‘Ghost’ stories

In my Roman Catholic religion, All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day is a period when we visit the graves of our love ones who have departed this world. We also go to Mass to pray for their souls.

I can recall from Religion class back in elementary school that November 1 is celebrated to honor the saints and martyrs – those members of the church who have gone to heaven. All Souls’ Day, on the other hand, is set aside to commemorate the faithful departed who are still in purgatory.

As I grew older, I got exposed to various ideas about “Adlaw sa mga Minatay,” our local equivalent of All Saints’ and All Souls’ Day. Then there is the “Kalag-Kalag,” the closest local term to the western-inspired Halloween which traces its origins back to ancient pagan rituals.

Ghost-hunting friends back in college had told me that this is the time when the paranormal dimension can be most felt by humans. Well, it is also coincidental that the cool northeast wind called Amihan kicks in at this time, and feels at its coolest during the early morning and late evening, a good time to huddle round a bonfire and regale ourselves with ghost stories.

I believe in souls but I never really believed in ghosts that make themselves seen or felt by humans. As a student and then part-time lecturer at the century-old campus of the University of the Philippines Cebu, you would think that I must have my own sightings of ghosts reportedly residing there.

I’ve heard plenty of ghost stories in the campus but, honestly, I have no story to tell myself. There were no ghosts I’ve seen nor felt because whenever I almost believed I felt one, I always checked things out to find an answer consistent with the laws of nature and physics. That “crying baby ghost” turned out to be a noisy cat in heat. That sudden cold gust of wind was, of course, the Amihan.

But if friends insist, my favorite one that I tell them is the story of the “floating armchairs” in one of the classrooms at the second floor of UP Cebu’s old building. This one regales me more than my friends because I can see the sudden change in the look on their faces as the story progresses to its end.

One very early morning in the 1990s, the janitor Nong Cito was performing routine mopping at the narrow and dark corridor of the old building said to be haunted. Suddenly as he came near one the classrooms, he was shocked to see the classroom armchairs floating a few inches from the floor. Nong Cito upon realizing what’s happening darted through the corridor toward where he kept his cleaning tools. He quickly grabbed a broom, rushed back to the corridor, entered the classroom and swept the floor of dust and dirt while the chairs were still afloat – that way he didn’t have to move a single chair!

The story is a joke, of course, because really I don’t believe in ghostly manifestations, especially the kind that breaks the laws of science. So it’s the best story I could tell friends who ask for a ‘scary’ ghost story.

On a serious note, the ‘ghost stories’ that I truly believe in and look for are the ones that allow us to honor the legacy left behind by the dead. Since my father’s death three years ago, I visit his grave in Catmon once a year, during this time.

A grave is a symbol of a person’s passing on to the next life and our remembrance of the person buried in that grave. But in an engraved marker I see only a stone-cold symbol of the departed. I’ve always felt that the best way to remember my late father is to hear the stories of the people whose lives he had touched during his lifetime.

It is in family meetups and reunions, like the one I attended last weekend together with my father’s siblings and my cousins in northern Mindanao, where I truly feel the honor of his presence. It is through the stories of him from people whose lives he had touched that I most remember him.

It is also in the virtues he stood for and lived by and now I try to live by that I can pay my respects to my dear departed father. Happy All Souls’ Day everyone!