Reminiscence

Ithink 1980 was the last time I participated in a traditional kalag-kalag here in Cebu. You see, we left the country the year after. We returned every now and then for visits but it was always during the summer—late June to August—or December, for the Christmas holidays.

And when I did come back in 1994 for good, things had changed.

The malls were just sprouting up across the metro, and were aggressively promoting the concept of Halloween and all its trappings.

Who would have thought that 23 years later, “trick or treating” would become a common practice in the country—although I think it’s more prevalent in urban areas—when back then only those who went to IS in Banilad knew what a jack-o’-lantern was.

The go-to place when I was a kid for this time of the year was the cemetery and only the cemetery because everything else was closed.

Yes, Cebu and the archipelago shut down when it came to All Saints’ and All Souls’ Day, and everybody was to be found in the cemetery.

In our case, we always dropped by Carreta, where my Tito Maggie, my dad’s younger brother, is buried along with several priests from Redemptorist before heading to Cempark in Banilad where my grandfather is buried.

The whole point of kalag-kalag is remembrance and respect, my fellow columnist Bong Wenceslao pointed out.

But back then, as a child, I thought it was all about staying up late with the adults. Outdoors. While they drank and gambled the night away.

That last bit might be a bit fuzzy, but since it involved my family there had to be drinking and gambling. So there.

What I do remember is the preparation that went on in my grandmother’s house on Urgello St.

I loved watching them wrap the egg and chicken sandwiches in napkins. Or stow the boxes of juice tetra packs and cases of softdrinks inside our white Ford Fiera. Because that meant plenty of snacks for me.

I know that focusing on the “party” aspect of the holiday might give millennials the wrong idea about how we celebrated All Saints’ and All Souls’ Day back in the day.

Mind you, there was praying involved. Lots of it. Yet somehow, I always ended up playing with the melted wax from lit candles. Or sneaking out to play tag with the other kids.

You see, in 1980, Cempark was still, well, a “park.”

It still had wide open spaces, which meant catching grasshoppers that lurked in the grass. Or smelling the fallen kalachuchi that littered the ground around the pond in the mini rotunda. Or getting on the swing or riding up and down on the seesaw. Or playing hide and seek among the tombstones and the mausoleums.

Anything, but praying.