8th of March.

This is one of my favorite days. I had to write something.

Today, it’s a delight to walk in the Opera Square. One of three boys you pass, will have a flower in his hand, and most likely, he’ll be in a hurry.

Mothers pull their young sons to school, instructing them how to give their little bouquets to their teachers. Young couples walk slowly, enjoying the sunlight of an early spring afternoon. I’ve taken my sunglasses today, but my visit in the center is short; I’ve come here for one thing and one thing only, to buy jewelry for my mother. Ironically, I’m buying it with her money, (Dad was a little short this year).

The whole city is busy today, but it’s a pleasant business. Women are happy with all this attention, and I am happy to see them receive it. Personally, I don’t expect any attention for myself, I’m not really used to it. But my friends and I still  indulge in a few jokes that it is a day for us (girls) as well as for mothers. Some boys have even said “La Multi Ani” to me today, which is funny and sweet. I don’t think mothers resent that this day has gradually turned from “Mother’s day” into “Woman’s day”, it’s no big deal as long as they still feel appreciated. And this way, they are appreciated twice as much: for being mothers and for being women.

There’s nothing wrong with men who think that respects should be paid only to their mothers. I like that too, it’s sweet of them to place their mothers above their co-workers, female friends and teachers. And as a girlfriend, I’ve never been upset if I didn’t receive flowers like other girls on this day.

But it did happen, once.

Last year, on this day, (though much much warmer), I looked out my window and saw him coming through the gate with a large bouquet of seven yellow flowers. I didn’t know how I would ever receive them. I was so scared not to break them with my clumsiness. For me, yellow flowers are a symbol of spring, of smiles, laughter, joy and sunshine. And I was trying so hard to hold in all MY smiles. My mother was home that day, and it was the only time I ever felt that she was jealous of me. She had of course received many bouquets from her kids at playgroup, but none from my dad, who’s a little against buying flowers, for some stupid reason. But I still couldn’t help myself from placing my roses in the biggest vase on the table, shadowing all her little ones. It was probably going to be the only time I received such flowers, and I wanted to see them every time I passed that hallway. And God knows how desperately I tried to keep them alive for as long as possible. Before I went back to Timisoara, I took only one rose with me on the train, the rest were thrown away after a few days. I was upset with my mum for that, but at least I saved one, and I’ve still kept it.

The feeling a girl has when she receives even one flower is indescribable. To us, flowers are perfect things, to be given one, suggests that we have a similar perfection, and that we are just as worthy of being admired. Every time I receive flowers, my heart blushes, and my hands shake.

If I never receive another flower for 8th of March, this day will still be a favorite holiday. Any excuse for husbands to take their wives out to dinner, or for children to make cards for their mothers, or for boys to wish girls all the best, or for lovers to buy flowers for their beloved,  is perfectly fine with me.

Happy Mother’s day, Mummy! We love you!