The Pinoy Deathstyle

A few weeks ago, a good friend of mine died suddenly. He was only 40 years old, and seemed – a day prior to his death – a very healthy person. But then one fateful morning, he complained of fatigue and a slight headache, and then suddenly collapsed. Nobody knew what happened until we brought him to the hospital. The doctor, shaking his head, said to my friend’s wife: “ikinalulungkot ko, subalit wala na po siya.” My friend died of massive stroke. The widow, confronting her two young children said in tears, “Mga anak.. iniwan na tayo ng Papa niyo”.

The widow and the two children were instantly confronted with grief, shock, and the strenuous task of arranging the funeral arrangements. The young bereaved family was in no way prepared to deal with death in the family, and so I was asked by the widow to help in the funeral arrangements. What would the dead wear? Which funeral homes offer good but reasonable charge in service? What type of coffin will be appropriate? Which public cemetery is closest to the home of the family?

As it happened, I was no more knowledgeable about funerals and cemeteries than the recently orphaned family, so the first thing I did was to go to an internet café to Google “Philippine funeral services,” which brought me to a few memorial homes’ websites offering funeral services in Manila. But then, coming back to the hospital, a few funeral agents were already there to offer their services. I soon found that some funeral homes have small offices near hospitals ready for prospective clients – patients who expire in hospitals.

I knew it would be my task to protect the family from the funeral agents so I decided to get brochures from them rather than haggle with their prices. Since the family was below middle class and wanted immediate service, I opted for a funeral home in Quezon City that offered “packages” meaning they provide everything that the dead “needs”, like death certificate, City Hall registration, church rituals, public cemetery, and of course the preparation of the remains (embalming, makeup), the casket, and the funeral service – that includes the provision of catafalque, lighting, carpet, and the limousine.

It was very convenient and the widow liked the idea. And so on the evening of my friend’s death, he was already home in a nice white coffin with plastic handles that looks neither cheap nor expensive. Inside the coffin, he was wearing the barong tagalog that we hastily washed and dried in a nearby laundry. Ironically, it was the same barong he wore in his wedding 12 years before.

My friend’s sudden death exposed how typically ignorant we Filipinos are about the business of dying. Death happens to all of us and everyone knows this is certain, but the surprising thing is that we hardly prepare for it. We consider it morbid to prepare for our death. Our inherent fear of death is probably due to our concept that death is an unpleasant and painful experience, compared to say, eating pizza or watching a good movie. Needless to say, the current majority of Pinoy population – the youth – is largely ignorant of funerals and cemeteries. Comparatively, the senior segment of the population are already planning their move to the “other side,” and are the ones who likely be reading newspaper obits to keep up with who among their contemporaries have kicked the bucket.

The Buddhist monk, Sogyal Rimpoche, famed author of The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, once defined death as simply “breathing in… and not breathing out.” Is it that simple? Perhaps this is why we take it for granted – the “breathing in and the breathing out.” Right now, as you are reading this, you may even have begun to notice your breathing. It comes naturally, doesn’t it? – even effortlessly provided of course you didn’t have asthma!

When I was young, an old relative died and I remember asking my father why he died. His answer: “nakalimutang huminga.” The boy that was me took his reply seriously. For a time, I always made it a point to remember to breathe in and out. I didn’t want to forget, afraid I'd die. It was only later I found out my dad was pulling my leg.

Back then, I didn’t realize it was typical of parents to shield their children against the facts of death. Our elders, not in so many words ‘taught’ us death is unreal; that it simply doesn’t happen. And that it was good for us not to know what death means. Thus, when a relative dies, we are told the deceased is “natutulog lang,” or “magbabakasyon,” or, “pupunta sa langit.”

The doctor who pronounced the death of my friend did not even have the courage to say “He died.” Instead he said: “wala na siya (he’s gone).” And my friend’s widow, confronting her children also shied away from mentioning death by choosing the less traumatizing word “iniwan na tayo.” But death is a universal truth. No matter how we cushion its impact, the blow of death could be devastating.

