Last week, death surrounded me. Not the least because it was Halloween, or All Souls Day.
For practicum, Kim and I were tasked to go on a location survey for a film that Borgy Torre is directing. It’s exactly what it sounds like: we just have to survey the metropolis for possible locations for Borgy's film, which is still in preproduction. Specifically, we have to look for a cemetery for poor people, preferably a hilly expanse crowded with crumbling tombstones. So last Thursday, Kim and I went to the Manila North Cemetery to see if it might be a contender. I’ve never been there before. I'm used to desensitized American-style cemeteries, replete with geometrical plots, neat
lapidas lying flat on almost turf-like Bermuda grass. I'm also used to clean landscaping peppered across what’s essentially a clean horizon with full view of the skies, to the likes of Manila Memorial Park in Sucat, where most of the dead in our family are buried. I was in for a surprise with Manila North Cemetery.
It was a nasty visceral shock to the senses.
Manila North Cemetery is old, with niches, mausoleums, irregular-sized tombstones haphazardly strewn around the place. Some of the niches are piled up as high as 4 bodies, that is to say, 4 crypts on top of each other. These tall structures cast long shadows on what’s already a cramped place, especially upon the approach of sundown: indiscernible shapes paint the cemented surfaces to eerie effect. It’s right out of a scene from
The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, and true enough, after a few minutes in the place, I wouldn’t have found it so strange to find Cesare walking around, portending my near doom.

There are some mausoleums and tombstones that are inaccessible because of all the interlaced plots. Already labyrinthine paths have been disregarded and used as space to hunker down more crypts. One would have to be ready to climb on top of other crypts in order to reach other parts of the cemetery, something that strikes me as so disconcertingly disrespectful to the dead; and frankly, it’s just creepy to climb all those crypts, especially after watching all those zombie movies where the dead come alive. There’s that extant thought at the back of my head that the dead inside the crypts will be indignant, and come after my blood when I least expect it. Horror movie imagery gives birth to a lot of irrational fears, I'm living proof. Needless to say, it was creepy, trudging around the place and taking pictures, another no-no according to a convincing number of horror flicks, lest I want random white specters on the photos. I'm told they're rather photogenic; if not photogenic, then they're camwhores at least.
I gather that it might have been a pretty place once; there are some presidents buried there after all (like Manuel Roxas and Diosdado Macapagal.) But there's just so much squalor in the place, it adds to the overall depravity. And get this, there are some people who live there. Like inside the cemetery. The crypts become makeshift shanties; there are clotheslines all over the place, a lot of kids were playing. I wonder what kind of dream/nightmare it is to have a cemetery as your playground. Must get the imagination going, I suppose. I can't imagine living inside a cemetery. I know they're all dead, but it's not the fear of that. It's just...strange. The living should dwell with the living. Maybe residing alongside death on a daily basis might make one more aware of how alive they are, but it's not exactly ideal. I mean, waking up beside an aging crypt isn't exactly pleasant, is it?
It was a pretty trippy afternoon. Kim and I were also nursing hangovers from the night before, it was my twin brothers' birthday party and there was so much booze at home, couple that with a Spanish smorgasbord of paella, salpicao, pochero, and a lot more. We were walking around the cemetery thinking, "Just what in god's name are we doing here???" Super trippy. I think the hangover made me a bit more jittery.
One for the books! The things I do to earn a college degree...