November 1

Last Hallowe'en, instead of reveling in the streets like most people now, my family and I gathered at the family plot at Loyola Memorial Park. W., my younger sister, had an overwhelming desire to revive the traditions we grew up with, that is, erecting a tent at the family plot, gathering the children, eating picnic food, etc. P. wanted to pass, but my sister mentioned that it would be nice if we all could go, so go we did.

When we were kids, November 1 was one of the big holidays we observed and boy, did my parents prepare for it. It would always be a big production with my dad heading the puntod (grave) cleaning brigade where he and our male househelps would cut the grass, clean and buff the marble graves of our relatives. Meanwhile, my mom would supervise the food, entertainment and other things needed for the big Araw ng Patay (Day of the Dead) outing. On the day itself, we kids would troop over to Loyola, braving the horrendous traffic and the huge throng of people funneling to the memorial park to observe the holiday. Upon reaching our family plot, we were greeted by the sight of our big green and white tent, with folding beds and wooden planks on the ground, as it always seems to rain before November 1, rendering the park a muddy mess. The houseboys would set up the chairs and folding beds, while my mom and the kids (that would be us) would lay out the food on a picnic table. As the day progressed, adults chatted and gossiped and we roamed the park, reading the gravestones and looking for the oldest patay (dead) we could find. I remember shouting with jubilation when I found someone born in 1819 and passed away almost 100 years later.

We also hovered by the candles and collected the dripped wax which we formed into balls. I remember the hot sticky wax yielding in my cautious fingers. We would always endure the just-melted-and-dripped wax as this was the most pliable, thus, making a smoother ball. We'd go at it until darkness falls, then we'd sneak off to the other unattended graves (which were very few at that time) to get more wax for our balls. When we've had enough, we would play catch with our wax-balls, letting it smash to the ground then kicking it to the fields.

When my Ate L. got a bit older and started to hang out with friends, we, the younger kids, would tail our Ate L. wherever she'd go, with our cousins her age. I remember walking to the Last Supper, a humongous bronze permanent installation somewhere in the middle of the park, where teenagers would hang out and mingle. I didn't really find that impressive because most of the people were girls fighting for the attention of just a handful of cute guys, mostly my cousins -- who during that time, were the 'heartthrobs' of our place.

After the mingling and socializing and eating and playing, we would all plop down on the folding beds and tell ghost stories while the adults played cards or gossiped. At around 11 pm or 12 midnight, our parents would gather us, all sleepy and exhausted, for the ride home.

I never really thought of November 1 as a somber day. Quite the opposite, really. As kids, Araw ng Patay was a big picnic and a mini family reunion of sorts, not just with our dead relatives but with living, breathing ones as well.