Let forever be

The dead are never forgotten in the Philippines. I have always admired how Filipinos turn a forlorn event such as All Soul’s Day into a celebrated one. All Soul’s Day can be likened to Christmas in our country, not because it is a happy, warm holiday, but because it is a time when family members are brought together. Every year, titas and titos, lolas and lolos, cousins and nieces, moms and dads all gather together to pay respect to their deceased loved ones. It is fun catching up with relatives we see almost every day or those we haven’t seen in years. We refresh each other’s memory with kwentos about those who passed away. The “family time” spent makes this mournful event a little less heavy on the heart. It is also in these times that you can see the pure dedication of a family to their loved ones — even when they are no longer living. I am always amazed to see some people who are willing to sleep over and stay the night in a cemetery. That may seem like an eerie tradition but it is one full of love and ardor for the dead.

I have been celebrating All Soul’s Day ever since I was a little kid with my family. When I was younger, I was not really aware of the concept of death and the people who I vaguely thought of as sleeping in coffins like peaceful wax dolls. Those wax dolls would be brought to life through the stories my parents would tell me about them. “That was your Lola Glecy, one of the greatest retailers of all time,” or “That was your Lolo Ike, a hero and a great man.” That would shed light on my personal memories of my brilliant relatives. I always remembered begging my Lola Glecy to take me with her to work as she munched away on our favorite brand of chips, Ruffles.

I recall my Lolo Ike swinging my twin sister and I around as we hung on his cane. If I knew my lolos and lolas as the great people that they were, I would have been too intimidated to hang onto their canes or bug them when they were eating. Yet listening to the stories of their lives inspires me to live mine as fully as they did theirs.

Another relative of mine that I admire immensely is my Tito Joel. He was one of my ninongs and he always made sure to spoil me with the most beautiful birthday gifts and Christmas gifts. When he was out partying, I hardly saw him but then he would unexpectedly take me out and around to do something fun. One time, we escaped from the rest of our relatives during a beach trip and found a place where we could sing karaoke together. Visiting deceased loved ones is an opportunity to awaken memories you had with respected family members and to celebrate the lives they had and how they shared them with you.

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When I was younger, I used to look forward to All Soul’s Day. That might sound a little weird to you but let me point out that funerals are sad occasions; you might say that All Soul’s Day is a more “solemn” occasion than a “sad” one. All Soul’s Day to me was a time when my family would come together and pray, and afterwards, someone would hand out sandwiches asking if you wanted tuna or chicken. My dad would take me around and point to embossed names on tombstones of relatives that I only knew through stories. With their grand names engraved forever in stone, they all seemed like royalty to me.

“See here, this is your Lolo Toto,” my dad would say. “He was like James Bond. He was the most handsome man around. He also had a really good heart.”

The Greeks have Ulysses. The Danish have Beowulf. I had the stories my relatives would tell me. These were my epics. It was just as important and inspiring for me to hear that my lolo was like James Bond (with morals!) as it was for the Danish to hear that Beowulf had saved their thanes from the evil clutches of Grendel.       

All Saint’s Day was never my favorite holiday, but I appreciated the day because I guess, in many ways, it made me feel a little bit important, like I had something to live up to. The stories told to me also made me feel less alone.

Recently, my family went back to the crypts to pray for our departed. A lot has changed since our sandwich-exchanging days when I was younger. The romance that my relatives’ engraved names once had was lost to me. I still loved to listen to the stories (there are no other tales more beautiful than those of the lives of those close to your heart). But I felt a sadness I had never felt before. I’m 18 years old. I’m not nine anymore. Those nine years taught me the bitter reality of death. Death now meant an end, a “shoulda, woulda, coulda” and “never again” that bit painfully into the heart.

When you’re young, you do these things because you have no choice in the matter. You just do what your parents tell you to. I thought that now it was about time I came up with my own reasons for celebrating All Soul’s Day. My Tito Joel’s name gleamed at me from the stone. A quote from Mark Twain came to my mind: “Let us live so that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry.” That was how my Tito Joel had lived. That was the legacy he left for us. And each relative had left his or her own legacy, too. Then I realized that our dead become our motivation, a reminder of everything we can do and can be in life. Like stars guiding the way, the names of my relatives glowed brilliantly in the dark, dusty crypts. We don’t remember their flaws. In the immense face of death, our petty concerns become so small and all sins are forgiven. Instead, we remember the good our relatives did. They live on like heroes in their own epics and, like the e.e. cummings poem, we visit every All Soul’s Day to secretly remind them that we carry their hearts with us.

“I carry your heart. (I carry it in my heart.)”