Change

I’ve been dodging change for years now. There was a time when I was so contented of myself, of the people around me, of how my life was…I was so contented I lost someone in exchange for that contentment. And then I became the good person I thought I never was to start with. I put other people’s needs before mine. I was still stubborn and bratty and aggressive. But I became more lenient to others, and less forgiving to myself.

It all started from the mentality that if I change I might lose people in return. And that maybe if I stay right where I am, I will be safe.

But lately I’ve realized that I need to change. I’ve needed it for so long even my body is falling apart just to make me see that I need to revolutionize and start all over again.

I’m not only talking about my job and my career. I’m also talking about myself. How I see things. How I spend weekends. How I can’t imagine walking around the mall by myself when in fact I was able to do this years ago. How I can’t believe in myself enough to realize that I can take care of myself. How I let go of my dreams and started doubting I’ll ever fulfill them.

I need to change.

And so I went and took my first step towards change. I got a haircut.

For months now I have been hankering on wearing my hair in a short chic bob. And every time I mustered the guts to do it, when I got to the salon I’d chicken out. I settled for bangs in exchange. Or a color treatment. Or a perm. I’ve worn my hair long for years now. A little modification once in a while. But it had always been the same old long hair I've always had, the same old, safe look.

When the stylist cut each section off, I felt scared and excited. It might just be a haircut to anybody else, but for me it was courage and bravery and acceptance. It was acknowledging I needed change in my life.

The stylist took more than half of the original length of my hair. And when the girl assigned to blow dry my hair started her task and faced me in the mirror with a wistful smile and the question: “Do you regret it? He took almost everything”, I genuinely smiled back at her and replied “No. This is what I want”.

And I meant it.

And when it was over I was giddy at my new look. I looked fresh and young and rejuvenated. Seeing myself in a new light made me hopeful. And it made me braver than ever.

I learned that in order for me to really change, I have to leap into the situation. Not unprepared. Not unaware of the consequences. But leap into it with acceptance and courage. There’s no other way to do it.

I learned that change means letting go of certain things…sometimes it could mean letting go of almost everything you have. But you have to have faith and believe that it will all be worth it.

I learned that in order to change I have to trust myself that I can make it. I can make change happen in my life. And the next choices I am going to make, whether it’s as petty as buying new curtains or as big as standing up for myself and telling the world (or at the very least, my manager), that I am tired of what I am doing and I am not happy anymore, will all be for change.

And I learned that change can hurt. In fact, it will hurt. But the pain will be the friction you need in order to differentiate yourself from being a rock and becoming a diamond. The hurt will mold and hone you... twist and deframe and coil every single corner, curve, and spot of your entity, to the point that you will feel destroyed and broken... Until you realize that you were meant to be broken... so that you can be re-pieced in to a better model...a better you.

Life is too short. And I vow to make things more interesting by embracing change.





me and my new hair :)

Apologize

The song's stuck in my head. Is it really ever too late? When DO we stop forgiving? :(

I'm holding on your rope
Got me ten feet off the ground
And I'm hearing what you say
But I just can't make a sound

You tell me that you need me
Then you go and cut me down But wait...
You tell me that you're sorry
Didn't think I'd turn around and say..

That it's too late to apologize, it's too late
I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late

I'd take another chance, take a fall, take a shot for you
And I need you like a heart needs a beat
But that's nothing new Yeah yeah
I loved you with a fire red, now it's turning blue
And you say Sorry like an angel,
heaven let me think was you, But I'm afraid

It's too late to apologize, it's too late
I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late
It's too late to apologize, it's too late
I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late
I said it's too late to apologize, yeah yeah
I said it's too late to apologize, a yeah

I'm holding on your rope
Got me ten feet off the ground... =(

A Self-Confessed Shoe Addict *giggle*

Mading and I went to the local flea market here in my hometown (we call it the Night Cafe) and I went shoe shopping!!! I do not have enough flowery words for the beauties I was able to scrounge from one wooden rack after another. I would like to make special mention though that for months now I have been dragging Mark from one shoe store to another, in search of the perfect black pumps (and I mean perfect… perfect with jeans, skirts, hell even short-shorts!!)…and I found them (see photo, isn’t she lovely? Aren’t they all so lovely? Sigh…). I scored real big this time! Each one did not cost over 200 bucks! What a pleasant euphoria this is… I don’t care if this will only last for a few hours, days, whatever. I doubt though because I always feel giddy when wearing uber edgy sky high heels. They can instantly brighten up any outfit. One of my best Friday nights ever! Teehee.

