The Mayor's Daughter
35mm photo series
35mm photo series
35mm photographs
Dangdangla, San Juan, La Union, Philippines
A story on my father's death:
Nearing a year of my father's funeral, I've been reflecting on how we honor the dead in our cultures and the taboo nature of death and dying in Western society. For the past few years, I've created public community altars in observance of 'Araw Ng Mga Patay'/Day of the Dead. But in the era of COVID, I quietly grieve to myself as I remember the process of mourning during my father's funeral.
I've been to many funerals and Filipinx/-American funerals, but planning my father's was unlike any other stress I've ever experienced. Being the daughter of an immigrant who was the former mayor of our hometown, there was a lot I was not prepared to navigate.
First, we had his wake here in California, for his American friends to come say goodbye to him one last time. He said goodbye to his former life here, as we flew him out to the Philippines to prepare for his burial. But it wasn't as easy as having a one-day wake and then burying him the next day. Not like in the US. In the Philippines, it is customary to have a week-long wake in your household, with 24 hour visiting hours. We were up at all hours of the day and night serving our visitors food, who were arriving at the crack of dawn to the late hours of the evening. It is believed that the body cannot be left alone, because spirits will come take them away. We had to take turns taking naps, so one of us was with him at all times. Family members played cards and mahjong, while my nieces, nephews and I played Uno, to stay awake the whole day. Being a night owl myself, I naturally wanted to take the night shifts.
In the daytime, we prayed novenas everyday with our family priest, as my father was baptized Catholic. Growing up in the US, I was lucky that my parents never wanted to raise me religious, a rare case for most first generation FilAms. It was the one agreement my parents made when I was born — that I wouldn't be raised religious and I could have the freedom to decide when I got older. This was an intentional choice, as my parents were both raised different religions, and this caused tensions between their families. Being asked to lead prayers for my father's novenas was foreign to me. My island family was not only confused by my outward appearance, my lack of marriage and children, but could not for the life of them understand how I was not Catholic, let alone religious.
On the last day of the wake, my father was taken to the town center. As the former mayor, it is customary for them to have one wake day in town, for the town people to come give their respects prior to the burial. With my father in tow, we were accompanied by the police to the town center, where we had one last fiesta for him. Typical Filipinx tsimis (gossip) was exchanged, as we listened to folks talk about us, his "American family," being different from his "Philippines family." What can I say? We're just a modern family!
On the day of his burial, we took him from the town center to the Catholic church where he was baptized, while we performed his final funeral mass. We then had his procession from the church to the cemetery, accompanied by the police again, blasting my father's favorite song "My Way," by Frank Sinatra (honestly, every uncle's favorite song!). For the burial ceremony, my father had a military send off, with cops and military present. For whatever reason, my family thought that's what he would have wanted.
Finally, we put him in the ground and I felt a huge sense of relief. Even capitalism has managed to make death expensive and stressful. The truth is, nobody knows what my father really wanted. His death was unexpected (to a degree) and we never had the chance to plan for it. What are your thoughts? Is the week-long funeral process burdensome on families, or is it something we should continue to practice?
Dangdangla, San Juan, La Union, Philippines
A story on my father's death:
Nearing a year of my father's funeral, I've been reflecting on how we honor the dead in our cultures and the taboo nature of death and dying in Western society. For the past few years, I've created public community altars in observance of 'Araw Ng Mga Patay'/Day of the Dead. But in the era of COVID, I quietly grieve to myself as I remember the process of mourning during my father's funeral.
I've been to many funerals and Filipinx/-American funerals, but planning my father's was unlike any other stress I've ever experienced. Being the daughter of an immigrant who was the former mayor of our hometown, there was a lot I was not prepared to navigate.
First, we had his wake here in California, for his American friends to come say goodbye to him one last time. He said goodbye to his former life here, as we flew him out to the Philippines to prepare for his burial. But it wasn't as easy as having a one-day wake and then burying him the next day. Not like in the US. In the Philippines, it is customary to have a week-long wake in your household, with 24 hour visiting hours. We were up at all hours of the day and night serving our visitors food, who were arriving at the crack of dawn to the late hours of the evening. It is believed that the body cannot be left alone, because spirits will come take them away. We had to take turns taking naps, so one of us was with him at all times. Family members played cards and mahjong, while my nieces, nephews and I played Uno, to stay awake the whole day. Being a night owl myself, I naturally wanted to take the night shifts.
In the daytime, we prayed novenas everyday with our family priest, as my father was baptized Catholic. Growing up in the US, I was lucky that my parents never wanted to raise me religious, a rare case for most first generation FilAms. It was the one agreement my parents made when I was born — that I wouldn't be raised religious and I could have the freedom to decide when I got older. This was an intentional choice, as my parents were both raised different religions, and this caused tensions between their families. Being asked to lead prayers for my father's novenas was foreign to me. My island family was not only confused by my outward appearance, my lack of marriage and children, but could not for the life of them understand how I was not Catholic, let alone religious.
On the last day of the wake, my father was taken to the town center. As the former mayor, it is customary for them to have one wake day in town, for the town people to come give their respects prior to the burial. With my father in tow, we were accompanied by the police to the town center, where we had one last fiesta for him. Typical Filipinx tsimis (gossip) was exchanged, as we listened to folks talk about us, his "American family," being different from his "Philippines family." What can I say? We're just a modern family!
On the day of his burial, we took him from the town center to the Catholic church where he was baptized, while we performed his final funeral mass. We then had his procession from the church to the cemetery, accompanied by the police again, blasting my father's favorite song "My Way," by Frank Sinatra (honestly, every uncle's favorite song!). For the burial ceremony, my father had a military send off, with cops and military present. For whatever reason, my family thought that's what he would have wanted.
Finally, we put him in the ground and I felt a huge sense of relief. Even capitalism has managed to make death expensive and stressful. The truth is, nobody knows what my father really wanted. His death was unexpected (to a degree) and we never had the chance to plan for it. What are your thoughts? Is the week-long funeral process burdensome on families, or is it something we should continue to practice?
