UNLIKE MOST Harvard students, I will not celebrate Valentine's Day as if it were a wake. I will not complain about how hard it is to meet people, how awkward dates are or how often I have been rejected.

While I certainly sympathize for students like Michael R. Grunwald '92 who love any opportunity to grumble and whine about the fact that they're "not getting any," I just can't empathize.

You see, I have a satisfying relationship. Today, I'm going to spend a few quiet hours in the private company of that special someone. We will share our innermost thoughts. Maybe we'll even cuddle.

Surprised? Sickened?

Or just disgusted?

In fact, quite a few Harvard students seem to have a problem with a couple that is actually happy. They stare. They whisper. They point. They act as if a little affection during slow moments of a lecture is entirely inappropriate.

Believe it or not, having a social life is not explicitly prohibited in the Hand-book for students.

IT'S NOT THAT I am unaware of the turmoil of loneliness.

In elementary school, if you gave a Valentine's Day card to one kid, you had to give one to every other kid--even the bullies and geeks. Nevertheless, there was always one child who got significantly fewer valentines than the others--and then the teacher would quietly make up the difference. By the time I left elementary school, I had enough Hallmark cards from teachers to line my locker.

When I found myself in an all-girls high school, I thought I would finally have some relief from Valentine's Day pressures. But February 14 there meant that a small number of undersexed Southern belles received big fancy gifts from their undersexed Southern beaus two hundred miles away, while the rest of us had to be satisfied by furtively reading Lady Chatterley's Lover or giving each other home perms.

Unlike grumblers like Grunwald, however, I haven't taken these experiences to heart. They taught me to appreciate romance, not whine.

THE FACT IS, love is fun. It's fun to snuggle on a bearskin rug and gaze dreamily into each other's eyes. It's fun to hold hands, skipping happily down a country lane into the sunset. And it's especially fun to tell embarrassing stories to complete strangers about your partner. (My boyfriend's name is Joe and he loves to fold socks.)

That's why I just don't understand why every year some Crimson editor devotes an entire page to bashing romance. They call February 14 evil. They call the few who celebrate it oppressors. This year, Grunwald carries the Grinch's mantle.

But I certainly (jealous) would never harsh on Grunwald (jealous) or suggest that (jealous) he is guided by (jealous) anything other than (jealous) purely intellectual motives. He would certainly never resent anyone who might have more than an academic interest in Condom Week.

OF COURSE, love does come with its own set of problems. I remember another and had to consult a thesaurus. Another time, we both had to carry bags and couldn't hold hands. And then there was the fight over who loved whom more.

Relationships are such delicate things.

That's why it's important to reflect on the good parts of a relationship, why we should all take time out to think about how happy we really are.

I just love Valentine's Day. Sniff.