The (Nipple) Ring
By Walter Ang
November 2003 issue
MTV INK Magazine
February
I don't know when it was exactly that I decided I would get a nipple ring. But when I finally got my head to agree with my heart, I spent a few days scouring the internet to research body piercing. I figured if I was going to get it done, I'd better know what the hell I was getting into!
I got loads and loads of information and used my super editing skills to trim it down to a four pager summary. Prepared with my research, I proceeded to find an appropriate piercing parlor where I could have my procedure performed. (Don't you just love alliteration!?)
A friend tipped me off to a tattoo/piercing parlor in a Makati mall. I went to do a visual inspection, or more commonly termed in the Philippines as "ocular." It seemed clean enough. They had a Certificate from the Sanitation Department on the wall, which what I thought was a good thing. I asked a couple of questions and got suitable answers. It also helped that there were a lot of people getting tattooed that day and I could see the piercers in action. I decided I would return the following week to get the procedure done.
But first I had to find a ring. It was not an easy task! There are basically two types, rings and barbells. Most of the barbells I found were either too long or too thick, and I settled on an aptly sized stainless steel surgical ring. The stainless surgical steel sounds so ooh-la-la, but it serves a very important purpose. My research indicates that other metals (like silver and gold) will tarnish and the thought of me getting silver poisoning is definitely not ooh-la-la.
March
The day of the pierce (Wince rating: 3 out of 5. But you know you want to read on.)
I recruited my friend Donna to go hold my hand in case anything untoward happened. It didn't hurt when the needle went in. It hurt a little when it was coming out the other side. What hurt the most was when he was pulling the needle out while inserting the ring! It felt like a giant lead pipe was being dragged through my chest!
The embarrassing part is that after the ring was in place and just before the piercer screwed the bearing in, I started trembling and before I knew it, my whole head went numb, I couldn't hear anything and I had this overwhelming sensation of wanting to sleep.
It was so trippy! I had never fainted in my entire life before and the funny thing was, I had three different thoughts running through my mind simultaneously.
Thought # 1: Oh my God, I must not faint! I must not faint! It's not macho! It's so wussy!
Thought # 2: I *must* pay close attention and remember what fainting feels like so I can write about it in the future. I am a writer, after all.
Thought # 3: Oh boy! I'm going to faint! I have to tell them before I pass ouuuuuu . . .
A few minutes later When I came to, I could smell ammonia and felt a hand supporting my chin. And yes, my friend was holding my hand, bless her.
One final sweep of the piercer's hand screwed in the bearing to hold the ring in place. All done!
They let me keep the needle that was used to pierce me. How cool! It's like bringing home your own appendix after they take it out!
That afternoon
I walk around the mall with my two hands holding the front of my shirt away from my chest. I'm sure I looked like a total doofus, but my whole pec left was hurting so much. Even the wind made me cringe.
That night
I call my med student friend to ask why I fainted. He thinks it's because I was probably holding my breath too long from the pain and my body compensated by making me hyperventilate and faint. I suspect what he really wanted to say was, "The reason you fainted is simply because you're a wimpy geek!"
I am afraid to even take a shower. What if I faint when the water hits my ring?! What if I faint and fall on the cold tile floor and hit my head and die!?!
On Monday
I show my coworkers in the office. They all scream. Even the guys.
The following morning
I receive a text message from one of my officemates. "Sobrang ayaw ko sya. d ko makalimutan noh. ASAR ka talaga. U shldnt have showd me dat. Now i can't get it off my mind!"
A few minutes later, I get another text message from the same person. "NAIINIS AKO SA IYO!!!!! Naalala ko ung nipple mo. BWISIT KA!!!"
A few days later (Gross rating: 5 out of 5. You have been warned.)
There are mornings when I wake up and there are white crusty thingies around the holes where the ring goes through.
On some mornings, pus comes out of both holes. Blech! I have to squeeze my tit to get most of it out. Double blech! I warned you!
Months later
My nipple and areola were tender for about a week after the piercing. But after that it was pretty okay. Now that months have passed, icky stuff doesn't come out of the holes anymore and the ring doesn't hurt at all. In fact, when properly ? err, handled, the pleasurable sensations are more than doubled compared to my pre-ring days. Wink wink, nudge nudge.
When people ask me when I'm going to get my other nipple pierced, I say, "Fainting once in my life is enough. Thank you."
