The Tech - Online EditionMIT's oldest and largest
newspaper & the first
newspaper published
on the web
Boston Weather: 55.0°F | Overcast
Article Tools

Dear Facebook,

We have a problem. I just realized that our relationship status is “It’s Complicated.” And for some reason, I can’t seem to break up with you. It’s not that we’re in an open relationship either. MySpace and I already broke up. He’s creepier than you.

Unfortunately, you’re almost as much of a pedophile. You seduced me when I was only a prefrosh. You lured me in with false help — or should I say, false hope — when it came to MIT men. I truly thought that the random friend requests — and pokes — showed the kindness of MIT guys. This naive thinking led me to believe that MIT was swarming with eligible bachelors. If you’re laughing already, I realize that I deserve it.

Now I’ve realized the dire conditions of finding Mr. Right on campus. The guy who seemed really cute at the time just used a Chinese Glamour Shot. Guys should never mislead a girl with makeup, that’s just wrong on so many levels. The guy who seemed well read probably used Sparknotes. It’s a general indication that if you’re “madly” in love with an author, you should be able to discuss works that aren’t canon. Finally — and possibly the worst revelation — the guy who seemed really romantic, the total package, ended up being just a creep. “I’m in an open relationship — it’s not cheating if you use a condom,” his words verbatim. I think I’ve said enough there.

Even after a few disappointments, I still believed it was just bad luck. Definitely, not you, Facebook. Then, our relationship just kept getting worse. Somewhere in the middle of first term, I actually had an epiphany. It dawned on me that guys used my Facebook page to find out my general interests to feign compatibility. Why it took so long for me to realize this clearly shows why I am not a rocket scientist.

To make matters worse, I found out about Facebook poking around the same time. I never realized that there were further implications to it until a random graduate student poked me. Of course, I poked him back without thinking twice about it. Usually, guys would just friend me after completing the deed — except, this guy was audacious. Then again, he was a Harvard graduate student. He sent me the message, “Hey, so, when do you want to fuck?” Lesson learned there: Don’t poke random strangers back, especially if their profile says they have an Asian fetish.

Finally, the worst part of our relationship: you force me to acknowledge real life relationships. Everyone has an obsession with the idea of “Facebook Official”. When I “married” my best friend as a joke, people in my hometown thought that I was actually married. Someone even called my parents. After explaining to my parents that I did not run off to Vegas, I realized just how seriously people take these titles. According to me, I’ve only had three boyfriends — one, influential. According to Facebook, that’s like a Hemmingway understatement. My love life used to change so frequently that I wanted the permanent option, “Temporarily in a Fling”. Except, no guy wants to acknowledge he’s temporary — sometimes even hacking my account just to change my Relationship Status. (Reason why I don’t date Course VIers. That and the well-known fact many don’t shower.)

However, our relationship has some good. You’re a double edge sword. There’s a benefit to networking — beyond the work connections. A close friend of mine got a friend request after a party with a message, “Yes, we used a condom last night.” If it weren’t for Facebook, she never would’ve found out. However, if they had been friends already, this embarrassing scenario would’ve been avoided. Then again, at least, they used a condom. I wonder what he would’ve said otherwise? Perhaps, “I gave you herpes last night.”

Nice way to start a friendship.

So, Facebook, it’s not you — it’s me. Actually, never mind, it really is you. You’re just kind of creepy, yet I can’t seem to break up with you.

Yours truly, until I can finally dump you,

Christine