I have a confession to make. I have not written my will.

I do not know what is stopping me – not the thought of invincibility because slowly I am finding out the truth and fact of my humanity. Not for lack of knowledge – I have drafted wills for others and other more complicated – and more sober (sobering?) – documents. Not for lack of having given it thought – because I have.

Then what?

Because writing a will is an emotional exercise and I am not sure if I can handle the enormity of it. It is half love letter, half goodbye letter, transmitting all of your hopes and dreams to people you hope not to leave behind too soon. It is a practical letter, an inventory of your life and what you have accumulated in terms of the material and the familial and the emotional. It has a potential to be controversial, leaving in its wake disappointments and tensions and conflicts that you no longer can put under control. It is a testament to what your life has been, to what you valued and continue to value. It is a last heave before you and your life and your words says caput.

And how do you say goodbye?

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The beauty about this kind of will is that it could be a private affair – there needs to be no witnesses – no lawyer or family, hovering and expectant, it can be in any form (a card, a poem, a biography, an odyssey) provided the intention to bequeath could be determined with certainty, it can be made in the Philippines or elsewhere, made with our without the assistance of a lawyer and it need not be notarized.

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