Today

In between this post and below are 6 days of work. Yes, 6 days because I only stayed 1 day and a half in my birthplace Pototan, Iloilo. My father's 2nd death anniversary was like a breeze, just like his life. Relatives from both my father and my mother's side from Dumarao came, and we are talking here of not less than 50 physical bodies in all, plus our neighbors and friends (note that this is no longer the burial of my father).

We heard a 9:00am mass then went to my father's tomb and said a short prayer ( it was a little bit longer than I expected) while the 12noon sun burned our skin, my hankie soaked in sweat. After our visit with my father's holy relic (well, that's how I see it now until the last earth day when glorified bodies are reunited with their spirits), we went home and took our lunch-- letchon, estofado, valenciana, menudo and other Spanish-sounding foods I hardly recognize.

On a small bedside altar, my mother placed cup-sized amount of foods served, a little candle burning in the middle and a picture of my father on the side, a creative expression of not only remembering the dead, but belief that they share in our abundance and earthly joy. Foods offered in prayer and gratitude becomes a profession of faith of the unity of the living and the dead, of the church militant and the saints (now, my religion subjects are getting flesh and form here. Pardon me my fundamentalist friends, but this is pure Catholic practices derived from the principles of other holy books your predecessors omitted from the Bible you are using now).

It's feels good to be back home again, making up for the time lost with loved ones and refamiliarizing with every nook and smell of the house you once grew up. The feeling gets intense when you know you only get to do it one day in a year. Today regrettably, that was over.