PeonyMagazine

When she first moved to another country for love, she thought the biggest adjustment would be language. Different accents, unfamiliar expressions, maybe a few awkward conversations. She expected to stumble through slang and cultural references until she eventually felt comfortable. What she didn’t expect was how unfamiliar affection itself could feel. Back home, love was spoken often and directly. People said what they felt, sometimes repeatedly. Affection lived in conversations, reassurance, and emotional openness. She rarely had to guess where she stood with someone. With him, things were different. Words about love were rare. Days sometimes passed without anything explicitly affectionate being said. She occasionally found herself waiting for those moments, almost rehearsing what she might say if they came. But the moment usually shifted into something practical. One evening after dinner, she stayed seated at the kitchen table while he rinsed a mug in the sink. The kettle hum...

  Here comes February. ’Tis the season of love again. Valentine’s Day, when I think of it, I see couples loving each other — honest, faithful, loyal, committed. Some think of it as a day measured by presents: a bouquet of flowers, a bundle of chocolates, small surprises wrapped in red and pink. It always seemed like love had a formula during this season. You give something tangible, and that becomes proof that you care. I have a friend who once received both a bouquet of flowers and a box full of chocolates on  Valentine’s Day . She told me she appreciated the gesture. She really did. But she never liked flowers; she was allergic to them. And chocolates? She couldn’t eat them because she has diabetes. We laughed about it when she told me. It sounded ironic to receive everything the world says you should want on Valentine’s Day and not be able to enjoy any of it. Behind those gestures, she didn’t tell her partner she didn’t like the gifts. She said she didn’t want to make him f...