Whispers and quivers: Walking tours of Manila's cemeteries
Whispers and quivers
By Walter Ang
November 2003 issue
MTV INK Magazine
As November loomed closer, I felt the earth quiver and heard it moan with whispers from souls beyond our world. Just kidding! I didn't really hear anything, but I did feel it was the perfect time to take a walking tour of the La Loma, Chinese and North cemeteries.
I've known my friends long enough not to invite the ones who'll look at me like I've taken crazy-pills, nor the ones who will cross themselves and sneak glances at my forehead, trying to see if horns are beginning to grow. Instead, I rounded up a bunch of morbid freaks, I mean, ehem, adventurous, curious and fun-loving individuals to join in this enterprise.
We met up with our tour guide Carlos Celdran, a bubbly and gregarious fellow, and began our journey at the La Loma Cemetery. Energized by the bright afternoon sun, we were eager to explore the earth and see what stories it would reveal.
Beginning at the end
Away from the city noise and clutter, the tombstones and statues of angels stood tall and erect, serene monuments calling our attention to the Netherworld. Carlos, who also does walking tours of Escolta Street in downtown Manila and Intramuros, started off with extremely insightful historical and architectural tidbits on how the cemeteries came to be. He wove in economics, politics and all sorts of trivia -- all without sounding like a droning teacher from Social Studies class.
In fact, seeing tangible remnants of what he was talking about made it so much fun and entertaining I wondered why we didn't have this tour as a field trip back during my student days. My tourmates got so into it that they were practically shouting out names of laws (feeling like game show contestants, I'm sure) that I had long buried in my brain like the Tydings-Mcduffie Law, Jones Law and some Hare Krishna Law. I, on the other hand, had flashbacks of terror teachers asking questions I didn't know how to answer. The past really does come back to haunt you!
Before we left La Loma, we tried to sneak into the church and stumbled upon a group of men having some sort of religious meeting. I was once told never to be afraid of dead people, "it's the live ones you should look out for." No words rang truer at that moment. Apparently, it was some secret exclusive men's faction and these guys wouldn't allow the women in our group to go in ? talk about freaky.
Next stop was the Chinese cemetery where Carlos gave us joss sticks (incense to the rest of us) and "wishing" paper money to burn so we could do ancestor worship. Just like the Chinese, how exciting! We solemnly did as instructed, watching smoke from the tips of our burning joss sticks float to the sky, our intents and desires along with those ethereal wisps, onwards and upwards.
The Chinese cemetery is a cornucopia of visual delights, with rows and rows of mausoleums that featured a mixture of Oriental and Christian motifs. As Carlos gave us an overview of Chinese death rituals and burial customs, we were led to a mausoleum with a glass façade and a velvet curtain keeping its innards away from prying eyes (like those of nosy, noisy tourists, ehem).
This particular mausoleum, according to a source, is the only one in the world to have been included in the Guinness Book of World Records for having an airconditioner. Lots of mausoleums have those now, but I suppose this one started the trend. These days, there is nothing beyond those floor to ceiling curtains, since its, uhrm, residents have been moved to another cemetery south of Manila.
The high cost of plots have spurred a steady migration, leaving a lot of the graves in this cemetery empty now (what our tour guide described as "desecrated tombs"). This strange fact, along with the stillness of the air and the sight of crumbling walls and fallen angels cracked in half added to the eerieness and sadness of it all. I have grandparents buried there so the place was not new to me, although I imagine it must have provided a surreal, otherworldly experience for the rest of the group.
A grave for everyone (and their dog, too)
Our last stop was the North Cemetery, a veritable melting pot of races, classes and religions. And stories -- this place is a treasure trove of lore and juicy, steamy tales.
We go to see the plot of the Thomasites, the Katipunans, the Freemasons, and yes, even our country's first World Flyweight Boxing Champion, Pancho Villa. The circumstances surrounding their deaths are as colorful as Pancho Villa's headstone and as textured as the intricate carvings on some of the statues punctuating the cemetery.
What surprised me was that this cemetery is apparently the final resting place of a lot of the former presidents of our country. So this is where they end up! For those of you who think dead presidents are only good for having their faces printed on money, this tour will definitely change your mind.
"Remember, it's not tsismis if it's true," Carlos began, and proceeded to dish out tales about our former heads of state that made our eyebrows arch and jaws drop. Affairs, conspiracy, murders ? twists of truth that would put any telenovela to shame.
