The Vendetta Against Valentines Day

Valentines Day. Just saying the words brings up a look of slight revulsion in most people's countenance. Valentines day is about as appreciated as the musical talent of the Jonas Brothers or Megan Fox's Golum-ish thumbs. The Twittersphere is rather full of V-day bashing, and no doubt as I type this post there are couples being assaulted and set fire to in India, Hallmark card shops being stoned and loud angry men marching in the streets denouncing 'Western' influences on their great country and vowing to make India a land without any form of expressions of love; unless of course it's in the form of two people running around trees and bushes in various locations around the world. (For more details, click here to read a full detailed report about why Valentine's Day is evil). No doubt, our local riot and protest 'organisers' will catch on to this spectacular idea and try in the near future to emulate their Indian counterparts in an attempt to rid this great land of 'Western' influence, while driving Western cars, dressing in Western clothes and buying Western appliances.

But I digress.

Yes, it's Valentines day, but it seems rather ironic that there is so little love for this day which celebrates love, especially among people my age. Why all the hating? Girls especially seem to be offended by Valentine's Day, saying it is unnecessary and commercialised and pointless. Most of them are single though, but I'm sure that has nothing to do with it. Apparently due to media pressure they are made to feel alien if they do not have a date for Valentines Day, but really that's like accusing Chuck Norris for promoting exercise equipment that makes men feel inadequate about their bodies. And who on Earth would accuse Chuck Norris of anything?!

The men in general that I have observed do grumble a little bit about having to step up to the plate and make this one day special for their girlfriends, lovers or whatevers, but otherwise are not too affected by it. By now we've gotten somewhat used to every other day of the year being meant for something or the other. Pick a random date and you'll probably find it's World Panda Day or International Day of Remembrance for Bambi's Mother (everyone makes Bambi eyes at each other and scampers away at the sound of loud noises).

As for me, well, I've had some disastrous Valentine's Days in my life. I was telling one particular high school incident to someone last night and she literally covered her face in horror. (Yes, it was that bad. Not her face, my story. Err.) And yet, I'm really not that affected by this. In fact, I find myself rather happy for the people out there who are willing to take the time to make one day especially great for the people they love. Sure there are the odd couples here and there that make you want to yell "GET A ROOM! AND A LIFE!! AND SOME PRACTICE COS WHAT THE @$%! ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO HER?!" - but all in all I don't mind seeing the sea of red in shops, malls and restaurants, nor do I hate on the people that actually enjoy this opportunity to openly express themselves in ways that might have been considered corny or over the top any other day of the year.


So to all the haters - just calm the heck down. Don't make me come over there and force you into diapers at arrow-point.


Happy Valentine's Day!

Life And Basketball

(Sort of continued from here)

I vividly remember the nights playing basketball in college. The sweat, the lights, and the heat emanating from my body mixed with the cool night breeze that blew across the floor of our outdoor court. Most of the time we played in the evenings from 530pm till about 8pm, but I often found myself on the court either before or after this period, usually due to some personal issue that was weighing on my mind.

You see to me, being on the court was always therapeutic. When I was angry, alone, frustrated or depressed, stepping on the court never failed to fix my mood. Those of you that know me or have been reading this blog should know by now that I have a passion for basketball that borders on obsession. Perhaps that was why some of my best and worst memories from college all involved the court in some way; the highs being reflected in soaring through defenders for a basket, the lows in the taste of blood after hitting the merciless concrete floor. But it wasn’t just the triumphs and failures of my sports life that were affiliated with the court; even my personal struggles were somehow intertwined with it. Often I have paused at the court when walking back towards my hostel after a lonely day and smiled as I watched some kids playing under lights, just chucking the ball around and falling over each other in laughter. Other times I’ve waited there for a special someone to meet me for a nice late dinner, nervously checking to see if I was presentable or not.

To me, basketball and life are very similar. I was never very good at the game, despite my passionate love for it. I have thrown up many ‘Hail Marys’ from beyond the three-point line, missed tonnes of assignments on defence due to lack of concentration, made terrible decisions in transition and watched several of my not-so-clever passes being intercepted by the opposing defence. Yet such is the game that there is always a way to redeem yourself somehow. I’ve played in tournaments filled with personal failure that still ended with a performance that saved the team, mainly because the opposing team didn’t think I could play due to my lack of scoring, and so, much to my great pleasure, left me relatively unguarded through the finals while I hit mid-range jumper after mid-range jumper. ‘Player of the game’? Why thank you very much.

Life is not too different either, for despite my love of life and everything that it symbolises, I have proven to be rather bad at living it. I’ve made so many wrong decisions, foolish choices and missed opportunities due to my lack of focus and direction. It seems that my 25 years on this earth has done nothing to remedy that.

Yes, life is a lot like basketball, but it isn’t; the difference being that this life isn’t a game. Second chances are hard to come by, and the odd ones that do come our way are very few and far between. Plus, how many times have we buckled at an opportunity to make things right simply because we couldn’t face what was wrong in the first place?

So here I am, looking back at things that I wish I could change, things I wish I could do over and make up for, and I realise that as much as I want that, perhaps I would have more luck lacing up my sneakers and looking for my jersey.