We got engaged in Singapore on our 11th anniversary. I know. It sounds almost too perfectly timed, but the proposal itself really was anything but dramatic. It happened quietly with just the two of us.
I loved that.
We only told a handful of people afterward. We didn’t want to keep it a secret, but it just felt like something that should belong to us before it belonged to everyone else. I feel like some moments lose a little of their magic the second they become public. This wasn’t one of those moments I wanted to rush into sharing, if at all.
The ring he proposed with is just gorgeous. It’s this vintage-looking ring with 3 oval stones. It couldn’t have been more my taste. Timeless, understated, and just full of character. Unfortunately he got the size wrong, classic. So before we could have it resized back here in Manila, he got me a simple $xxx ring so I’d still have something to wear in the meantime (ironically, that’s the ring most people have seen). It’s the one I wear every day now. Partly because it’s practical, and partly because I know I wouldn’t be devastated if I accidentally lost it.
I later learned that my ring is called a trinity/trilogy ring and the 3 stones are traditionally said to represent the past, the present, and the future. I have no idea whether he knew that symbolism when he picked it or whether he simply saw a design he thought I’d love. Knowing him, it could honestly be either. He has a good eye, and over the years he’s become surprisingly fluent in the things I like. Maybe that’s what happens after 11 years together. Your tastes slowly become familiar territory to each other. I’d even argue you eventually develop the same tastes.
Either way, the symbolism fits.
What surprised me most, though, was how our engagement felt.
People often describe getting engaged as this..monumental..turning point, as though everything changes overnight. For us, it didn’t feel that way. Maybe that’s because we’d already spent over a decade growing alongside each other. 11 years is enough time to move through different versions of yourselves, to witness each other’s awkward phases, ambitions, disappointments, small victories, and ordinary Tuesdays.
The proposal wasn’t the beginning of our story. In many ways, it felt like a quiet acknowledgment of everything that had already been built. As I’m writing this, I’m getting the feeling I’ll say the same things once we get married.
I’ve always admired relationships that don’t need constant performance because they’re secure enough to exist without an audience. Ours has always felt that way. I’d like to think we’re both fairly private people, and that has always suited us. Some of the most meaningful parts of our relationship have happened without anyone else knowing. Not even our best-est of friends nor our families. They exist only in our memories. And there’s just something comforting about that.
Maybe that’s why our engagement, and probably our wedding too if we don’t end up eloping, feels so natural. It’s not grand. It was never meant to be. It just feels like the next quiet chapter in something we’ve already been building for more than a decade. And for now, that feels like enough
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