Prudence and Madness

It’s November 1 (and I’m not going to say if it’s All Souls’ day or All Saints’ day because, honestly, I’m confused between the two, and I don’t see any difference between them either) and I just got home from Bambang, with a new stethoscope (because my faithful old one already retired) and my money supposedly for hair rebonding gone.  I came home to an empty house, with my mom and dad going to the cemetery with our other relatives to visit the graves of my grandparents.  And to have a seemingly endless chat, for sure.

I’m thankful that my folks are considerate enough not to drag me to the cemetery with them.  Not that I don’t want to visit the graves of my lolo and lola and my bestfriend, who died young, but I’d rather not follow the traditions set for this holiday, seeing that, for a long time, the holiday has really been for the living and not for the dead.  I get more than a horrible headache having to weave through the crowd of cemetery-goers, most of which are groups of youngsters, in their best gimmick clothes even, who’re milling around, having a look at which of their friends have come to visit their dead too and soon enough, the group gets bigger as they round up their usual members.  I find it such a nuisance too that most can be so inconsiderate, chatting and laughing so loudly, unmindful that a neighboring grave, with its own set of visitors, is very near and may be saying their prayers for their dead.  I hate how a beautiful tradition of remembering the dead devolved into a yearly fiesta/picnic.

Perhaps, the reason for the hate is because of my preference for solitude and solemnity, when it comes to matters of the dead loved ones.  For how can one truly remember and talk to the dead, when preoccupation is with the living?  Why the need for setting only a single day in a year to visit the dead, when we could see them any random day, as our schedule permits, or remember them in our minds?  Why the need to be physically near their graves, when actually, they’re always with us, in the air we breathe and in the earth which walk on everyday?

So, tonight, for my dead grandparents, I lighted a white candle.  Could be some other color, but white, I think is a safe color because I don’t know which color they preferred.  For my bestfriend, I lighted a little blue-colored candle for her.  Well, she likes blue, so I find it appropriate enough to have a blue candle for her.  And maybe one of these days, I’ll just pass by their graves and leave some flowers, red roses for my grandparents and white roses for my bestfriend, ‘coz she liked them like I do.  I don’t think they’d really remember the things they like, though.  But I do.

Perhaps, they’re partly right; it is a holiday for the living.  For the ones who’re left behind, those who could still remember how some people have come and gone.  For me, though, it should still retain a measure of solemnity and respect.