Our last stop was the stately plot of former president Manuel Roxas. As we took time out to digest and relish all the information we had learned that quiet, lazy afternoon, we were challenged to find out where the Roxas's family dog had been buried. The night had begun to steal away the sun and the sky had turned a pale gray. Someone from our group finally found Bogie's little niche, a pet who left his family forever in his tenth year of life.
Feel like waking (stories of) the dead? Contact Carlos Celdran at 671-7726 or 0916-783-1383 or celdrantours@hotmail.com.
By Walter Ang
November 2003 issue
MTV INK Magazine
As November loomed closer, I felt the earth quiver and heard it moan with whispers from souls beyond our world. Just kidding! I didn't really hear anything, but I did feel it was the perfect time to take a walking tour of the La Loma, Chinese and North cemeteries.
I've known my friends long enough not to invite the ones who'll look at me like I've taken crazy-pills, nor the ones who will cross themselves and sneak glances at my forehead, trying to see if horns are beginning to grow. Instead, I rounded up a bunch of morbid freaks, I mean, ehem, adventurous, curious and fun-loving individuals to join in this enterprise.
We met up with our tour guide Carlos Celdran, a bubbly and gregarious fellow, and began our journey at the La Loma Cemetery. Energized by the bright afternoon sun, we were eager to explore the earth and see what stories it would reveal.
Beginning at the end
Away from the city noise and clutter, the tombstones and statues of angels stood tall and erect, serene monuments calling our attention to the Netherworld. Carlos, who also does walking tours of Escolta Street in downtown Manila and Intramuros, started off with extremely insightful historical and architectural tidbits on how the cemeteries came to be. He wove in economics, politics and all sorts of trivia -- all without sounding like a droning teacher from Social Studies class.
In fact, seeing tangible remnants of what he was talking about made it so much fun and entertaining I wondered why we didn't have this tour as a field trip back during my student days. My tourmates got so into it that they were practically shouting out names of laws (feeling like game show contestants, I'm sure) that I had long buried in my brain like the Tydings-Mcduffie Law, Jones Law and some Hare Krishna Law. I, on the other hand, had flashbacks of terror teachers asking questions I didn't know how to answer. The past really does come back to haunt you!
Before we left La Loma, we tried to sneak into the church and stumbled upon a group of men having some sort of religious meeting. I was once told never to be afraid of dead people, "it's the live ones you should look out for." No words rang truer at that moment. Apparently, it was some secret exclusive men's faction and these guys wouldn't allow the women in our group to go in ? talk about freaky.
Next stop was the Chinese cemetery where Carlos gave us joss sticks (incense to the rest of us) and "wishing" paper money to burn so we could do ancestor worship. Just like the Chinese, how exciting! We solemnly did as instructed, watching smoke from the tips of our burning joss sticks float to the sky, our intents and desires along with those ethereal wisps, onwards and upwards.
The Chinese cemetery is a cornucopia of visual delights, with rows and rows of mausoleums that featured a mixture of Oriental and Christian motifs. As Carlos gave us an overview of Chinese death rituals and burial customs, we were led to a mausoleum with a glass façade and a velvet curtain keeping its innards away from prying eyes (like those of nosy, noisy tourists, ehem).
This particular mausoleum, according to a source, is the only one in the world to have been included in the Guinness Book of World Records for having an airconditioner. Lots of mausoleums have those now, but I suppose this one started the trend. These days, there is nothing beyond those floor to ceiling curtains, since its, uhrm, residents have been moved to another cemetery south of Manila.
The high cost of plots have spurred a steady migration, leaving a lot of the graves in this cemetery empty now (what our tour guide described as "desecrated tombs"). This strange fact, along with the stillness of the air and the sight of crumbling walls and fallen angels cracked in half added to the eerieness and sadness of it all. I have grandparents buried there so the place was not new to me, although I imagine it must have provided a surreal, otherworldly experience for the rest of the group.
A grave for everyone (and their dog, too)
Our last stop was the North Cemetery, a veritable melting pot of races, classes and religions. And stories -- this place is a treasure trove of lore and juicy, steamy tales.
We go to see the plot of the Thomasites, the Katipunans, the Freemasons, and yes, even our country's first World Flyweight Boxing Champion, Pancho Villa. The circumstances surrounding their deaths are as colorful as Pancho Villa's headstone and as textured as the intricate carvings on some of the statues punctuating the cemetery.
