Valentines Day Eve

I love when I have an action-packed day filled with appointments and obligations. This morning, I had to be at the DMV—bright and early (and prepared). Sitting in those grey plastic chairs under harsh luminescent lighting, listening to the persistent voice calling out numbers, it all felt like a strange liminal space, where time moves differently. Everyone was either half-asleep or anxiously clutching a stack of papers, waiting for their turn like some kind of judgment day. And yet, there’s something oddly comforting about the shared experience of it—everyone equally at the mercy of the system, just trying to get through it.

After that, I ran to Trader Joe’s for some light groceries: chicken sausage, brown sugar creamer, cinnamon raisin bread, eggs, and a prepackaged salad. I have the next two days off, so this should keep me fueled up.

Later, I picked up my favorite boots from the cobbler after a tragic mishap, and thankfully, he was able to bring them back to life. I wore them straight to my cupping and deep tissue massage—my back has been aching terribly, probably because I always feel like I’m carrying the weight of the world. (Or, as my boyfriend insists, because I wear the wrong shoes. Ballet flats… sorry.)

Tonight, he and I are going to one of our favorite Indian restaurants to celebrate Valentine’s Day, and I couldn’t be more excited. It’s BYOB, and he promised a delicious bottle of prosecco. Heart shaped things all over the place—it’s a little excessive, but I can’t help but find it endearing. Love day should be every day, but there’s something special about watching people scramble for last-minute bouquets, as if flowers can say what they didn’t get the chance to. And then there are the ones left behind, the wilted roses tossed in the garbage. I always wonder about those—who left them, and why? Did someone change their mind? Did a plan fall through? Love is funny like that. Full of grand gestures and quiet abandonments, all wrapped up in pink and red.