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It’s strange. It’s so easy to be happy for someone else. Deep down, my senses grant well-wishes to every happy couple that roams the earth on this blessed day with the utmost sincerity one could muster. Today, I saw a man buying flowers, the expensive kind with the colorful textured wrapping. The petals looked vibrant, the leaves shone stiff and green when the sun peppered it with brightness. It was clean and beautiful, a stark contrast to the man who was holding them who was scruffy and had grime on his face. The clothes he wore had much wear on them and he was wearing a very old pair of slippers and yet, the smile he wore when the florist exchanged the goods with him was only full of happiness and pride. He held the bouquet close, and had to take a jeepney home from the spare change he counted in his hand. As a person who knew flowers on this day was a valuable commodity, that bouquet could not have been cheap and yet he took the time and money to buy it anyway. People milling about the flower shops were really an odd bunch. There were boys from high school, awkward and shy, buying roses. There were “bad boys” who chose the yellow chrysanthemums and hid their blushes when their friends teased them. The air was full of the scent of greenery and an optimism that no amount of car exhaust could overcome. Weather girlfriend, wife, mistress, or lover…. at least I knew these men remembered flowers.