What surprised me was that this cemetery is apparently the final resting place of a lot of the former presidents of our country. So this is where they end up! For those of you who think dead presidents are only good for having their faces printed on money, this tour will definitely change your mind.
"Remember, it's not tsismis if it's true," Carlos began, and proceeded to dish out tales about our former heads of state that made our eyebrows arch and jaws drop. Affairs, conspiracy, murders ? twists of truth that would put any telenovela to shame.
Our last stop was the stately plot of former president Manuel Roxas. As we took time out to digest and relish all the information we had learned that quiet, lazy afternoon, we were challenged to find out where the Roxas's family dog had been buried. The night had begun to steal away the sun and the sky had turned a pale gray. Someone from our group finally found Bogie's little niche, a pet who left his family forever in his tenth year of life.
Feel like waking (stories of) the dead? Contact Carlos Celdran at 671-7726 or 0916-783-1383 or celdrantours@hotmail.com.
REVIEW: Ballet Philippines' "Carmina Burana," choreography by Alice Reyes
Horror music, live!
By Walter Ang
Oct. 29, 2003
Philippine Daily Inquirer
All I know about classical music, I heard from the cartoons that I watched growing up. I know all the music aficionados out there are now cringing and beating their breasts in frustration. Don't worry, at least I know how to pronounce Chopin. Smile.
Also, thanks to Ballet Philippines' production of "Icons," I now know the title of a certain piece of music often used in horror and suspense films, usually in apocalyptic scenes where humankind perishes in a huge fireball. This piece of music was most recently used in the opening scene of MTV's "Jackass: The Movie."
"Icons" went onstage at the Main Theater of the CCP and featured the Philippine Madrigal Singers and the Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra. The first act was filled with lighthearted song and dance with the Madrigals singing three songs and the dancers performing two pieces with the orchestra.
Tony Fabella's choreography of "Bahay Kubo Atbp." was at turns funny and solemn, but always celebratory in tone. It was a great counterpoint to what the audience was to see in the second act: Alice Reyes' choreography of Carl Orff's "Carmina Burana."
As the curtains went up, it was a breathtaking and awesome sight that greeted the audience. Rows of choral singers in black robes and yarmulkes flanked the stage as guest conductor Maestro Eugene Castillo raised his baton. The stage revealed towering rock formations with the ballet dancers in formation, veiled with smoke emerging from a central cauldron.
When the music began as the singers hit the first note and the dancers executed their first gesture, you could actually hear gasps from the audience. I was absolutely enthralled. It was a powerful moment that showed how such enduring yet fleeting beauty could be created within the confines of a stage.
Delicious shivers went down my spine as I recognized the music as something I had always heard on TV or in the movies, but never in real life before. It was amazing to hear it for the first time with a full chorus and orchestra. Whenever those kettle drums and cymbals went off together, it was rousing good fun that made my heart quicken.
Assembly
This time around, Ballet Philippines was able to pull off a successful assembly of collaborators. National Artist for Set Design Salvador Bernal's set, imposing rock formations against a striking backdrop of diagonal lines, elicited a refrain of wows from the ladies seated behind me. Production supervisor Santiago Galvero's expert rendering of the textures resulted in a simple yet ominous piece.
Castillo was every bit the conductor of my animation memories, with long hair that flapped as he vigorously coaxed and guided the music out of his orchestra and the chorus of singers that included the San Beda College Chorale, University of the East Chorale, Our Lady of Fatima University Chorale, Asian Youth Singing Ambassadors, soprano Maria Katrina Saporsantos, and baritone Ramone Acoymo (alternating with Noel Azcona). The cute factor was supplied by the Kilyawan Boys Choir filling the box seats in their schoolboy glory.
The text of the music was taken from the poems of 13th century wandering students of England, France and Germany known as the Goliards. It's interesting and hilarious to note that the Goliards were known more for their shenanigans and tomfoolery like getting drunk, gambling, and rioting.
The music, voices, text and set laid the groundwork for the dancing. Dark and brooding choreography started the piece, but as the movements progressed, it also showcased intimate, graceful scenes, as well as some definitely Bacchanalian displays of eroticism and a finale filled with hope and renewal. Lighting designer Jonjon Villareal's simple colors and subtle light changes effectively complemented and heightened the emotions onstage.
