You know me, I can get up from bed with my bird’s nest of a hair, prepare coffee in my underwear, don’t even bother to brush my teeth, and slump myself in front of the computer and check on the day’s tasks.  

But I always look forward to seeing you. 

So by noontime, I condition my hair with homemade coconut-aloe vera moisturizer, take a good shower, brush my teeth (finally), moisturize the on-the-way-to-cougarhood face, and check the outfit of the day. 

I love dressing up for you. It makes me feel excited to greet yet another day with you in mind.  

[bctt tweet=”Never underestimate the power of a pair of sexy underwear.”]

You think everyone seems a lot younger. You feel too old for some trends like Snapchat. Yet you feel you have never aged. You can still laugh like an eight-year-old who discovered the wonders of a running river. Your convictions on issues that matter to you are sturdier, clearer, and more pronounced than the previous years. 

It doesn’t take much to make you happy. A good cup of coffee. Large glass windows. Being productive. Listening to Mozart, Vivaldi, and Bach and the birds outside your terrace. Reading a good poem. Or a good book. Or wearing your favorite shorts. Or knowing you look great in your pointed low-cut boots.

A bigot blogger (you have unfollowed him long time ago) once pointed out why women wear make up when men like him like the natural look. 

While you are naturally lazy to wear make up, you defend friends who love wearing them. 

[bctt tweet=”You kept walking without looking back and wagged your middle finger in the air to let them know the bitch is her own queen.”] 

That bigot missed the point entirely. Who said that women wear makeup for men’s sake? Who said women dress up for men? Who said that everything a woman does is at the service of toxic masculinity? Such audacity. 

Once, a female blogger visited over at your while you were in the middle of folding clothes. And she commented that your intimates are mostly seductive. 

Your former students once interviewed via Facebook messenger for their empowered women-themed magazine and they asked you for one advice for younger women at the end of the interview. You wit “never underestimate the power of a sexy pair of underwear.” It cannot be seen, but it makes you feel great about yourself, when you are out and about. It is sexy, and it shows in your aura. 

The two young women, who are barely in their 20s, did not expect your answer. Well, you wish you knew your mood and how you feel about yourself could make a 360º turn with a pair of sexy intimates when you were in their age. If you knew it in your early 20s, you could have invested in them instead of those whitening products the society dictated would make you pretty and desirable. Those where the years you felt the most vulnerable, the least confident about yourself. 

Your line of job doesn’t really require any bit of power-dressing. Going to a café alone with your laptop and notebooks is an everyday affair for you. Dressing up makes you feel empowered. 

 It attacks the popular misconception women dress up for men to gawk at, to gloat over. 

You used to pedal your way from your place to the treed university you used to work for and passed by rows of buildings under construction at Molave Street. Riding a bicycle didn’t stop you to wear your four-inch wedges, tight jeans, and equally tight top. Ad since the road is a bit of an uphill, you would get off from the bike and walk up panting. Now, construction workers thought a woman dressed up like that deserved a catcall. Because in their head you dressed up for them and such deserved a whistle to let them know they appreciated your efforts. Huh! Such blasphemy! They didn’t know any better. When the expected did happen, you kept walking without looking back and wagged your middle finger in the air to let them know the bitch is her own queen.  They fell silent. And after that, every time you passed by, they would gawk at but dare not to catcall you again. 

[bctt tweet=”Dressing up makes you feel empowered.”] 

Look at you. You are now 33. You remain this growing human being I fell in love with at 23. 

Before that, you were this awkward, low self-esteemed creature who tried to fit in, who scowled at everything, yet at the same, tried her best to be likable, who never smiled with her teeth shown.

Dear, at 33, you deepened your connection with the very being “who has loved you all your life, . . .  who knows you by heart” whom you try not to ignore for the other. 

At 33, you still pursue the very things that make you happy. Keep on rocking the scarred body you once hated but learned to love and accept.  Dress it up with warmth, kindness, and affection. 

Yours Truly,

Your Crazy Self