Ah, February! The month of love, colours pink and red, and the smell of roses. Nervous February, the month of first confessions, sweet proposals, and love’s labour’s won. Lovely February, the month of rejection, failed love, and heartbreak. Wonderful February, the month of moral decadence, failing cultural values, and radical reformatory measures. Oh, February, you beauty of a month, you!
This piece was first published as the editorial of the February issue of Telegram. To purchase and read the full issue, click on here.
You’re often misunderstood, magnificent February, much like love, that curious little phenomenon you’ve taken for your own. People see you, both of you, through monochromatic glasses unable to capture all that you are, all that you could be. There is no room for understanding, dear February, of the magnificence you represent. You are only associated with gift cards and flowers and sickening, cloying, sugary proclamations of love, sweet February, as you are with childish heartbreaks and juvenile rejections. There is no appreciation of your rich multicoloured hues, of your curiously ethereal, ephemeral nature. No one stops and wonders, darling February, why the month of love is also the shortest of the year.
But we do, delightful February. We see you for what you are. We know you hold many secrets within your heart, secrets which you’ll reveal in your own time, regardless of our readiness. You are your own master, cruel February, kind February; no one dictates what you are. You won’t let them, not when they come with sticks and stones and wrongful threats of righteous reformation. Not when they sacrifice an innocent teddy bear to declare their opposition to all you stand for. Because you know, understanding February. You know that hatred is a kind of misguided love. Like envy, like longing, like apathy.
We have tales for you, incredible February. Tales for you, and of you. We bring you tales that seek to capture a miniscule portion of what you are, and of the love that you have taken for your own. Just a small facet, and no more; we have not the hubris to claim we know more than what you have chosen to reveal of your curiously paradoxical nature. This is our ode to you, brilliant February, and our homage and our criticism and our wonderment and our delight.
We bid you farewell, fantastic February, as we welcome March in. It may not be as nuanced as you are, or as subtle, or as mysterious, but it will do. It has to, remarkable February, incredible February, conceited February, for we doubt our capacity to endure another such month of exceedingly contradictory emotions. So we welcome March in, with its lights and shadows and the curious interplay thereof, as we bid you a heartfelt adieu. Till the next time.