6 years and a few months ago, I walked into A's arms and it became my favorite place in the world. We were friends then and I just came back from work in Boracay. We missed each other so much that we hugged one another. My friend, who was watching from afar, said that he was so happy to see me that his eyes were closed. I remember what he wore that day. It was a blue shirt. The very same shirt he gave me for me to sleep in the next 6 years after that. The very same shirt that's already tucked inside my "A" box.

His arms were a place of comfort. A place of security. A place I went to when I needed to be held and cherished. A place that calmed my fears. A place that protected and made me feel safe. A place when I needed to rest and be warmed. But my most favorite thing to do is sleeping and waking up in them. That, and waking up in the middle of the night because I was being pulled back into them. For 6 years, it was home.

On the night A and I broke up, as we were saying our goodbyes, I remember telling him that I didn't want to go yet because the moment I leave, I would be leaving my most favorite place on Earth and that brought about a fresh bout of tears. The most difficult thing I ever had to do was walking away from him and entering my gate, knowing full well that my future, my life, my dreams were forever changed. To this day, that memory still brings tears in my eyes and forms a lump in my throat. If I pursued a career in drama, that would probably be my "trigger."

And because I no longer had a favorite place, I had to go and find a new one. In its place, I found two.

The pain of the break up and the events that followed after were so heartbreakingly, devastatingly painful that I turned to God for help. I learned that the sorrow and grief you experience during heartbreak is directly proportional to the love you experienced. I always told A that the love I felt for him was so intense that it felt grander than love. So you can imagine the heartache I felt. Only divine intervention could have saved me.

For days, I would run (fine, I drove) to the Blessed Sacrament in the village I used to live in. It was so quiet and peaceful there especially with its Zen like atmosphere. Imagine the Blessed Sacrament was against floor to ceiling windows and behind the glass was a rock and orchid garden. Inside the adoration chapel, it was cold and the sound of flowing water around the perimeter of the chapel made the place comforting. I would go to the Blessed Sacrament when I felt the need to cry, to seek solace and comfort, when I needed quiet so I can sort out my thoughts, when I needed to pray. And strangely, I feel so much better after. To me, the Blessed Sacrament isn't just a place. It's God's arms.

My other favorite place was only discovered a few weeks ago when we moved a bench by my bedroom window. I usually sit there, with all the lights off and meditation or senti music is playing in my ears, late at night (also known as the wee hours of the morning) for the same reasons I go to the Blessed Sacrament. I find the twinkling lights of Marikina Valley below and the starry sky above strangely comforting. For a few minutes, it gives me peace.



And in this other favorite place, as I look out into the endless horizon, I learned to smile and become excited because I know the one God made for me is waiting for me. I know God is preparing me for him. Despite the pain, heartache, grief, devastation and sorrow I recently went through, I know I will love again. And I cannot wait to be swept off my feet and feel overwhelmed and consumed with love and passion once more. I know it is possible. It has happened once and it will happen to me again.