Re-stager Ida Beltran-Lucilla must have certainly had her hands full resurrecting the dance steps that were first performed way back in 1974, eons before I was even born. Her efforts were not for naught, the dancers filled the theater with their massive energy and graceful legwork. Of note was Kris-Belle Paclibar. This young lady who played the title role in last month's Darna imbued so much anguish and torment into her role that it was almost painful to watch.
Google Scan:
https://news.google.com/newspapers?id=BLljAAAAIBAJ&sjid=eyUMAAAAIBAJ&pg=2919%2C30947893
By Walter Ang
Oct. 29, 2003
Philippine Daily Inquirer
All I know about classical music, I heard from the cartoons that I watched growing up. I know all the music aficionados out there are now cringing and beating their breasts in frustration. Don't worry, at least I know how to pronounce Chopin. Smile.
Also, thanks to Ballet Philippines' production of "Icons," I now know the title of a certain piece of music often used in horror and suspense films, usually in apocalyptic scenes where humankind perishes in a huge fireball. This piece of music was most recently used in the opening scene of MTV's "Jackass: The Movie."
"Icons" went onstage at the Main Theater of the CCP and featured the Philippine Madrigal Singers and the Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra. The first act was filled with lighthearted song and dance with the Madrigals singing three songs and the dancers performing two pieces with the orchestra.
Tony Fabella's choreography of "Bahay Kubo Atbp." was at turns funny and solemn, but always celebratory in tone. It was a great counterpoint to what the audience was to see in the second act: Alice Reyes' choreography of Carl Orff's "Carmina Burana."
As the curtains went up, it was a breathtaking and awesome sight that greeted the audience. Rows of choral singers in black robes and yarmulkes flanked the stage as guest conductor Maestro Eugene Castillo raised his baton. The stage revealed towering rock formations with the ballet dancers in formation, veiled with smoke emerging from a central cauldron.
When the music began as the singers hit the first note and the dancers executed their first gesture, you could actually hear gasps from the audience. I was absolutely enthralled. It was a powerful moment that showed how such enduring yet fleeting beauty could be created within the confines of a stage.
Delicious shivers went down my spine as I recognized the music as something I had always heard on TV or in the movies, but never in real life before. It was amazing to hear it for the first time with a full chorus and orchestra. Whenever those kettle drums and cymbals went off together, it was rousing good fun that made my heart quicken.
Assembly
This time around, Ballet Philippines was able to pull off a successful assembly of collaborators. National Artist for Set Design Salvador Bernal's set, imposing rock formations against a striking backdrop of diagonal lines, elicited a refrain of wows from the ladies seated behind me. Production supervisor Santiago Galvero's expert rendering of the textures resulted in a simple yet ominous piece.
Castillo was every bit the conductor of my animation memories, with long hair that flapped as he vigorously coaxed and guided the music out of his orchestra and the chorus of singers that included the San Beda College Chorale, University of the East Chorale, Our Lady of Fatima University Chorale, Asian Youth Singing Ambassadors, soprano Maria Katrina Saporsantos, and baritone Ramone Acoymo (alternating with Noel Azcona). The cute factor was supplied by the Kilyawan Boys Choir filling the box seats in their schoolboy glory.
The text of the music was taken from the poems of 13th century wandering students of England, France and Germany known as the Goliards. It's interesting and hilarious to note that the Goliards were known more for their shenanigans and tomfoolery like getting drunk, gambling, and rioting.
The music, voices, text and set laid the groundwork for the dancing. Dark and brooding choreography started the piece, but as the movements progressed, it also showcased intimate, graceful scenes, as well as some definitely Bacchanalian displays of eroticism and a finale filled with hope and renewal. Lighting designer Jonjon Villareal's simple colors and subtle light changes effectively complemented and heightened the emotions onstage.
Re-stager Ida Beltran-Lucilla must have certainly had her hands full resurrecting the dance steps that were first performed way back in 1974, eons before I was even born. Her efforts were not for naught, the dancers filled the theater with their massive energy and graceful legwork. Of note was Kris-Belle Paclibar. This young lady who played the title role in last month's Darna imbued so much anguish and torment into her role that it was almost painful to watch.
Google Scan:
https://news.google.com/newspapers?id=BLljAAAAIBAJ&sjid=eyUMAAAAIBAJ&pg=2919%2C30947893
A Death in a Chinoy Family
A Death in the Family
By Walter Ang
Oct. 29, 2003
Philippine Daily Inquirer
I was all of 13 years old. I was juggling the twin hurdles of puberty and high school --my body was growing faster than my skin and I was barely a month into my freshman year -- when I'm woken by my aunt one morning, her face full of sadness. Then I hear the news that pulls the rug from under my feet, and I begin a long arduous fall.
