Wo ai ni is what you hear in China. Mahal kita, say the smiling, cheerful people of the Philippines. The multi-national Malaysians wish you, Pada chinta mu. Cultures of Asia and the rest of the world have universally accepted February 14th as Lovers’ Day, and say I love yous in all their many languages.

The celebration of Valentine’s Day goes back to Rome when in 260 A.D. Claudius — known as “Claudius the Cruel” — found it difficult to recruit soldiers for his army. The men of Rome preferred staying home with their wives and children rather than embarking on the emperor’s expeditions, lasting years, to conquer new lands for him, and perhaps never return. Failing to come up with a good recruitment campaign, Claudius decided to forbid all marriages and engagements. If men couldn’t marry, he reasoned, they wouldn’t have families they’d want to stay with.

His citizens, however, were in no mood to obey this new law, and especially the Christians who were more reluctant than the rest to join the army. They preferred to follow their own trades and to stay home. They ignored his edict and carried on getting engaged and getting married. Most flagrant among them was a priest named Valentine who flouted the new law and continued to perform marriages.

When Claudius learned that Valentine was disobeying his edict, he was furious. He threw the priest in prison to await his punishment — death by clubbing, before being beheaded.

While Valentine awaited execution, a blind girl, the daughter of one of the prison guards, visited him frequently, bringing him gifts and keeping him company. It is said his love for her was so powerful that it restored her sight. His last note to the girl was signed, “From your Valentine.”

The death of Valentine fell on the eve of Lupercalia, a Roman festival honouring Juno, the goddess of women and marriage. It was also the start of spring and one of the customs was to put names of marriageable girls into urns for boys to draw from. Each boy would draw a name and wear it on his sleeve before pairing off with the girl — hence, our expression to wear your heart on your sleeve.

It wasn’t until 496 A.D. that Pope Gelasius fixed February 14th as the date to honour the priest, and it officially became known as St. Valentine’s Day.

In the early 14th century, to avoid association with the pagan customs and rites of early Rome, people in England celebrated February 14th as the official day of spring; the day when plants started to sprout and birds began to mate and “love was in the air.”

Geoffrey Chaucer (1300) says in his Parliament of Fowls:
“For this was on St. Valentine’s Day
When every fowl cometh there to choose his mate.”

In the 16th century, men in Wales carved wooden spoons with hearts or locks and keys on the handles. The message was, “You have the ability to unlock my heart.” When a Welshman came to woo his lady, he presented her with the love-spoon he had carved for her — and courting soon became known as spooning.

In 1603, Shakespeare recorded the significance of the start of Spring as the 14th day of February when a character in A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream discovers two lovers in the woods and says:

“St. Valentine is past
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?”

As it was with the beginning of Valentine prison seems to be a place of inspiration for lovers. In 1415, Charles, Duke of Orleans, defeated in the Battle of Agincourt by the English, was imprisoned at the Tower of London. This well-known poet turned to love, writing romantic verses for his wife and he sent her a Valentine card.

The earliest Valentine cards were handcrafted — painted and decorated with colourful beads, feathers, and ribbons; trimmed with lace and gold and silver filigree. Cards portrayed hearts and angelic Cupid, son of Venus, the goddess of love, with his quiver full of love-tipped arrows for the ladies. These cards portraying sentiments of affection and deep love were delivered personally.

The introduction of the penny-post (the postal service in 1680) besides having introduced the sending of cards by post also started a card culture, featuring most famously the “Penny Dreadfuls” and “Vinegar Valentines.” These funny Valentine cards carried naughty or insulting messages and could be sent anonymously, teasing lovers or keeping them guessing.

Valentine’s Day is now celebrated with great enthusiasm the world over. Only Christmas cards surpass Valentine cards in number, and commercialism is as rampant as love on this special day, with romantic dinners and gifts of diamonds, flowers, chocolates and perfume.

Love still reigns supreme. Citizens of countries transcend cultures and religions to send out greetings in many languages.

Ultimately, it is the universal language of love that binds the human race as well as the hearts of people. Every year there is hope that this will be the Valentine’s Day that brings the force of love to our universe — not just for a day but for always.

