Never in a million years will I consider a career in wedding planning.

Marc will probably tell you otherwise, but really, I am very organized. To the point of sometimes bordering obsessive-compulsive. My desk and my room look like hurricane disaster areas, but when it comes to planning stuff, I like to make sure that every detail is spic and span.

It’s now officially three months before my wedding day (as The Knot kindly reminded me through email), and I’m beginning to realize the stress that comes with planning a wedding. Especially when you keep a hectic schedule like mine.

It seems only like yesterday when my dad was amused with my “excitement” on the wedding (ie. booking with a caterer as early as February for a November wedding). Now, he’s bugging me to get a move on with my invitations and entourage gowns.

I’m really beginning to feel the pressure. I’m so pressured that I sometimes feel the need to rip my hair out (no, scratch that, I don’t think I’ll have enough money to pay for Manhattan hair transplants hehe). Seriously though. I could already feel the tension building—so many things to do, yet so little things done.

I’m probably just torturing myself with more stress, but really, the fact that I will be Mrs. Marc Villanueva in three month’s time is kinda scary. It’s going to be a whole new shift in the life I’ve been so used to. I’ve always been the “careful” type of person—I would rather eat fish than some weird exotic dish such as fried frog legs—hence, this marriage thing will definitely bring about a big change, and “uncharted waters” that I don’t have contingency plans for.

My grandma and my mom used to sing to me “Que Será, Será everytime I got into this whole “worrying about the future” funk. It doesn’t really “solve” anything per se, but hearing “whatever will be, will be” from the two women who cared about me the most made me feel safe somehow. But as my grandma has been gone for more than two years already and my mom still can’t speak properly because of the major stroke she had last year, I can’t help but wish things were different.

This is one of those instances that I wish my mom could talk.