Last year, I had my heart broken twice. First, when my boyfriend and I broke up. And second, when my beloved grandfather (my lolo) died shortly after.
I didn’t know how to deal with it. I didn’t know how to mourn. I didn’t want to mourn. So I kept myself busy – so busy that I almost forgot about my broken heart. Almost.
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Note: This piece appears in the November/December 2011 issue of Talking Writing, where I am a social media consultant and contributor.