Notes From the Future: Letters to My Earlier Self About Work, Career, and Becoming
A 20+ year career reflected through six letters — on resilience, leadership, imposter syndrome, and finding your place
Sometime in the past year, I started writing letters to my past self.
Not one letter — six of them, each addressed to a different version of me at a different moment in my career. Twenty-two years old at graduation, briefcase full of optimism. Twenty-three and restless in Davao, waiting for real life to begin. Thirty-three in a room full of global talent, suddenly aware that silence isn’t the same as wisdom.
I didn’t write them because I have regrets. I wrote them because I wanted to sit with those moments long enough to understand what they were actually teaching me — things I couldn’t see while I was living them, but that make a strange kind of sense now.
What came out surprised me. Not the events themselves, but the patterns underneath them. The same lessons kept returning in different disguises: be present, speak up, trust what you’ve built, let discomfort do its work. Each letter felt less like advice and more like recognition — like finally naming something that had been true all along.
These aren’t instructions for how to build a career. They’re more like notes passed across time — from someone who’s been through it, to someone still standing in the middle of it. If you’re early in your career, I hope they make the uncertainty feel less isolating. If you’re further along, maybe you’ll find yourself somewhere in here too.
Notes From the Future (2004, Loyola Heights, Graduation Day)
In 2004, diploma in hand, you feel like the world is wide open. You’re full of optimism, passion, and ideals. You can’t imagine losing that spark. Here’s the letter I wish I could have written to myself then.
Dear 22-year-old me,
You have no idea what lies ahead.
A world where hope can feel fleeting. Where you begin to question the decency of your neighbor. A world where lies spread faster than truth, and where feelings, not thinking, fan the flames of dishonesty and injustice. At some point you will look around and ask yourself: Who brought this upon us? What went wrong?
And yes — the passion and idealism you carry today will waver. You will grow tired. But my hope is that these past four years have shaped you deeper than the surface. Because what matters more than raw energy is the kind of person you’ve been formed to be.
The world will test that formation. You will stumble. You will fail. You will question your worth. But when the excitement fades, what will sustain you is resilience.
Resilience is not the absence of pain. It is not a callous that numbs you. You will feel — heartbreak, injustice, failure, disappointment. But resilience means having the tools to withstand it. It is loving yourself enough to build anchors: habits, friendships, quiet rituals that keep you steady. It is building enough peace in your heart to balance what the world tries to take away. Keep topping up. Keep recharging.
And resilience is not just within you. It also comes from the company you keep. Right now, your circle of friends feels wide and inseparable. But time will test those ties. If you have 10 close friends now, two decades from now you’ll likely see only one regularly, and keep in touch with maybe three. That is not failure. That is clarity. You will learn who truly belongs in your corner, and in the process, you will learn more about yourself.
Along the way, don’t forget to capture who you are today. Write letters to your older self. Not just about the job or the title you want, but about the kind of human you hope to become. Your future self will need those reminders on the days when doubt feels heavier than hope.
And here’s the truth that no one tells you at graduation: most of the lives you imagine today will not turn out the way you expect. Your career will not be linear. You will have detours. You will have failures. There will be moments when you did everything right but fate had other plans. And that is okay.
It is okay if, 20 years from now, you still don’t have it all figured out. It is okay if you change careers in your 30s or 40s. It is okay to walk away from what no longer serves you, even after years of investment. Don’t fall for the sunk-cost fallacy. Nothing is wasted if you carry the lesson forward.
More than two decades after sitting where you are, I can tell you this: my life did not follow the timeline I once imagined. But am I happy? Yes. Content? Yes. Fulfilled? Yes. And still setting myself up for future success? Absolutely.
So here is the paradox: you will lose things you thought you’d keep, and you will find things you never thought possible. And through it all, you will become.
So there is no downside. Live in the moment. Each moment is all you have. Don’t yearn for the future. Don’t dwell on the past. Be here now.
Regards from the future,
You, 21 years from now
Graduation gives you momentum. Reality teaches you patience.
