Moments Without Proper Names

Pondering on the past week that flashed before my eyes I think it ushered more discouraging moments than much-needed exhales of relief. My steady resolve was battered by moments of uncertainty and my faith wavered slightly at the flush of unsympathetic circumstances.

I initially deliberated on blogging about the excruciating trip last Saturday, the ongoing ordeal at work, the constant bouts with frustration, the continuing saga of conflicts among two of my married friends who are in the process of rethinking this whole matrimonial mistake, my thoughts on celebrity controversy, the Glorietta blast claiming lives, and somewhere in between pepper my conceited banters with a brief nod to the abrasive potency of enduring discontent.


Writing is easy. What is difficult is trying to make sense of all the differing weights of emotions and their respective significance, substance, implication and urgency.

I may have written about this to a point of redundancy but I think I’d admit this difficulty once again: the most momentous moments in my life remain undocumented. I’d like to think that they are the ones worthy of proper names. Yet they remain unacknowledged. They remain anonymous figments obscured from public intrusion.

One day I’ll come to terms with this dilemma. Meanwhile spare me a moment to flounder in selfishness.