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It was 3 o'clock in the morning of a friday and I was wide-awake like an owl. The rain stopped falling and I could see a sliver of a moon over our dead street. Sleep was elusive that time. I tried to chase it by subjecting my eyes to severe exposure to the idiot box, but it was useless. I began counting lizards and cobwebs to drown the pensive atmosphere. Suddenly, I decided to clean our "bodega". I've been itching to clean it for quite some time now but I never had the time to do so. I never knew what hit me that moment. Maybe I was bored or maybe exasperated in chasing my elusive sleep. Whatever the reason was, it didn't matter anymore.

Armed with a ˜walis tambo", I rushed inside the storage room with the intent of cleaning it and throwing away all our old useless junk. Inside, I saw dozens of old boxes piled carelessly around the room. I opened one box and voila! memories began flooding in. Inside the box was the story of my life- diary, scrapbooks, old movie tickets, pictures yellowed with time, term papers, pressed roses, test papers where I excelled at, the good old charm bracelet given to me by the first boy I ever loved, a bundle of love letters tied in red ribbon, and even an old cork of a wine bottle which I didn't throw away because it was imbued with meaning. Traces of the cologne I used to wear in high school also permeated on an old frayed hankie.

Another box contained the pregnancy kit, which I used when I was pregnant with Coco. I smiled because that box contained the memoirs of my life as a blushing bride and a young mom. Inside were Coco's first locks of hair, his dried umbilical cord wrapped carefully in a scented paper, few pieces of his baby clothes, which I didn't give away along with the others, because we bought it during the time when we were struggling hard to make both ends meet. Another item tucked neatly at the bottom was an old pizza box. It carried me back to that time when I was 19 and very much in love. I got married to my best friend, Pot, in a civil ceremony but sadly, our parents were not around to witness our joy. It was the two of us against the world and we were happy. We celebrated the union at a pizza shop and shared a box of pizza. We were laughing and crying at the same time. We wrote about our promises of love, our fears and hopes and even our joy at the pizza box. Pot drew a picture of a house and promised that he'll build me one someday. And so he did. Corny and mushy it may seem now but it was a memory worth keeping and reliving. I continued to open one box after another and marveled at the rush of memories each item transported.

The items found in each box were like time capsules. They instantly brought back a period of great happiness. All these objects were imbued with meaning and significance. They all deserve to stay where I found them. I ended up leaving our ˜bodega" with nothing but dust and cobwebs to throw away. I left the room with a new surge of hope and optimism. It was as if a real epiphany stirred my soul from a deep slumber. Now, I see our bodega in a different view. It's now my sanctuary when life becomes too tough to handle. I seek refuge in that room when everything was bleak and hopeless. There, I count my blessings. No matter how countless the blows of life may seem, they will still be outnumbered by the quiet joy imbedded in that room.

Others may view these objects as cobwebs of the past. Maybe some may see me as a hopeless romantic who continues to hold on to days bygone. But I don't really care. I am a curator in the museum of my existence and I am contented with the strength I gain as I count my blessings then and now.

Time and again, I will visit my little museum. When I feel so unwanted, unloved and useless to others, I will untie the red ribbon that binds the old love letters. I will savor the words of love written therein. I will reminisce what it felt like to be loved, to be wanted and to be needed. I will remember the young girl I was with the uncorrupted future and who believed in happy endings. When I feel like giving up on love and on marriage, I will run my fingers on that old pizza box and read all the promises written by two souls who loved each other with great passion and sincerity. The smudges of the hot sauce will make me recall how I adored the little imperfections of my man. Life is still a beautiful thing to behold - come what may!

So the next time you feel so lost and hopeless, bury yourself in your old stuffs. Take time to laugh at your old pictures, read your diary, listen to an old record - just open your "baul" and begin transporting back yourself to memory lane. Your old stuffs may be junk to others but they can be your saving grace when the going gets tough. They can even soften the blows of life. So today, while watching the sunset, bring out your old love letters and read. Cry and laugh if you want to - just read and seize the happiness of the moment.

When I was a little girl, I thought fairy tales do come true. I was enchanted by how the princess would find her knight in a shining armor, and together fight for their love and in the end live happily ever after.

As I grew up and lived in a family that treated me like a princess, I had hoped that someday, my prince would find me and take me to his castle, protect me from all harm and live happily ever after.

My first relationship was far from being a fairy tale. Ironically, it was a good material for a soap or telenovela. It molded me though to be a tough and strong woman. A woman of confidence and a woman of the new generation - independent yet longing to be treated like a princess. I yearned to be loved and cherished. I had dreamt of a perfect love story for my entire life. But somewhere in the midst of the endless cycle of one temporary romance after the next, my dreams had shattered right along with the broken and fragmented pieces of heart.

A year ago, my knight in a shining armor didn't arrive riding in a white or silver horse. He walked into my office with a friend. He may not be elegantly dressed, his adorably long and messed-up hair was something I didn't appreciate at first but learned to love it afterwards. He was what my previous man was not - intelligent, funny, but most of all, he treated me like a princess. He was always there to protect me, that we felt we were karmically linked. He was like a soul mate i had been longing to find in years. We were compatible in ALL things. In fact, every moment together was the happiest moment of our lives. He said I was the light that illumined his dark life, gave meaning to it and showed him that life was beautiful after all. To me, he was a fulfillment of a dream, the end of a long time search. I liked myself when I was with him, he brought out the best in me. With all the happiness we had together, it was indeed a fairy tale come true.

But as they say, some good things never last. Or probably, my happiness is not of this world. Or perhaps, the author of our love story never meant to end our fairy tale with "...and they lived happily ever after." In the midst of our happiness, a bad witch made a potion, put him under her spell and took my prince away.

I was jolted back to reality. It was a battle between good and evil (intentions). I was ready for the fight being a warrior myself... but i guess my prince, being under the witch's spell cannot fight with me and for me. I was struggling alone and it was too much for me to bear.

I gave up - no, it wasn't my love or my prince that i had given up. It was the situation. It was something beyond my control. I hold on to the love i feel inside of me and the dreams we have built together. Because I truly believe, when the spell has finally lost its potency, then my prince will come back.... and we will live happily ever after.