Nov. 1st approached with much anticipation, I had heard many stories about how Filipinos celebrate All Saint's Day. Nothing could have prepared me for the overwhelming emotions I experienced on this day. So much love, so much devotion to family. Rich, poor, old, young - the entire town flocked to the cemetery, people drove for hours to visit their departed friends and family. The wealthy have mini-houses where their loved ones are buried above ground with elaborate roofs with gutters, statues, plaques - I even saw one with a spiral staircase to an upper deck. The less wealthy are stacked above ground in what is referred to as "apartments". The "park" has most buried in the ground with flush plaques marking the grave.
Families visit the graves of their departed loved ones, say prayers, light candles, talk, eat, sit quietly, reminisce, visit with friends, some even spend the night in the cemetery - it is a very happy and sad occasion at the same time. When I saw the photographs displayed of those who had died, I got tears in my eyes, the departed became real to me, they were and are still loved. A man who had died over 35 years ago had a graveside visit from an old friend, I imagine this friend has been visiting yearly for the past 35 years. Who will visit my grave?
What began as an awkward occasion for me as a new comer to this culture, ended up as a tremendous blessing and privilege to have experienced this outpouring of love and family. I envisioned my own family sitting by my grandparents grave sites, looking at old photos, remembering the times we all had together, creating new memories. November 1st will never be the same for me. These photos say more than I ever could.
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