So there I was, sitting in one of the pews, looking at our old church. It really didn’t change that much over the years, just like the people attending the mass. Most of the people attending the mass, other than our clan, were the same people going to church for as long as I can remember. Everything’s the same. Or so I thought.

It turns out time can really leave their mark on the things you've known all my life. The mass is starting, and as the priest passes by our pew, I notice his now creased face and already gray hair. By this time I'm no longer distracted by the pretty girl sitting in front of me but by the baby in her arms, the one who looks ominously like the big ugly guy
sitting next to her. Some guys just have all the luck.

The funny thing is, eventhough things changed a lot where I grew up, it still retains that feeling of familiarity, it still gives that sense of comfort and security that makes it my very own sanctuary.

It is only there that I can leave my car parked in the streets with the doors unlocked and still sleep well. Its only there that I can whip out my cellular phone at any time of the day, without the fear of anyone snatching it. I can walk the streets in the middle of the night without fear of being mugged. It is there that I felt truly rested.