Love: A powerful weapon

Ever since I was a little kid, I had this idea of love in my mind. I grew up watching Disney movies, filled with the dream of perfect, ideal love. When I was seven, I started planning my wedding. I still have the little notebook where I wrote it all down; what my dress would look like, the decorations, even the cake flavors. But as I grew up, my expectations of love slowly started to change.

I didn’t have a boyfriend until high school. I was 16 when I met him—my first boyfriend. Our relationship wasn’t like the movies. We were all over the place, making mistakes, learning, and hurting each other in ways we didn’t even understand at the time. I developed so many insecurities, believing love was powerful enough to change a person. He was a good guy, but we were just too young. Our relationship lasted four years, but one day, I woke up and realized I wanted more. Breaking up was terrifying. At 19, leaving him felt like leaving behind a part of my life, my identity. But I knew I didn’t want to stay in a relationship where I felt disrespected, where my feelings and forgiveness were taken for granted.

A few months after our breakup, I did exactly what you should not do after leaving a long-term relationship—I jumped into the dating pool. I met incredible people in places I never expected—church, school, dating apps, cafeterias, libraries. For the first time, I allowed myself to experience new things without the weight of commitment to someone who wasn’t willing to commit in the same way... And then, I met him. The person I call "the love of my life." Or, as my mom likes to say, “the love of that moment in life.”

Let’s call him Henry.

Henry was the kind of love that changes you, the kind that makes you reckless, that makes you sneak out in the middle of the night just to see him. He was older than me—I was 19, he was 23. We met at the library, and from the first conversation, we couldn't stop seeing each other. We texted every day, non-stop. He introduced me to a world I had never imagined for myself. He showed me little luxuries I never thought I’d experience; traveling, exploring new opportunities, and indulging in things that felt out of reach for someone in my financial situation, but Henry also taught me heartbreak.

He wasn’t as kind as my first boyfriend, but he made me feel more deeply than I ever had before. He gave me a love that was wild, intense, passionate, and overwhelming. I will never forget the rollercoaster of emotions; insecurities, tears, happiness, excitement, and the moment I felt my heart truly break for the first time. He gave me unconditional love, but also the deepest pain. And yet, through all of that, Henry taught me something invaluable—love is a powerful weapon.

Since I was little, I was sold the idea that love was only romantic. That it was something I had to find in one person, my prince charming, my perfect match. And don’t get me wrong; I still dream about that kind of love. I still want it. But now, I understand that before I can find it, I have to love myself in the way I hope someone else will love me.

More importantly, I’ve learned that love exists in so many forms.

It’s in friendships—the friend who held me during my worst moments, who sat with me through anxiety attacks after my breakup.

It’s in my mom, who wakes up an hour earlier every morning just to make breakfast for me and pack my lunch.

It’s in my dad, who sits in silence next to me at night because he knows I have nightmares and doesn’t want me to feel alone.

It’s in my sisters, they keep me company every day, always finding ways to make me laugh.

It’s in strangers—the woman who smiled at me and asked if I was okay when she saw me crying in public.

I’ve found love in places I never expected, and I’ve realized something—love is always on a timer.

You never know how long it will last or where it will come from next. But if you look closely, you’ll see it’s everywhere.

And that, I think, is the most powerful thing of all.