Two years later, the optimism of commencement had given way to something quieter. Independence. Distance. Waiting. I was no longer imagining the future in theory; I was sitting inside it, wondering when it would properly begin.
Notes From the Future (2006, Davao)
In 2006, for my first stint in the Nestlé MT program, I felt like I was unduly sent to Davao. After the excitement of living alone in a different part of the world faded, I found myself waiting for something to happen. Here’s the letter I wish I could have written to myself then.
Dear 23-year-old me,
You’re sitting in your Davao apartment, waiting for the call to be sent back to Manila. You miss your family & friends. You’re restless. You don’t have friends outside work, and every weekend feels like a countdown to something you can’t even define.
Here’s what I want you to know: stop waiting. Life isn’t on pause. It’s happening right where you are.
Have you seen the Philippine Eagle yet? Have you done an overnight in Samal or Malagos? Have you explored the city beyond your routes? You should! Because those moments are as important as the next assignment.
Being “in the moment” doesn’t come naturally to you. You’ve always been wired to think ahead, to plan, to anticipate. That’s a strength—but sometimes it robs you of the joy of being present.
So here’s my advice: don’t hold back waiting for the “next big break.” Look around. Meet people. Say yes to small adventures. These are not distractions from your career—they’re part of it. They shape the person who shows up when opportunity finally knocks. As Mr. Bueller once said, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”
Live in the moment.
Regards from the future, You, 19 years from now
Some lessons arrive through solitude. Others arrive through people.
By 2012, the restlessness of Davao had given way to momentum. The days were fuller, the stakes clearer. I was no longer waiting for something to begin; I was already in it. What I didn’t yet understand was how much the shape of a career can change when someone decides to invest in you deliberately.
**Notes From the Future (2012, Makati)
**
In 2012, after 8 years of working, I finally experience what it means to have a truly great boss. It changes everything — the way I see work, leadership, and how I want to pay it forward. Here’s the letter I wish I could have written to myself then.
Dear 29-year-old me,
You’re sitting in that one-on-one with your new line manager, surprised when she sketches out two possible career paths for you. No one has ever done this for you before. You feel seen. You feel like someone is actually thinking about your future.
Here’s what I want you to know: you’re lucky. Some people go through their whole lives never experiencing a great boss.
Up to now, you think loyalty to the company is the highest calling. But a company is just a company. It is not family; it is not a friend. CEOs get fired. Boards get reshuffled. Even family-run firms make unexpected moves. No one is safe.
What matters is this: a good boss prioritizes the person, not just the employee. She finds your strengths. She builds your skills. She sets you up to succeed — not just in your current role, but wherever you go next.
So here’s my advice: cherish this moment. Learn everything you can about what good leadership looks like. Because one day, you’ll be the boss. And when that time comes, remember this feeling. Give your people the same gift.
Regards from the future, You, 13 years from now
Good leadership gives you confidence. It also raises the bar.
By the time I found myself in Switzerland, surrounded by global talent, I carried the habits of someone who had been trained well. I worked hard. I prepared. I listened. What I hadn’t learned yet was how visibility works in rooms where competence is assumed, and silence is rarely neutral.
Notes From the Future (2016, Switzerland)
In 2016, after more than a decade of keeping my head down and working hard, I finally realize something important: being good is not enough if no one hears you. Here’s the letter I wish I could have written to myself then.
Dear 33-year-old me,
You’re in a room full of some of the best marketers from all over the world. You’re quiet, hesitant, waiting until you’re “sure” before you say anything. You tell yourself it’s wisdom, the “wise old owl” who speaks less and listens more. But here’s the truth: silence doesn’t always look like wisdom. Sometimes it just looks like absence.
You’ve believed that if you put your head down and do good work, the world will notice. That’s what our parents taught you. But now you see people who aren’t as good — not functionally, not ethically — moving forward just because they speak up, because they’re visible.
Here’s what I want you to know: you are more than good enough. You’ve been second-guessing yourself for too long. Your ideas have value, but they only matter if they’re heard.
