SUNDAY SECRET

This secret was not part of the batch of secrets this week on  POSTSECRET . I saw it on the postsecret FB page : 

I love writing letters. But just like the one who sent this secret, I probably have kept more letters that I wrote than those I actually gave. Writing it down gives me a feeling of relief, the feeling of getting it off my chest is so liberating. Love letters, I think I send most of them, but letters that speak of my frustrations, anger and disappointments about something someone has done, those kinds that makes you cry your eyeballs out while  writing it; are torn immediately after the last period has been written. 

The mushy, hopeless romantic side of me will go through the ends of the earth to give the most kilig love letters when I am madly inlove. Wrote sweet notes on boarding passes , traced my hand on paper and later used it  to write on sweet nothings upon learning that the object of my affection thinks my small chubby fingers are adorable.  I spent countless hours inside a bookstore searching for the perfect Hallmark card that would make him think that the card was written with our relationship in mind. Yes, I may not look the part but I seriously get all mushed up whenever I get badly bitten by the lovebug. 

And I love getting them too, but sadly, I think all the love letters I have ever received are in a way, solicited.  Making me believe that at this age and era, finding a guy who would hold a pen and write me a love letter, without me asking for it, is probably close to impossible.  

I don't need a guy who can make poems, letters need not be grammatically flawless.  I do not need perfect penmanship on fancy, sweet smelling paper. My heart would skip a beat with a note that speaks of how I am appreciated, even if it would just be  written on a piece of bond paper... bad handwriting and all. 

I hope the guy who wrote this letter would have the courage to let "Rachel" know exactly how he feels. And I hope this Rachel would find it in her heart to at least take time to read this letter and who knows, maybe, I hope, the lovesick me really hopes, they find a way back into each other.

Post - VD blah blah

To be perfectly honest, I have yet to experience a kick-ass Valentine's day celebration, you know those types that would make other girls turn green with envy. Nor have I been given a huge bouquet of flowers, not that I am a sucker for flowers,... they do look nice, but i feel they are way too pricey and does not really have much to offer but aesthetic value. No, I am not being bitter, I am just being practical. 

So it goes without saying that the past VD went by just like any other Thursday on any given workweek. But it doesn't mean that I did not indulge myself in all the mushiness that surrounded me that day. And this was probably the most note-worthy love-related post I saw on Facebook that day. 

"A boy and a girl were playing together, The boy had a collection of marbles, and the girl had some sweets with her.  The boy told the girl that he will give her all her marbles in exchange for his sweets. The girl agreed. 

The boy kept the biggest and most beautiful marble aside and gave the rest to the girl, but the girl gave him all her sweets as she had promised.

That night, the girl slept peacefully, but the boy couldn't sleep as he kept wondering if the girl had hidden some sweets from him the way he had hidden his best marble."

Click here to see where I got this story

"Moral of the story:

If you don't give your 100% in a relationship, you'll always keep doubting if the other person has given his / her 100%."

To risk it all, to love without inhibitions, and to just put your trust that everything will be all good... easier said than done I guess. Maybe, at a certain point, I too have given all my sweets and slept peacefully, never really cared if I was given all the marbles that I deserved... after all, it only takes a few marbles to make me happy. So now I am saving up on sweets again, so someday, I hope soon, I can again sleep peacefully, not because I know I have given all my sweets as promised, but because I am sleeping with someone who has given me all his marbles. 

mush mush mush

me and Matthew

Matthew and I have been together for more than a year now…my security blanket and dependable companion. Matthew is a pen, an inexpensive blue Pilot retractable ballpen that has been a witness to my ups and downs for the past 18 months.  I named it as such because for me, not losing a pen and using it until the very last drop of its ink is a sign of my Matthew-rity.

But have I really matured? What can be the basis and how can maturity be measured? Can I claim to be matured if I sprained my ankle while power walking in my 3-inch high stilettos instead of having it sprained while crazy-dancing in the rain? Will my newly updated wardrobe consisting of dressy corporate attire add more maturity points as compared to my previous ensemble of sporty sneakers and dri-fit shirts?  Would the recent upgrade of my taste palate from greasy easy fast food to a more sophisticated fine dining experience be tantamount to a more matured me? Should I stop singing and grooving to One Direction’s songs unless I want to be perceived as immature?

That being said, I think maturity is not to be desired as a way of life, but rather as a means to adapt to circumstances. Doesn’t matter if you baby talk, which I actually do, at least just in front of my family, you know, those people who can do nothing but accept it, as long as you know its not to be done while talking to your boss or while you’re in a client meeting. Or pout your lips or stick out your tongue while having your picture taken as long as you are not in the company of distinguished guests… or is having your photo taken for the company’s organizational chart. Doesn’t matter if you frantically wave both arms to say hi to a friend you haven’t seen for ages as long as you know that you need to shake hands firmly when meeting business partners.

Maturity, and all its vagueness. For me, I guess I would have to say maturity is knowing when you can be immature.  For now, hand me my gummy bears, red ones preferably, while I sip my grape-flavored kool-aid and check my email if there are changes in my scheduled meetings … all these before I childlike-ly kiss my mom goodnight.   

a whole new world

neglected, abandoned, deserted, forgotten, forsaken... i have ran out of words to describe how my blog probably feels. 

Did I have a very boring 2012 ending? Not really. Was there nothing to write?  Truth is I was self-regulating my posts...a little self-censorship if I may say. It all happened a week after my last post. I signified my intent to bid for a senior manager position in the operations department. Something I felt confident that I can handle. Went through the process of taking an exam and being interviewed by a 5-member panel of senior managers. A few days later, I was told that I did not get the position.  

Not a week passed and I was again being summoned by the GM. I was told that I may not have been considered for the position I have initially applied for but they would want to offer me the marketing manager position. It was something I was not expecting. Yes I graduated with a degree in marketing, but I was not sure if all the SWOT analyses I did in college was enough experience for me to be able to survive marketing. And while I found time to review the 4 P's of marketing, it was a shock to know that they have grown in number and that I now have to consider 3 more P's! 

 I guess I somewhat survived the initial shock and has now pretty much adjusted to the following:

1. Mix and Matching my clothes since I am not supposed to wear the uniform anymore.
2. Being with Mac 24/7... Yup, they gave me a macbook... nice isn't it? Of course, since I need to check my email before I sleep and the minute I wake up. 
3. Meeting... after meeting... after meeting. Breakfast meeting, followed by lunch meeting. My mom knows how much I eat during these meetings now she has restricted my food intake during my days off.
4. Spell check, grammar check...

Still a lot of adjusting to do. I miss my operations group, I miss not having to think about what to wear. But since I now have time to blog; I guess it is safe to say I am starting to be comfy in this new world I am in.