I super love my shoes!!!! :D

BFFs

There is this recent tagalog movie I just watched on DVD (with my sister, Mading, the best tagalog flick buddy any girl could have! *lol*), and there was a line there about best friends and lovers that struck a chord in my already out-of-tune ivories. The lady in the movie said something like: a couple starts their lifetime together by themselves, alone. And in the end, after the children have grown up and gotten lives of their own, they are still together, alone. Alone together (what an extremely contradicting phrase, but you get the point, right?). That’s why in relationships, lovers need to be the best of friends… because the romance can dwindle and go aflame unpredictably (After 2 ½ years Mark and I have this, how much more for those who have weathered children and mortgages together), but the friendship never will.

I smiled at that line. And I thought of Mark. I’ve had best friends before. In kindergarten: the boy-next-door whom I grew up with and shared my first innocent peck in the cheek. In grade school and high school: three equally intelligent, interesting and funny young ladies whom I shared all my growing pains with. And in college: Jamie and Yaz. Two of the quirkiest and perkiest individuals who went through the most beautiful and most painful times in my life.

And then there’s Mark.

Boyfriend, DVD partner, Shopping Buddy, Weekend Associate, Fun trips colleague, Mallrat collaborator, Driving buddy, Cuddle-giver extraordinaire, Soul mate and all-around chum… and most importantly, the love of my life (extra extra cheesy, but hey I mean it and there’s no other way to put it).

It was a few months ago when I marveled at him ---wide-eyed and gushing, excited and blushing--- and I told him that I just realized that at 23 years old, being overworked and underfed and overly wired and intense, my best friend in the whole wide world was my boyfriend… my best friend was him.

He knows everything about me. My wildest dreams and fantasies. What I really wanna do with my life. He knows that secret smile I have and the phrase (oh that phrase!) I always utter when I squeal with delight upon discovering pretty pretty stilettos (an addiction, and yes he knows that too). He knows my style. It took a while for him to get it, and yet now he has almost mastered my taste on tops, jeans, shoes, bags, and accessories. He knows my weaknesses and targets them when necessary: Strawberry Mango smoothie from Big Chill and Sizzling Sisig from Congo Grill.

Cosmo says girls shouldn’t do their beauty routines in front of their guys. But I broke that rule, because Mark not only knows all my routines, he knows about my fetish for good (albeit expensive) facial washes and how easily I get bored with bottles and tubes. He knows my signature look is always blushing cheeks. And he adores and accepts me for it.

He knows my fears. He knows how unhappy I am at certain things in my life. He knows how hopeful I am with the other things. He knows how to perk me up when I am sick. He knows just by looking at my face and at the way I walk towards him when I step outside the lobby of our office and meet him every night for dinner, that at that night, I need my Crispy Adobo Flakes from Bento Box.

He knows.

My best friend in the whole world.

And I guess when I heard that line earlier this evening, it got me elated. Hopeful. It made me realize that despite a relationship’s unpredictable inflation or deflation in romance (like I said, this happens), Mark and I have our friendship. We know each other so well. Over the years we’ve become so comfortable with each other, we barely felt it happen to us.

In fact, I had often wondered when our comfy silent moments in the car started. It did not bother me that when we were driving off somewhere we sometimes just stay quiet. Not mad-quiet. But comfy-peaceful-quiet. I was curious at how it started. How it happened. And he doesn’t know as well, but we both know that we have already developed the power to listen and talk to each other in silence. To be there for each other without creating noise. To say I love you, just by grasping each other's hand while staring at the road together, moving forward to get to our destination.