“Why don’t you write your memoir?” say my friends. “You’ve led such an interesting life.” There is only one deduction from this. It is presumed that I am now a fully paid up member of the international SSG, the Senior Silver-haired Gang. I have history or am I history? I have a past. I am at the memoir stage, the old body might be at the breaking down stage, or the old memory might be going stage. But did not a pop star of 24 recently do her memoir?

Well, I must agree I have enjoyed a longer stretch than 24 years. My contention is never write a memoir until you know you have reached the end, make sure you have lived your last adventure. Unless of course you have a terminal illness and your reliable doctor has given you the required three months to live.

If I decide to heed my friends, my dilemma is how to approach this “putting down of my past.” Confessional? No, that won’t do, too juicy, what will my relatives say. Throw in an abused childhood? Though this is much in vogue, won’t do as it won’t be true. How about drugs, booze and sex? I was there in the sixties but I don’t remember any of that. How about The Leela Diaries? But then I never kept a diary.

I see two choices of recollection. Someone will have to throw me a surprise birthday party. A “This Is Your Life” birthday party, where all my relatives and friends and party-crashers gather at a 5-star hotel, where the walls are lined with larger-than-life pictures of me (digitally enhanced), then lights are dimmed, video clips unroll my past — the one I cannot remember — with my mother proudly cooing at a dark item in a fluffy pink bundle that is me, the ugliest baby.

Then on screen comes a picture of me at four, sitting on the toilet with my knickers around my ankles, sipping Coke through a straw. Then me as a teenager, skinny as a rake, masses of black hair, thick unruly eyebrows and my mother says something cute on the screen, my Dad reveals something embarrassing.

The clips roll on, showing a couple of my school chums, whom I had forgotten and now remember that I never liked, relate a few teenage adventures, a couple of ex-boyfriends elicit laughs from the audience at my expense.

Then the professional video of me and my man on our wedding day, the best man mouthing inanities, and then finally my ex-husband (who invited him?) appears. At least he has something tasteful to say. Guess he still misses me. I wonder who put all this together. Yes, it will prove a good memory jogger and will recall those interesting adventures my friends were referring to.

Or I could go for my second choice. BALEK KAMPONG, yes, RETURN to the VILLAGE in Penang where I began.

I think I will balek kampong for my mystery monologue, but not yet.. there is more history to live, more adventures to come.

Outside, the tropical evening cast a purple twilight under a blue dome of sky. The setting sun was an orb of orange. Hong Kong’s lights twinkled in profusion across the channel in the Kowloon metropolis. The buildings turned a deep blue velvet.

Inside, the restaurant was softly lit. Elegant ladies and men in quiet attire drifted in to the sound of ragas from a harmonium and tabla. The air was rich not with perfumes but with the aroma of fennel, coriander, anise and mint.

Don and I were the guests of Raju and Egon at the Viceroy. We were offered drinks in tequila shots glasses — Sounfiya and Kanjee and Pudina. And summer coolers — exotic mixes of juices of beetroot, carrot, fennel, mint, mixed with rose water, and flavoured with cumin and salt.

We adjourned from the main bar to the banquet room. Tables were laid out exquisitely, tablecloths sprinkled with fresh red rose petals.

The speaker began with Kapha, Pita, Vita — Greek to some of us. Mr. Vinod Sharma explained the Sanskrit words, the various doshas we all are. He talked of the elements of space, air, fire, water and earth influencing everyone of us.

It was an Ayurvedic Celebration. Ayurveda, the science of life, taken from the Rig Vedas, written 6,000 thousand years ago: Ayu life and Veda knowledge. After the talk we enjoyed a vegetarian meal of exotic, tasty dishes in proper holistic Ayurvedic style.

Nature has created man and animals and plants all well balanced and living in harmony. But we have created imbalance and destruction. We need to remove the Ama, the stress from our lives. We need to return to peace and tranquility; we have a big job before us. But with attention to our mental and physical health with Ayurveda, Yoga and Meditation we can achieve

A beautiful reminder of the spiritual and physical side of my life on the eve of my birthday.