Memoirs of an Amnesiac

Upon the suggestion of my brother to avoid the influx of people who have the luxury to visit the graves of our deceased loved ones on November 1 and 2, I had trudged along today with my family to cemeteries where our deceased loved ones lay.

It is a funny occasion I should say that even when I pass by Calamba Cemetery and Queen City Gardens oftentimes in a year, I only get to visit the graves of my relatives on these days (imagine there are 365 days in a year). Although we visit my father's grave almost every Sunday, the time that we choose to visit my relatives' graves happen only at this occasion. This occasion is probably set for those who could not afford to visit the graves during other days with reasons ranging from them being far away (with the onset of migration to cities where job opportunities are abundant) to not having enough time nor money. Most people who go back to provinces to visit the graves of their loved ones also take it as an opportunity to bond with family and friends in this once-in-a-year occasion. So most of them flock to the cemeteries, bringing candles and probably rosary beads (for Catholics and incense sticks for Buddhists).

When we visited the cemetery this morning, under the heat of the scorching sun, we set ourselves on a search for the graves of my maternal grandparents. We saw that the tombstone had been in its decrepit and almost fading state. We then hired somebody who repainted the exterior and etched gold paint on the letters. Two persons were actually involved in the process. First, it was one child who offered to clean it with a remuneration that was not clear as when she said, "Kamo lang bahala, Ma'am." My brother in jest avered, "Okay lang nimu singkwenta estabos?" I nudged my brother and asked him what could be bought with such an amount.

The one who painted it asked for 70 pesos at which my mother haggled (being the natural haggler that she is) and added that since it will only cost him a little amount of paint (It's not like he is going to paint a mausoleum!) might as well have us bargain for the labor. But he wouldn't so I told my mother that it was all right since we only get to spend once a year. There's the rub in going to these dates. The prices only get to depreciate when it is already on that day. We could have had a lower labor but then again, we were avoiding the crowd. We waited until the paint had dried before we left.

While waiting my mother hired somebody who would lead the rosary for us. We actually brought our own rosaries with guides but I don't know how it is with parents. They always prefer somebody to intercede with "sekolar" and "sekolorum" (at least that is how audibly I heard them when the "mananabtan" pronounces them so fast).

After about 5 minutes, the prayer ended (and so was our 50 pesos). She said her final prayers and supplication with a signal for us to hand her the money. The paint was not dried yet and we still have to go to another cemetery and it's almost lunch time. My brother touched the tombstone and placed the flowers we bought at the entrance. While we were a few blocks away, my brother bemused, "Tan-awa taod taod. Wala nato'ng mga buwak."

Towards our car, my brother asked somebody how much the installation of a lamp (which will only be lit for three days) would cost. The guy answered, "250 ra Ma'am. Pataod ka, Ma'am?" My mother replied, "Mahala ana dong. Dili pwede ug 200?" The guy just went away. So much for haggling.

Come October 31 and onwards, the living will far outnumber the dead along with the promise of good business enterprise ranging from candles, flowers, to lamp installation and probably umbrellas (as it never happened that it would never rain on this occasion). Armed with guts and some paraphernalia and good merchandise items, everybody never seems to run out of ideas to do on occasions where people would most likely flock.

As for me and my family, this morning the living had already gained so much.