My mother had died. The hours and days (and years even) that came after was an unreal blur. First things first, I had to have my head shaved. It's a custom followed by Chinoys since you can't have your hair cut for 40 days. I'm not sure if you're supposed to get a haircut for practical reasons because you can't get it cut again for sometime, or if the act in itself is some sort of prescribed tradition. Someone accompanied my two brothers and me to the barbershop and minutes later, the manicure ladies were murmuring hushed tones of "Kawawa naman sila." while my hair fell in clumps to the floor.
When we arrive at the funeral parlor, we're greeted by requisite banners with Chinese characters bearing messages of condolence strung across the hall. People who are already there don't know how quite to look at us. The smell of incense smoke, wilting flowers, and the sweat and perfumes of visitors combined into a heady, sickly sweet mixture in the air. My head spun.
The next few days were filled with so many people coming and going, gingerly offering their soft condolences, pronouncing the word only we Pinoys can: "kondolens." I began to revile the word and the saccharine tone with which it was delivered!
My siblings and I went to a Catholic school and they sent over a priest to say mass. My mother had turned into a Born Again Chrisitan before she died and her group sent over a pastor or whatever they're called. My relatives, of course, had Chinese monks and nuns come over as well to chat and pray. All I could think of back then was thank heavens they didn't all come on the same day! I don't know if it's okay to think of funny things when someone has just died. I suppose it's one of the mind's defense mechanisms.
Sometimes I recall the internment day filled with clouds, sometimes I remember how hot the sun was, I'm not sure what it really was anymore. I do remember how my sister almost wasn't allowed to attend. She was born on the year of the monkey, and apparently, for that particular day people born under certain birth animals weren't allowed to join in things like burials. If there's one thing I've learned about Chinese customs there is always a loophole. They simply had my sister turn her back to the funeral procession at the gates of the cemetery. Problem solved.
I had never seen nor hear so many people crying, but there was something that I saw that was more surreal that that. Someone had been hired to videotape the ceremony! No one had told me about it and part of me wanted to strangle the guy. I don't know if videotaping funerals still happens now, but it's still one of the craziest things I'd ever seen in my entire life. Eons from now, if for some reason the archives of the National Geographic Channel's documentaries on death are ever destroyed, archeologists who need to study funeral rituals of Chinoys can come to my house and dig that tape up.
After they slid in my mother's coffin into its concrete niche, they started burning paper effigies of a house, a car, and other representations of worldly pleasures. This was to ensure my mom would have all these things in the afterlife. Then, being the eldest child, I was tasked to hold my mom's portrait in my scrawny arms and was whisked away into a car. I was made to sit in front, my family at the back. We were promptly driven off to a Chinese temple, leaving everyone behind.
I had stored these memories in the closets of my mind, but they rattled noisily again when I recently took a historical and architectural walking tour of the La Loma, Chinese and North cemeteries. During the tour, which I wrote about in detail for the November issue of MTV INK (shameless plug!), our tour guide had recounted some Chinese burial customs that made me think back.
I remembered wondering how my siblings and cousins and I -- our generation, would handle things when the time came for us to deal with our other loved ones' deaths. No one explains things like death rituals and customs to you. I impishly thought that one day maybe I could write a manual of sorts and earn a lot of money. A Chinoy Book of the Dead, so to speak. No first draft as of yet.
Despite the lighter moments that I recall, I also remember how deeply overwhelming everything was. How angry, lost, sad, scared and frightened I felt, sometimes sliding from one emotion to the other, sometimes straddling all together at the same time. How irritating it was to have all these strangers intrude on such a personal tragedy, telling you what to do and what not to do. Not being able to just grieve in your own space and in on your own terms.
Years went by and I eventually learned about the value of ritualized grieving and the five steps of dealing with trauma. I began to slowly appreciate what I had to go through, the cudgels of academic and logical thought easing the confused heart. I also learned to appreciate how time erodes the hard edges of painful memories into fuzzy mute images, so that one no longer has to remember with clarity and vividness whenever one thinks back.
