We are now in Camarines Sur, in the Bicol region, where my mother and her siblings grew up. On our way to my relatives and grandparent's graves, we picked up a person familiar with the prayers for the dead. My aunts cautioned me not to take random pictures in the cemetery.
My lolo ( grandfather ) died approximately one month before I was born, and my lola (grandmother ) and I share the same birthday. One time, she ordered the killing of a chicken for our party. We had tinola.
I remember waking up early to go to the coconut tree field. We rode a bamboo cart pulled by a kalabaw ( water buffalo ) in the dark. The sun hadn't risen yet; the roosters crowed as if racing each other to see who could crow the loudest. We ate buko ( coconut meat and coconut water ) under the shades.
One hot summer day, my cousins and I wanted halo-halo and mais con yelo ( shaved ice, sweet corn, and evaporated and condensed milk ). Our lola didn't want us to eat the because we'll get a cough. We disobeyed her, and we paid a price for it ( in bamboo ).
The prayers ended. My aunt swept the scurrying ants decomposing plants, dried twigs, and other debris off the concrete floor. We said goodbye and left the candles burning.
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