | | | wasted like some flowers will tomorrow...thrown onto |
| spring welcomes all life with. Yes, spring is in the air! I | | | | the pavement following a quarrel or whatever. At least |
| recall hearing the birds, the few that have not ended | | | | my song lies wasted without a quarrel, I console |
| up on dinner plates and soup bowls, chirping excitedly | | | | myself.Valentine's day seems to be big all over China. |
| to their mates. Perhaps, something tells them, too, it's | | | | They already had their own and now have an extra |
| Valentine's Day! I smile to myself, thinking how many | | | | one, an import. Well, I suppose, appetites are growing |
| eggs will lie waiting in little nests atop branches a few | | | | and celebrations need to keep pace with them. I walk |
| weeks from now. 'Love is in the air, love is in the | | | | on...until I find myself at the glass doors of the building |
| streets, love is on the trees...' I compose a song and | | | | that houses me and my kind...I climb up the four flights |
| hum to myself. A few hundred metres away, I unzip | | | | and enter my apartment. Power is back and, thankfully, |
| my jacket - it feels hot inside those padded | | | | it got there before I did, I think to myself. I switch on the |
| jackets.Every few metres there's someone selling | | | | computer and wait as it hums and crackles back to |
| roses and assorted flowers. I pass by a florist's and | | | | life.I log onto a chatsite and wish everyone a Happy |
| notice they have extended their shop onto the | | | | Valentine's Day. No one responds, except one, with a |
| pavement for the day and will probably overcharge | | | | 'where are you from?''My mother's pu--y', I want to |
| every customer, too. Some flowers have the ends of | | | | answer out of sheer pique, but desist. It's Lover's Day! |
| their petals dipped in silver and gold, adding sheen to | | | | Perhaps, on a Lover's Day such as this, I was planted. |
| the already beautiful...like a sexy siren that paints her | | | | 'Love is in the air, love is in the streets, love is on the |
| lips, darkens her eyelashes and adds some glitter to | | | | trees...' I hum to myself, 'love is everywhere...but where |
| her cheeks and temples...They - the flowers look | | | | on earth am I...'Rajesh Kanoi (Jack) is a published writer, |
| beautiful...and I touch one to see if it's real or fake. | | | | now living and working in China. Many of his |
| There's so much fake stuff around these days. It's real! | | | | short-stories, poems and articles have been published, |
| I want to buy a few...but feel silly buying flowers and | | | | including a book of short-stories, 'Tales From China' |
| strolling aimlessly around, a bunch in hand with no one | | | | (Lipstick Publishing). |