Why we gossip, gamble and gorge in the saddest moments of our life

Living in my home town of Nasugbu, Batangas, I have attended many wakes where I have had the chance to see my townmates grieve. I myself have experienced death in my family, and I can say that grieving in the province is by all means a different kind of grieving. And though its form might just puzzle city folk or foreigners, I can attest that this way has helped us through what could inarguably be the most painful experience anyone must endure – the death of a loved one.

Growing up, I thought it rather strange that during wakes – given the extreme sadness death brings with it and the solemnity that I assumed should accompany mourning – there would be pockets of people spread around the bereaved ones’ homes busy with things you ordinarily do not associate with death.

Out in the garden or the lanai, people play mahjong, pusoy dos, lucky nine, bingo or tong-its, with the participants exchanging the latest gossip or just chit-chatting as kapeng barako is served all around. You may even hear "gamers" bursting into laughter as they trade jokes which range from the naughty to the bawdy. Many of these jokes are actually recollections of unforgettable, humorous moments spent with the deceased when he or she was alive. Hearing them fondly retold by friends and relatives helps make the bereaved ones smile.

But later on when the dust would have settled, so to speak, a can or box that had been set on the center of the gaming table will be turned over to the bereaved ones’ family. The box contains "proceeds" of the wins, which thus becomes a daily abuloy (donation).

Now, whoever said that you can’t afford to die these days is telling the truth, for the cost of "dying" – everything from embalming to buying the coffin, buying or constructing a niche in the cemetery, etc. – certainly is a big deal for the impoverished 70 percent of Filipinos. That’s why in our town, where the vast majority of us belongs to the lower class or the middle class, it is truly a big help to give abuloy to help defray the costs of "death." It is one of the most practical and charitable ways to express sympathy, provided it is done sincerely.

Then in the kitchen or dining room you’ll see friends and relatives busily preparing food (usually sandwiches and juices, but also viands during meal times) which they themselves have brought as abuloy. The idea behind doing so, I’ve discovered, is to minimize the bereaved ones’ concerns which include not just the preparation of daily meals but also "entertaining" the stream of sympathizers. Putting this practice in the context of Filipinos "entertaining" or going out of our way to make guests feel right at home – which is inseparable from serving food – you’ll realize just how much this gesture is appreciated by the bereaved.

In front of the coffin itself, you will see manangs (church-going ladies) leading the rosary or some prayer, the other sympathizers joining in. Sometimes a priest friend will even celebrate Mass in the bereaved ones’ homes, or members of some church or socio-civic organization of which the deceased had belonged will drop by to sing perhaps or to honor their departed colleague in some other way.

Always, always, always, there will be somebody or some group of people dropping by, so that round the clock, a bereaved family is never left "alone." Why, even the village lunatic takes the time to drop by, sleeping on the garden or some bench he has conveniently found outside!

I have since realized that the games played during wakes aren’t ends in themselves – what’s important, really, is that one’s friends, neighbors and relatives are present, and it is this constant, vibrant presence that has made a world of a difference in helping me – and my townmates – cope with what could have been depressing, empty homes after our loved ones’ deaths. The games are just there to keep people awake; the idea is that we’re-all-in-this-together.

That’s the most reassuring part about grieving in the province – people will not leave you until they know you’re okay and you can handle your sadness alone. By simply being there, they allow you a transition phase of some sort to sturdy yourself before the time comes that you have to come to terms with death. Even after the funeral and you return to your house, you can be sure there will still be people with you.

And what of the chit-chat and the laughter and the gossip? This is where I have learned to distinguish between form and substance. I believe that while death casts a pall on our lives, the simple throbbing of voices around us assures us in turn that life does go on. That while we may find ourselves in a cocoon of loneliness, we can rest assured that that is not by all means our only shell. The world is a much, much larger shell, and it is to this happier, merrier world that we hope to emerge after our grieving.

Sympathetic friends, neighbors and townmates who are ready to help cushion your fall when death deals its blows... how much more of the quintessential Filipino bayanihan spirit can one ask for?

(E-mail the author at annmondo@yahoo.com)