Valentine Schmalentine

A child on my schoolbus wishing another "HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!" notified me that it was once again that time of year. The time that the card, gift and chocolate companies spend the rest of the year preparing for. The time when half the girls in school wander around with flowers in their hands and the boys engage in desperate last minute internal sales between each other (the ones who have forgotten purchase from others at high prices, I kid you not). The time that is calculated to make every single person shrivel into a crisp.

Despite what it may seem, I am not a cynic. In fact, I am one of those hopeless romantics who waits for a smart, thoughtful, handsome (and popular, I hate to admit, but I am in high school) guy to come declaring declarations of eternal love to me. Nothing would make me happier than to live a romantic comedy. My favorite genre is chick-lit. In a way this makes it harder. If I was cynical I could be happy in my cynicism and never even long for more. But I do. However, I exaggerate. I do not go through the school with a ghost smile on my face while meanwhile "pain is in me like a rock from my neck". Through the day I forgot on many occasions that it was that day (that is, until the next bouquet dangling from someone's hand hit me in the face). I just felt a pang I saw happily kissing couples.

There does not seem any likelihood I will one half of these. Firstly I do not know any guys. Despite attending a co-ed school and being in the tenth grade, I spend my lunchtimes with a group of girls and my only contact with the male species in school is the occasional few words exchanged with the friend of a friend. And even these send me thinking about them all day and analyzing them. The most wanted boy in the grade sits a seat away from me in English because the teacher wants him to concentrate. And I try and snatch every few seconds of conversation I can with him. The glory of this is slightly dimmed by the fact that the Mean Girls (the almost populars) of the grade are staring at me across the room.

I'm sorry, I got off the point there. My message for this Valentine's day is, don't get fooled by the card companies. Take the time out to celebrate the luurve with your partner. Do all the little things you don't end up doing the rest of the year. And the singles, take the night off with your friends!

My First Post

Those words always have a certain special ring, don't they? Unless, of course, it's My First Divorce, My First Breakup or My First Barbie. The first time we do something always fills us with a kind of special joy, something we believe we will continue faithfully. Unfortunately "Of course I'll take care of the dog, Mum!" soon degenerates into "It's not my job!".

However, at the start of my blogging life I am quite sure I will continue. The reason I am starting a blog is my needing an outlet for my writings, and as I am pretty sure not too many people will choose this among the thousands of blogs there are, I am secure.

However, I still will keep my identity secret and those of you who are reading this can only call me Anya. It's a name I've always wanted. I am 15 and a student. I am an aspiring writer and this blog is practice.

I'm hoping this experience is cathartic!