The only thing we knew as children was that when our relatives die, they were put inside nice white or bronze-colored coffins (with nice handles), were treated to make-up and hairdo, and dressed in Sunday’s best. The family will then orchestrate grotesque slumber parties or lamay for a few nights, complete with drinking and card games, not only to honor the dead but also to raise funds for the funeral costs.

Dying in the Philippines, I found, is not only emotionally stressful, but financially draining to the family as well, as most Pinoys are unconcerned about funeral insurance unlike people in the West. During my frantic search for my friend’s coffin, I found there were many varieties of coffins to choose from: from 6,000-peso lawanit (cheap wood) coffins to 150,000 peso –“hermetically-sealed oak coffins.” For a complete package, the cheapest is 15,000 pesos (around 400 US dollars) for an ordinary wooden coffin with four days/ three nights funeral service. It is therefore not surprising that abuloy or money donations from relatives, neighbors and friends are most welcome.

The lamay can be a strenuous experience to the family who had to stay awake most of the time to entertain th steady flow of guests and visitors. But the lamay is necessary, even expedient. The lamay can be a way to make the dead feel he or she is loved, although one wonders if the departed ever wants for anything in the afterlife. But it is good for us who have stayed behind to know we have given the best service and demonstration of our love to our dearly departed. Never mind if we totally miss out on the irony that we are doing things for our own rather than the dead one’s satisfaction. Come to think of it, it the dead has his way, would he really like to lie flat inside a claustrophobic coffin, or be displayed in public view for four days and three nights, or be wept over by relatives and gawked at by strangers?

Wouldn’t the dead prefer to lie down on a soft bed surrounded by flowers?--a moot question actually since the dead doesn't feel anything (although their spirits in the after-life may still see us). But then the average Filipino – afraid of death – may even be more afraid of corpses, regardless that of a loved one. Perhaps that is why we need to put our dead inside boxes.

The truth of the matter is that the corpse is no longer our loved one. That is why morticians and undertakers term the corpses as “remains.” The corpse is what “remained” of our loved one. It doesn’t move, it doesn’t do all the things that it was supposed to do, like for example, talk to you, which if it does, can be very disturbing indeed.

Anyway, the lamay also prepares the bereaved family for formal mourning – three or four nights of vigil, and thus prepare to say the final goodbye. Through the formal mourning, the family receives condolences from relatives, friends and even strangers. Long lost relatives could turn up any moment, making the funeral an instant family reunion of sorts.

During the wake, reminiscences of friends and relatives are often a good way to assuage the family’s grief. This is probably a subconscious effort to assure the family that the dead has a good chance of entering heaven. All of us, of course wish to live good enough lives to earn us a place in heaven -- although the later, the better, we hope. Don’t we often tease a friend who did us some favor by saying: “Ang bait mo talaga… sana kunin ka na ni Lord?” Yet, deep in our hearts, we know that we don’t want that to happen very soon, even if the idea sounded good (being in heaven with the Lord). Or how about the common joke we often hear at funerals: "Huwag ka na malungkot una una lang naman yan. Malay mo bukas ikaw naman ang susunod".

But then again, all of us will, sooner or later, kick the bucket, bite the dust, breathe our last, depart, pass on; or in Tagalog, magsasakabilang-buhay, matitigok, matetepok, matotodas, magpapaalam, and all the other euphemisms of death one can think of, except the blunt “mamatay.”

However ignorant we, Filipinos, are of death, whenever the Grim Reaper comes knocking on the door of a neighbor, relative, or friend, we are always there to condole, sympathize, and give help and support – provided of course there is constant supply of biskwit at kape during the lamay.

*In Nueva Ecija and Bulacan, the term for namatay is "nasira", so for instance, if I die I would be called "nasirang Dennis", which is rather amusing to me than disturbing.

This article is originally published at the Philippine Online Chronicles. If you want to read more of more interesting Buhay Pinoy articles, please click here.