In the usual tradition of honoring our dead, we took a day off and trooped to the cemeteries on November 1 to be with our dearly departed. On this day, we brave the human traffic and endure the heat. We even forgive the vendors for their over-priced flowers. My father has been dead for more than 10 years now, but we tried hard to be there for him every year because we would not want him to feel alone when all the other dead have their families at their graves. Funny, because it is as if he can still care...
I remember when he died, we have never experienced anything out of the ordinary. He just silently slipped out of our lives leaving a void. There were no weird noises or sighting, except for one instance in my boarding house in Makati (where I worked during that time). That was in November 1 of 1991, about 3 months after he died. There were only 2 of us left in the whole house because all of our board mates went home to their respective provinces. At around six in the evening, my boardmate and I heard a knock. But when I came to open the door, there was no one outside. Just the empty darkness.
It should have felt spooky but instead, I felt desolate and really sad. I felt in my heart that it was my father who came to visit me, perhaps to say goodbye.
Are ghosts real? I bet they are! But the ghosts that really haunt us are actually the ghosts of our past. Like the ghosts of our past mistakes... Or maybe the ghosts of past failures... Or perhaps the ghosts of unfulfilled dreams. Ever wondered why we feared them? Maybe because their sheer memory still have the power to inflict pain even after they have long been gone...
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