Cemetery Life

When I was a child, I was taught that when one dies, one is really dead. This, despite the Catholic Church’s teachings of the afterlife. It makes no difference then, whether one is buried in a huge mausoleum or in little concrete “cabinets.” I held this belief until high school, then through college, seeing nothing to contradict and challenge what my parents had told me.

Imagine my shock, then, when I went to the North Cemetery. The grandeur and eccentricity of Manila’s elite old families literally took my breath away. From bungalows to two-storey houses to statues and things that represent the dead, I came face to face with a world totally alien to my sensibilities. I cannot say that I did not like it, though. In fact, the opposite was true. I was captivated by the spectacle of one tomb grander than others, of one more exquisite and original, not to say expensive than the rest. The cemetery was the place for those with the money who can afford it, sort of the who’s who of the dead.

One of the things I loved was Manuel Roxas’ resting place. Made of pure black marble and evidently cleaned regularly, it shone and reflected the richness of the cemetery. It was labeled simply, and only the name made of gold “tarnished” the beauty of the marble. There was also this Chinese tower, complete with Chinese writings and sculptures, the church-shaped crypt, the pyramid, the fireman and countless others. How the rich must have spent for these things! Did they really believe that the dead with their wealthy trappings will make it to heaven? Or is this another game at who can spend the most and who has the best?

I would not know, for it was enough for me to gaze at them, wondering at the artistry and eccentricity of it. Certainly, my favorite was owned by the man who discovered the Kalayaan Islands. His family’s tomb was shaped like a ship, with a prow, a bridge, and a topmost deck. On its side was painted M/V Last Voyage: To Sail the Seas to Eternity. I’ve got to admit though, that it all seemed unfair. The cemetery, aside from having a very rich atmosphere, did not seem like a cemetery at all, but more like a village. Homeless families stayed at the mausoleums. They used the tombs as tables, or empty crypts as cabinets. For them, the cemetery is not a place for the dead, but their home. It felt creepy, and I have to admit, a bit depressing. It just goes to show that indeed, in our society, the dead are sometimes better off than the living.