Google Scan:
https://news.google.com/newspapers?id=BLljAAAAIBAJ&sjid=eyUMAAAAIBAJ&pg=1929%2C30913561
By Walter Ang
Oct. 29, 2003
Philippine Daily Inquirer
I was all of 13 years old. I was juggling the twin hurdles of puberty and high school --my body was growing faster than my skin and I was barely a month into my freshman year -- when I'm woken by my aunt one morning, her face full of sadness. Then I hear the news that pulls the rug from under my feet, and I begin a long arduous fall.
My mother had died. The hours and days (and years even) that came after was an unreal blur. First things first, I had to have my head shaved. It's a custom followed by Chinoys since you can't have your hair cut for 40 days. I'm not sure if you're supposed to get a haircut for practical reasons because you can't get it cut again for sometime, or if the act in itself is some sort of prescribed tradition. Someone accompanied my two brothers and me to the barbershop and minutes later, the manicure ladies were murmuring hushed tones of "Kawawa naman sila." while my hair fell in clumps to the floor.
When we arrive at the funeral parlor, we're greeted by requisite banners with Chinese characters bearing messages of condolence strung across the hall. People who are already there don't know how quite to look at us. The smell of incense smoke, wilting flowers, and the sweat and perfumes of visitors combined into a heady, sickly sweet mixture in the air. My head spun.
The next few days were filled with so many people coming and going, gingerly offering their soft condolences, pronouncing the word only we Pinoys can: "kondolens." I began to revile the word and the saccharine tone with which it was delivered!
My siblings and I went to a Catholic school and they sent over a priest to say mass. My mother had turned into a Born Again Chrisitan before she died and her group sent over a pastor or whatever they're called. My relatives, of course, had Chinese monks and nuns come over as well to chat and pray. All I could think of back then was thank heavens they didn't all come on the same day! I don't know if it's okay to think of funny things when someone has just died. I suppose it's one of the mind's defense mechanisms.
Sometimes I recall the internment day filled with clouds, sometimes I remember how hot the sun was, I'm not sure what it really was anymore. I do remember how my sister almost wasn't allowed to attend. She was born on the year of the monkey, and apparently, for that particular day people born under certain birth animals weren't allowed to join in things like burials. If there's one thing I've learned about Chinese customs there is always a loophole. They simply had my sister turn her back to the funeral procession at the gates of the cemetery. Problem solved.
I had never seen nor hear so many people crying, but there was something that I saw that was more surreal that that. Someone had been hired to videotape the ceremony! No one had told me about it and part of me wanted to strangle the guy. I don't know if videotaping funerals still happens now, but it's still one of the craziest things I'd ever seen in my entire life. Eons from now, if for some reason the archives of the National Geographic Channel's documentaries on death are ever destroyed, archeologists who need to study funeral rituals of Chinoys can come to my house and dig that tape up.
After they slid in my mother's coffin into its concrete niche, they started burning paper effigies of a house, a car, and other representations of worldly pleasures. This was to ensure my mom would have all these things in the afterlife. Then, being the eldest child, I was tasked to hold my mom's portrait in my scrawny arms and was whisked away into a car. I was made to sit in front, my family at the back. We were promptly driven off to a Chinese temple, leaving everyone behind.
I had stored these memories in the closets of my mind, but they rattled noisily again when I recently took a historical and architectural walking tour of the La Loma, Chinese and North cemeteries. During the tour, which I wrote about in detail for the November issue of MTV INK (shameless plug!), our tour guide had recounted some Chinese burial customs that made me think back.
I remembered wondering how my siblings and cousins and I -- our generation, would handle things when the time came for us to deal with our other loved ones' deaths. No one explains things like death rituals and customs to you. I impishly thought that one day maybe I could write a manual of sorts and earn a lot of money. A Chinoy Book of the Dead, so to speak. No first draft as of yet.
Despite the lighter moments that I recall, I also remember how deeply overwhelming everything was. How angry, lost, sad, scared and frightened I felt, sometimes sliding from one emotion to the other, sometimes straddling all together at the same time. How irritating it was to have all these strangers intrude on such a personal tragedy, telling you what to do and what not to do. Not being able to just grieve in your own space and in on your own terms.
Years went by and I eventually learned about the value of ritualized grieving and the five steps of dealing with trauma. I began to slowly appreciate what I had to go through, the cudgels of academic and logical thought easing the confused heart. I also learned to appreciate how time erodes the hard edges of painful memories into fuzzy mute images, so that one no longer has to remember with clarity and vividness whenever one thinks back.
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