How often we get this in one lifetime, I do not know. But realizing all this just made me feel lucky. Lucky because despite the negative and sad and well, bad parts of my life right now (inevitable, what would we do without drama, right?), I have a guy, a person, a totally different and unique individual who chooses to be with me and hold my hand and face every damn ripe, not-so-ripe, and rotten stuff life can throw at us… and we can both face it with friendship and with love.

:)

The Job a Million Girls would Die for

The book The Devil Wears Prada is always by my bedside (sometimes even always ON my bed). I read it. A LOT. And when I realized I was quite, errr… attached to my already ratty and overly beaten down copy, I began asking myself: Why? Why was I so attracted to the story? Could I relate to it? Did I want Andy’s life? Did I adore Miranda’s cold antics and selfish senseless demands? Or… could it be… Did I feel exactly the same way Andy felt in that story? She felt she could have done better… she didn’t belong… she was criticized ALL the time… she became addicted to her job, irrationally addicted…she was not happy. There. I think we hit the mark here. You see… I think I am also in the position where a million girls and maybe gals would die for my job. It’s well-paying to the point where I am currently paying a condo unit’s monthly amortization and in a few years the place will be mine (and I’m only 23 years old, I got the place when I was 22). I can take a cab to work every single day (though I can’t have it reimbursed like Andy did). My lifestyle has totally changed. You can ask Mark about this. I used to be a complete simpleton. Now I want all things nice and beautiful and expensive. I have a laptop I can use anytime, anywhere. I got to go on a US trip and stayed there for two months… saw and breathed the lovely air of Niagara… giggled at the sight of Ms. Liberty… and ultimately checked off a longtime dream which has been an item in all versions of my life list (to watch Les Miserables in broadway). I am a leader. I have been molded to be one. I can make decisions. I can reprimand people for their poor performance. I can guide, I can mentor. I’m lucky to have this job. And I do feel lucky. The job a million girls (and guys) would die for.

But… (here it goes) is lucky IT? Is that the only and most vital way I should be feeling? Or should I be, first and foremost, HAPPY?

I have a condo unit to my name, but I’m all alone. My family’s not with me. I have a laptop computer, but all that really means is I can work anytime, anywhere. And I do. On weekends. When I’m sick. When I’m on vacation. If I keep this up I might get married with my computer tied to my wedding gown train. My lifestyle’s a bit more glamorous, but with glamour comes the price of…well… money. And I can only buy things. Clothes. Shoes. Not luxury. Not vacations and land trips and beach ventures. Because I have money, but I do not have time. I can dress up nicely and fashionably enough. But half the time my work gets me too depressed to even wear those clothes to the office. And I end up frustrated and irked that I spend so much on how I wanna look and I can’t even look that way. Upbeat. Perky. Again, HAPPY.

I have been intoxicated for months now. That’s the truth. And I’m not a quitter. But as much as I’d like to push myself way way wayyyyyy beyond my limits, I think I’ve had it up to here.

I am through spending my vacations in front of my computer (occasionally surfacing for air during dinner time). I’ve had enough of getting sick and calling in sick and then getting called in the middle of my deep sickly sleep to be asked and taunted and reprimanded for issues and concerns of the client and the employees and everybody else who does not give a damn that my cough and my cold has been at it for 4 straight weeks and my throat has started to bleed every morning, and I still end up taking the call and looking for internet connection so I can get online and (surprise surprise!) work. I’ve had it with getting German measles and still going to work. Everybody does not want to see you or be near you. But they don’t think you shouldn’t be working (even though you’re sick and infected!), so they situate you all alone at a building far enough from where they are.

I’ve had it up to here.

And I’ve decided to do something about it. To find a way to make myself and my life better. Even if it means I have to go back to being a simpleton and start cooking my own meals and start scrimping on cab fares. I’m still in the thinking and planning out process (no action/s being done just yet). But documenting this is my first step.

Overnight I grew up. I realized it’s not about the money anymore (well, it’ll always be about the money but…you know what I mean). It’s not about feeling lucky. It’s not about this job a million girls would die for.

Because just like Andy, I’m gonna save myself before I get buried with it.