12 April 2006
People I don't know
We burned our deceased grandfather yesterday. It was the first ever cremation ceremony I attended, and it was the fourth time in my life that I experienced the true meaning of the word speechless.
Lolo was in his late 70's. He's already been weakened by his heart and lung conditions, and unfortunately it became harder for him to cope. That's the best I could understand of what caused his fairly untimely demise. Untimely, perhaps only to me it is. The last time I saw the old guy was summer last year, but the last time I met lolo was ancient history. I didn't know that he'd be ashes the next time I'd see him.
I arrived late at the ceremonies. On my own choice. The crematorium at the Manila Memorial Park was fairly small. It's just a little bigger than the chapel in our subdivision. I was sitting at the back--the introvert in me kicked in--when its size made me realize something: I didn't know any of the people around me. Two rows to the front I think sat my two sisters. My elder brother kept on walking about like my mother, the deceased's first born. Familiar heads filled the rest of the place. Familiar, but not quite.
They were supposed to be kins from my mother's side--people I used to meet and mingle with in family parties way back in kindergarten. The MSG level in my brain subsided by an inch, and so I readily recognized them: my uncles, aunts, cousins, grand-aunts, grand-uncles (cousins of my lola). But it was only physical recognition. I thought I felt sadness and self-disappointment, but the longer I looked at them the more I realized that I didn't know them--at all.
Then came the family pictorials. I was sitting on the other end of the back row when the grandchildren were called to the front. I was like, "Yes? Oh, right." Then I stood in front with the rest of lolo's grandchildren, a little clueless of what I was doing. Two, three shots, and done. Afterwards, my colegiala-beyond-repair sister, my nun-candidate sister, and my soon-to-be-wed kuya continued taking pictures with the others. Me, well I just stood by the chapel's door, blank-faced and all. There was this man--an uncle, I assumed--I caught looking at me. He tried to approach me, but I think he sensed that I was in my own world at that time and decided to turn back. I thought of making a move and saying "Hi!" to anyone other than my grieving grandmother, but it felt off. I felt off.
Right. It was because I distanced myself from my relatives looong ago that I feel alienated now; though, I can almost care less. Two worlds, fine. But lolo's death seemed to be the binding factor among us that time. I looked at him on my own way, everyone else knows an entirely different lolo in him; and yet we were on the same boat: We all lost him. Some were sad--prolly, still are--some still upset, some strong enough to keep it together, some happy because everyone came together again despite the reason, some maybe just as lost as I was...
I arrived late at the ceremonies. On my own choice. The crematorium at the Manila Memorial Park was fairly small. It's just a little bigger than the chapel in our subdivision. I was sitting at the back--the introvert in me kicked in--when its size made me realize something: I didn't know any of the people around me. Two rows to the front I think sat my two sisters. My elder brother kept on walking about like my mother, the deceased's first born. Familiar heads filled the rest of the place. Familiar, but not quite.
They were supposed to be kins from my mother's side--people I used to meet and mingle with in family parties way back in kindergarten. The MSG level in my brain subsided by an inch, and so I readily recognized them: my uncles, aunts, cousins, grand-aunts, grand-uncles (cousins of my lola). But it was only physical recognition. I thought I felt sadness and self-disappointment, but the longer I looked at them the more I realized that I didn't know them--at all.
Then came the family pictorials. I was sitting on the other end of the back row when the grandchildren were called to the front. I was like, "Yes? Oh, right." Then I stood in front with the rest of lolo's grandchildren, a little clueless of what I was doing. Two, three shots, and done. Afterwards, my colegiala-beyond-repair sister, my nun-candidate sister, and my soon-to-be-wed kuya continued taking pictures with the others. Me, well I just stood by the chapel's door, blank-faced and all. There was this man--an uncle, I assumed--I caught looking at me. He tried to approach me, but I think he sensed that I was in my own world at that time and decided to turn back. I thought of making a move and saying "Hi!" to anyone other than my grieving grandmother, but it felt off. I felt off.
Right. It was because I distanced myself from my relatives looong ago that I feel alienated now; though, I can almost care less. Two worlds, fine. But lolo's death seemed to be the binding factor among us that time. I looked at him on my own way, everyone else knows an entirely different lolo in him; and yet we were on the same boat: We all lost him. Some were sad--prolly, still are--some still upset, some strong enough to keep it together, some happy because everyone came together again despite the reason, some maybe just as lost as I was...
Feelings. The long rainbow of them. It's a good thing they exist; after all, feelings are the only common thing we have with one another.
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