This year I made my own valentine. A lop-sided, crayon-colored heart invitation for a romantic dinner for two. Most important, it required an R.S.V.P.

You see, my boyfriend is seeing someone else right now. They're constantly together in Sackett Building. In fact, he has been spending more time with her lately than with me. When he's with her, he can't take his eyes or hands off of her. She's always turned on and always performs. She also is never moody.

If you haven't guessed it yet, her initials are I.M., middle initial B -- IBM.

Anyway, when he called to R.S.V.P., we discovered how we were both lacking the time and money to enjoy a leisurely romantic dinner. It sounds pathetic, but it's the truth.

As it is, we only see each other during the week to lift in Rec Hall. Surrounded by groaning and grunting males, it's not the most opportune time to be whispering sweet nothings to one another.

As for money, we're college students. Need I say more?

I'm flashing back to when all we had was time and all the money we needed was 20 cents to buy an ice cream sandwich at lunch.

Sixth Grade. Valentine's Day. Free candy. Party. No math class. Cardboard boxes, covered with red construction paper and plastered with pink hearts, placed in homeroom for the deposit of valentines. Do you remember?

All those stupid little valentine cards with inane jokes. "What does a bee flying backwards say?" "Zzub, Zzub, Bee Mine."

The crucial decision back then was how to sign the card. Should you sign it "love," "your friend," or be safe with "from"?

I decided to throw them all away last time I was home. Well, I saved a couple.

I saved the one that said, "Dear Sue" signed "Secret Admirer." I was the only one who noticed that all the girls in class got the same card, signed the same way. When I mentioned it to my teacher, he blushed.

Then, there's the one that said, "Hey Commie, Roses are Red and so are you!" That was Bill. Last time I talked to him was probably sixth grade. He then became a self-proclaimed anarchist and refused to associate with student council geeks.

And I can't forget Chris's. Mr. Suave. He warned me all week that he was sending me a very special valentine. When a huge red envelope with a giant heart-shaped lollipop reading, "I love you" showed up on my desk, I knew it was from him. The inside was even better. Scrawled in pencil, in the only penmanship worse than my own, were the words "Hey Baby, will you go out with me, yes or no?"

I remember I declined Chris's offer. But more than that, I remember all my adolescent romantic notions about love and romance being an eternal state of bliss. Just like the movies. I dreamed about the day when I'd receive that one special valentine. Back in sixth grade, reality about what love, romance and relationships meant didn't exist.

So, here I am ten years later, knowing the reality of love, romance and relationships, but not comprehending how it all fits together. It's enough to make one long for the simplicity of red cardboard boxes.

So I'll confuse you even more by telling you about Wade. Wade, 28, was a work-study student with me on Semester at Sea in 1989. We were literally half-way around the world (and half-way through the semester) when Wade went home. He left for love. He missed his girlfriend.

I defended him to everyone who asked me for an explanation, even though I didn't understand myself. It became even more complex when in our last port, I received a letter in which he told me that he and his girlfriend had broken up. He had no regrets. "How many others can say they did that much for love?" he said.

It's hard to express one's feelings on love. In grade school, too afraid to show our feelings, we punched each other and signed our cards "from." As we get older, the fear is still present and we can't punch each other anymore. That's what's nice about Valentine's Day. It gives us a chance to show someone we care and that we appreciate them. It enables us to define romance and quantify it by a gift or action. It gives us a chance to try and show how we feel.

And then there are the Wades. The ones who aren't afraid to be vulnerable. Wades understand that risks must be taken in order to reach cloud nine.

Valentine's Day symbolizes that how we feel doesn't last for just one day or just one romantic dinner. If you're in love, you'll feel that love always. If you're a romantic, you're romantic for more than just one day. It's a state of being.

Just ask Wade.

I received a card from him last week. It was an announcement. He's getting married today, somewhere along the coast of California.

Dave, I know we're both busy and broke, but that's okay. We always have Feb. 15, and the 16th . . . to be busy and broke together. If you're in love, you'll feel that love always. If you're a romantic, you're romantic for more than just one day.

We may not be Wades, but we're also not sixth graders. We're somewhere in the middle. That's why if I had the chance to rewrite my homemade Valentine, I don't think I'd require an R.S.V.P. I'd take a chance and tell you exactly how I feel about this love, romance and relationship stuff. I'd say "Hey Baby, Wanna be my Valentine, yes or no?" And we could try to figure the rest out from there.