For weeks, I have been jotting down ideas with the intention of planning an elaborate, decadent Valentine’s Day date for (pause for dramatic effect) myself. Listed among my notes: a nighttime visit to the Griffith Observatory, finding the best ice cream in LA and downright gorging myself… Actually, that’s all I managed to come up with, because ultimately I settled on the simplest and best idea—quite possibly—ever. Come tomorrow night, I will drive home to my parents’ house after work and treat them out to a delicious Chinese meal (as we Rowland Heights folk are known for). I called my mom a few nights ago with this idea, knowing full well my Asian dad would not have any plans in mind for her, let alone even remember it will soon be the day for love. (The surprise is that I will walk in the door with flowers in hand for my mom, and after dinner, when the check comes, I will be the one paying.) The first thing she asked was, “Don’t you want to spend it with your 情人?” (“Qing ren,” or, Chinese for “loved one.”)
My response: “You guys are my 情人.”
This Valentine’s Day, spend it with someone you love.