THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS

If it is true what my mother has often said that I was brought with the family to the cemetery every 1st of November since I was born, and since my mother does not lie, then this past 1st of November was the first time that I was not with my family (or whoever are left of it) in the “memorial park” where my parents’ remains lie buried.

1st of November. My family (or at least three generations back), like many other Filipinos, believe that the 1st of November is the day to be at the cemetery, the memorial park, the church crypt, or any other burial ground. And when I could read and understand, I thought that it was presumptuous on our part (my family’s and those who crowd the Cementerio del Norte) to assume that the faithful departed among our family members have indeed become saints so that the 1st of November was truly their feast. When I could read and understand better, I learned that the 1st of November is for the saints and that the next day (All Souls’ Day) was dedicated for those who have died and are not yet or will never be saints. Whatever! I have taken much solace from my college alma mater’s hymn that her alumni, at life’s end, become “like stars in the heaven” (como estrellas en los cielos).


You see, I was born almost right before the death of my mother’s youngest sister. So that, again according to my mother, I was bundled up to Norte in the dark hours of Todos los Santos starting the year I was born, not two months old even, so that we all could ride into the cemetery before it closes its gates to vehicular traffic. We had “comfortable accomodations”, enough parking for two vehicles (including one that had curtains and an urinola), and great expectations about who of our relatives would come by first during the day. When I was a bit grown up and able to appreciate breads, part of my great expectation was pan de sal from Baliuag – a pasalubong from a kapitbahay sa sementeryo. Or should it be kapitlibingan? Whatever!

The pan de sal were yellowish (the eggs or the food coloring?), smaller in size than what was available near where we lived (in San Juan ), and allegedly masarap kahit walang palaman. And, perhaps, because I kept hearing that it was masarap kahit walang palaman, I accepted them as such but not for very long when I learned to bring some mantequilla, potted meat and leftover tortang itlog (more like an omelet with onions, tomatoes bell pepper and some meat) so that my pan de sal was really good because may palaman. To this very day, I taking pan without palaman remains unacceptable to me because doing so was a display of sheer lack of resourcefulness, if not downright lack of initiative to go against public opinion and to better one’s lot.

So where was I last 1st of November? Inspired by __________ about "kissing your ancestors’ bones”, I resolved that I would spend that day in Pasuquin where the remains of my father’s father were (last) laid to rest.

about Pasuquin … past visits



30 Oct SCTEX