So here’s my advice: step onto the court. Take the shot. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. And guess what? You’re not just a good player — you’re excellent. The only thing holding you back is staying on the sidelines.
Regards from the future, You, 9 years from now
Finding your voice changes how you see yourself. Losing your safety net tests whether you believe it.
In 2019, I stepped outside the only professional world I had ever known. The question was no longer whether I could speak up, but whether I trusted that what I brought with me still mattered without the familiar name on my badge.
Notes From the Future (2019, Outside Sugarlandia)
In 2019, after 13 years, I step outside of Nestlé for the first time. No safety net, no familiar systems, no big name behind me. Just me, a gap in my resume, and a lot of questions. Here’s the letter I wish I could have written to myself then.
Dear 36-year-old me,
You’re staring at the blank space in your CV, anxious about what it means. You wonder: will the world value you without the Nestlé name? Will anyone care about the way you’ve been trained, the way you think, the way you lead?
Here’s what I want you to know: yes, they will. More than you think. You’re about to talk to so many companies in so many industries. Each conversation teaches you something new — not just about their businesses, but about yourself. You’ll discover that your skills transfer. That your habits, your values, your way of working aren’t confined to one company or one category.
And eventually, you’ll find something that feels like it was waiting for you all along. A tribe. A niche. A brand that isn’t for everyone, but if you get it, you’re a superfan. You’ll discover luxury, spirits, events, and a whole new way to see marketing. You’ll carry Filipino pride on your shoulders, and it will feel right.
So here’s my advice: don’t let fear of the gap paralyze you. That space in your resume isn’t a hole. It’s a bridge — and it will lead you somewhere you didn’t know you belonged.
Regards from the future, You, 6 years from now
Leaving teaches you what you can carry. Leadership tests what you do with it.
By 2023, the work was no longer about proving myself in new rooms. It was about holding space for others, making decisions that outlasted me, and stepping into responsibility without the comfort of certainty.
Notes From the Future (2023, Paranaque)
In 2023, after years of moving industries, taking risks, and building teams, I am asked to lead at a bigger level. The opportunity is exciting, but also terrifying. Here’s the letter I wish I could have written to myself then.
Dear 40-year-old me,
You’ve always put your head down and done the work. But now you also speak up when there’s something to be said — and there’s a lot to be said. You’ve carried lessons from good years and bad years, from mistakes you’d rather forget to projects you’ll always remember. You’ve developed people, you’ve built teams, and now you’re being asked to take the next step.
Almost immediately, imposter syndrome takes over. Can I do this? Am I good enough? Do I deserve this? Will people respect me — or resent me?
Here’s what I want you to know: this discomfort means you care. You’re not stepping up out of ego. You’re questioning yourself because you understand the weight of leadership. That’s not weakness — it’s proof you’re ready.
The next few months won’t be easy. You’ll have sleepless nights. You’ll crash. You’ll question yourself again and again. But in the middle of that fire, you’ll be forged. One day, you’ll look in the mirror and know: I am ready. Now is my time.
So here’s my advice: embrace the discomfort. Let it shape you. Leadership is not about being the smartest in the room — it’s about showing up, giving more than you think you can, and growing into the role until it feels like it was always yours.
Regards from the future,
You, 2 years from now
Looking back at these letters, what surprises me isn’t how much changed — it’s how quietly it all happened. There was no single moment where everything clicked. Just ordinary days, slowly adding up to something.
I used to think becoming was an event. A promotion, a decision, a turning point you’d recognize when it arrived. But it’s not. It’s more like weather — gradual, cumulative, impossible to pinpoint while you’re standing in it.
If there’s anything I’d want someone to take from this, it’s not a framework or a five-step plan. It’s just this: you’re probably further along than you think. The confusion you’re feeling right now? It’s not a sign you’re lost. It’s a sign you’re paying attention.
Life isn’t on pause. It never was.
This essay collects a series of letters originally shared in fragments. They’re gathered here in one place for continuity.