The Chronicle

Issue date: 2/14/08 Section: Columns
Last update: 2/14/08 at 6:46 AM EST

Lysa Chen

I have yet to spend a Valentine's Day in a relationship. I have, however, spent a Valentine's Day inside a cardboard box.

The reasons behind the first statement remain a mystery to me.

If you ignore the fact that I am an emotional masochist with low self-esteem, control and dependency issues, obsessive-compulsive tendencies, unrealistically high expectations, poor social skills and, apparently, a deep-seated habit of self-deprecation, I really am quite the catch.

Unfortunately, society seems to disagree, which is probably why I have become one of those bitter singles who labels Valentine's Day as a commercialized holiday responsible for the destruction of civilization as we know it. We say that, but the destruction of civilization as we know it would be a lot sweeter with a box of chocolates and a Teddy Bear-o-Gram.

But having spent a Valentine's Day inside a storage container, I have another excuse.

As a high-school senior, I was not very different from who I am now, save for two particular facts. One, I could eat whatever I wanted. (I miss you, cake.) And two, I had an unhealthy fascination with my English professor, X.

By "unhealthy fascination" I do not mean I followed X home with a camcorder or saved his chewed bubble gum and discarded paper lunch bags to build a shrine in my closet. No, that would be silly and possibly criminal.

I did, however, map out the fastest route from my locker to his classroom after school, avoiding particularly congested areas, and read the entire works of Ernest Hemingway over the course of two months so that I would have something to discuss once I got there.

The relationship was doomed from the start.

Trying to attract X's attention, I considered playing the accidental-bump-in-the-hallway card. However, I have terrible aim. I once scarred my friend's forehead tossing him a Nintendo GameCube controller. Who knows what I could break throwing myself?

Instead, I arrived at school on Valentine's Day armed with a roll of Scotch tape and a backpack filled with festive construction paper hearts. I would tape the valentines to my classmates in a rare display of enthusiasm for my least favorite holiday.

Then I would tape the largest and most perfectly shaped valentine to X, allowing myself approximately half a second of forbidden contact, an entire second if I thoughtfully patted the tape to maximize the adhesive-clothing bond. I could learn to like Valentine's Day.

Continued...

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