Disregarding the fact that it is my cousin’s birthday, I remember how we once celebrated All Saints’ Day. Grandma dangled all the doorknobs in my auntie’s house with rosaries. It kept all the spirits from entering the rooms, she said. She offered food for the departed. A sole plate full of the same birthday meal caught my eye. I asked mom if I could take a pinch off that lechon. No.

. . .

After resting for a while (going around the house, talking to dogs, and doing nothing), I started cleaning up, taking off that pungent smell of puke on my hair. And I was ready to head towards the cemetery along with the multitude.

The weather hushed and made way for this day.

Entrance. I arrived at the cemetery past five in the afternoon.

Glow In the Dark. There were hundreds of vendors in the middle of the stretch, creating streets – left and right.

Waiting. There will be a family reunion.

Cotton Candy. I remember this vendor from grade school.

I Want It So Bad. I am not sure if those were mini light sabers.

Passing. There were puddles from Santi’s passing.

Dusk. By the time it got dark, I headed back to our family memorial site.

Kwek-Kwek. These are breaded quail eggs.

Popcorn. Popcorns and church on Sundays – inseparable.