Dear Valentine,

A quote from Hitch describes exactly how I feel about you: “So how does it happen, great love? Nobody knows. But what I can tell you is that it happens in the blink of an eye. One moment you’re enjoying your life, and the next you’re wondering how you ever lived without them.”

In our case, it happened when we said yes to life one year ago. When I put my feet on your back, it was a portent of things to come. For the year to follow, you’d always have my back–literally and figuratively.

I never really got to tell you, but when I was a mess for quite some time, you, among all my friends, were the one who really put me back together. To borrow words from John Lloyd, you “had me at my best” and “loved me at my worst.” You answered all my phone calls when I was having swells of sadness, cuddled in bed and watched movies with me during cold lonely nights, and ALWAYS knew the right thing to say, from “He’s just a guy, Anns, and you’re one hell of a girl,” to “SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTTTTS EVERYBOODDYYYY!!!!” Ah, the perfect words of healing. During Valentine’s Day, you stayed awake with me when everyone else fell asleep asleep, made me laugh, and blew my nose I no longer could. Thus our name for each other: my funny valentine. The lyrics are perfect: “My funny valentine/sweet comic valentine/you make me smile with my heart.”

You always tell me that you’re proud of me. Just so you know, kung pwede lang kitang dalhin sa Vietnam at sa Japan, I would. With the way you have supported me the past year, you deserve my “achievements” just as much. Have I ever told you just how proud I am of you? This week you made peace with two people you didn’t have to: Mr. Douchebag and a Half and Ms. She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Maybe we could blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol but it’s still a big leap of maturity on your part. From the girl who would twirl her hair when the rest of us would get hyped up about current events, you’ve transformed into a nation building woman of strength who went on a Wow Philippines tour and made not one but FIVE trips to Comelec just to register for the 2010 elections. You scream “PUTANG INA!” at the top of your lungs when you realize you’ve forgotten to bring chopsticks at Omakase, causing the whole restaurant to stop and stare. And how I wish I could be as well read as you. Your bookshelves are filled with fashion magazines, Jane Austen’s novels, and The Art of Seduction. Although I don’t know why you’re reading that last one because frankly, you could’ve written that damn book yourself. Like the song goes, “Is your figure less than greek?” Ikaw na ang type ng mga may girlfriend. Pero alam mo naman, ang mga nakatali, mas madaling hulihin. Pak. Sa haba ng hair mo, you are and will always be the belle of the ball that we call LIFE. Kahit pulutin ka pa sa kangkungan.

The song “My Funny Valentine” says “[Y]ou’re my favorite work of art.” I’d like to think that you’re my favorite work of heart. True story. You’re super masipag in looking for a job right now, which you have likened to finding a relationship, but don’t give up your passion for fashion okay? I always tell my people about “my best friend who wants to be a stylist.” Dressing people up is a valid passion, because when you make people look good, you also possess the power to make them feel good. Whoever said inner beauty matters most must’ve been hella ugly. And like you always tell me, “When you follow your passion, it’s not you reaching for the stars. It’s the stars reaching for you.” You’ve been lighting up the whole sky without even trying, V. The stars have their arms stretched. Judging from our pseudo photo shoot, you also have potential to be a photographer. Your humor and wit also make you a good writer. Don’t let go of those potentials.

Having said that, I’ve come up with a design for our future apartment, where we will grow old and poor together. To accommodate both of our passions, I kept our favorite fictional character in mind: Carrie Bradshaw.

Your side and my side. Do you like it? Don’t worry, a king-sized bed will be in the middle for our late-night early-morning cuddle sessions with red wine and spinach artichoke dip that your mom will have to deliver because we don’t cook and we can’t afford to buy food. You + red wine + your mom’s cooking + my books are all I need anyway. I’ll take care of the tissue (for when we have allergy attacks) and coffee (because we’re caffeine addicts). When asked how I saw myself in six years, I said, “Moving out of my tiny apartment with Ria and into a mansion… With Ria.”

This is kinda a lame response to that beautiful feature article that you wrote. As trite as this sounds, I couldn’t put into words just how much you mean to me. I don’t know how I survived twenty-one years without you. The good thing is I no longer have to wonder because, well, I’ll never have to. There are still 77 positions to try, 100 dreams to chase, and a lifetime of memories to make.

“Stay, little valentine, stay/Each day is Valentine’s Day.”

Love,
Valentine