Real Life
Did we disturb the spirits?
I understood the strange voices I heard were probably telling us to go home. I realized we were destroying the dead’s peaceful slumber.
Do you believe in ghosts or earthbound spirits in cemeteries? I have a first hand experience on the subject, one that happened days before Halloween of October 2003. I used to teach Social Science classes and we held our comparative study field trip in cemeteries in Iloilo City. Students had to make a reaction paper on how one’s grave defines a person.
The first batch went on a Saturday afternoon, the second batch a day after. Our itinerary included three major cemeteries in the city. We chose a Chinese cemetery, a memorial park and a public cemetery where we all agreed to spend the night and hold a team building session. Everything was approved by authorities and school officials.
We arrived at the well-lit public cemetery in La Paz at 7 in the evening. The presence of barangay tanods in the vicinity was comforting. We were all wrapped up in games such as “treasure hunting” where we kept the “treasures” inside empty graves. The first group to find them will get reward points. We also brought our dinner of dinugu-an, barbequed pork liver, sisig, pork chops and rice and carefully set our picnic blankets on top of tombs where we dined using candles borrowed from one of the graves.
By midnight, the “Open Your Heart Session” was on the roll. Students were to “liberate” themselves from hatred, sentiments, regrets, negative feelings towards family, teachers, classmates and the world. The group was supposed to listen, support and show love to the speaker. There were lots of crying, laughing and singing. We were all worn out as we slept on top of the tombs. By sunrise we had coffee and talked more about our pleasant “graveyard shift.”
My second batch of students was all set on Sunday afternoon. We took the same route as the class before. At 7 in the evening we approached the same public cemetery but with anticipation of rain. Unlike the previous night the cemetery was dark and the tanods were not in their posts. At the entrance, I felt weird but didn’t show it. This class of 30 girls was eager to experience what the previous batch went through.
We entered the cemetery and found fresh flowers, empty juice packs and melted candles—all signified that there was a funeral earlier. Suddenly there was thunder and lightning. The wind got a little nasty, a little colder. Still, we decided to skip the games instead just ate on top of the tombs. My students comfortably sat in pairs or groups on top of crypts. Some listened to music and shared earphones while the others were busy talking. I lighted more candles at the edge of one tomb.
And then a bolt of lightning jolted us followed by roars of thunder— so loud we thought one of the high tombs crashed close by. We hurriedly packed as a downpour was inevitable. Some of our plastic utensils were flown away by the whizzing wind. Suddenly, it was cold all over. We ran towards a chapel for shelter in the middle of the cemetery.
“Ma’am this is not ok,” screamed one of my students.
“Please, Ma’am we go home now. I am scared,” begged another one who was already sobbing.
I tried to compose myself, suppressing my own fear. I thought I heard strange voices I could not understand but did not speak about it. I told my students to hold one another as we briskly walked towards the gate. Passed the gate, we ran as fast as we can out of the cemetery without looking back. The rain came so quickly we only halted in the main road, soaked and scared.
We spent the remainder of the night in the house of my student nearby — confused, badly shaken and shocked. We recalled the episode with utmost detail: two of my students heard a woman begging for help through their earphones. A student said she was already crying before dinner because her back felt so cold like there was a pack of ice pressed to it.
Meanwhile, another student saw thick smoke coming out of the chapel before we dashed for it, but did not find anything that may have caused it. My other students felt someone was staring at them the whole time — that uncomfortable feeling of being watched. Later, I understood the strange voices I heard were probably telling us to go home. I realized we were destroying the dead’s peaceful slumber.
That Monday we sought the help of a priest and offered a mass for the dead in that cemetery. We apologized silently and made peace with the spirits by saying the rosary for one week as we are now aware that the noise we made the first night might have upset them.
Lesson learned: Cemeteries are resting place for the dead. When curiosity outweighs our respect for their resting place the spirits will find ways to reclaim the space that the living grabbed ever so recklessly.
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