Wednesday was such a fucking mess.

It was the day of the funeral. After the final mass at 930 AM, the coffin was brought by the hearse to Manila Memorial Park in Sucat, where my lola was to be buried beside my lolo. Final prayers, final viewing, and then finally the lid is closed, the casket is lowered into a cement case, we toss flowers down and watch as the cement lid is lowered into place. After this we’re supposed to have lunch. The food is prepared; plates, glasses and plastic utensils all laid out. But no. Because the stupid motherfucker of a driver, who among all the MMP staff is the only one wearing a sando, shorts, and slippers, backs up his mini-dump truck, and just drops all the soil into the hole. Except it ISN’T soil, it’s mud, wet earth, packed together and thus, falls into the hole as if it were one solid, heavy lump. And while people are already lining up to eat, curious me peers over the edge and sees that one end of the cement lid is raised. And that there are cracks crisscrossing, disappearing under the mud. Before Fucking Moron can dump his second load, I mention it to my parents, who are near the edge but not looking over it. They can’t see it from where they’re standing. So they see it, and my aunt sees it, and they tell the workers to halt. People stop eating, come over to the edge, look over, see the crack and the opening and murmur and my aunt and mom are really pissed. My dad is pissed, too, I can see, but he’s keeping quiet behind his sunglasses, since my tita and mom are already berating the driver and the other workers, asking for the officer-in-charge. Instructions are given to dig out the mud already in the hole to see the damage. Because we can see the cement lid is shattered. It’s broken. What no one wants to say out loud, but everyone is thinking, is what about the casket? We eat anyway because several of us are already hungry.

Later, when the mud is out, we see the damage: the cement lid has broken, caved in, and damaged the lid of the casket. Thankfully, because there are metal braces within the cement lid, it didn’t cave in all the way, otherwise the casket, glass, and my lola’s body may have been damaged. But still, due to the negligence of this moron driver, the casket we paid for is damaged, and at this point we don’t know about the inside. Trucks come to pull out the lid’s remains and the casket. Meanwhile I, who had been given the digital camera at the house before we left with instructions to take pictures of the mass and funeral, was now being told to take pictures of the damage, what the workers were doing, and the people present, particularly the driver. Behind me people are talking lawsuit.

The OIC arrives and tells us they’ll replace the casket free of charge. Thankfully there’s a PAZ funeral parlor within the memorial park, and the casket is brought to a truck, and taken there. I accompany the casket along with my dad’s eldest brother. We get to the parlor and suddenly I’m in the room where bodies are prepared. There are two steel slabs, slanted at a slight angle, with headrests. Hoses at their side. I wonder what it’s like to be lying naked on cold steel. Not that we’ll ever be conscious when we get there. They bring out an identical casket, though slightly longer and with less gildings. At this point, though, we can’t really be choosy. It’s more important that we get this over and done with, rather than prolong things because it’s not the exact same design. Finally comes the moment I’ve been dreading: after the opening of both caskets and the transfer of flowers, the transfer of my lola’s body. They take off the glass lid under the casket lid, and gently lift her up into the other casket. I was scared at first because I kept wondering about things that may sound ridiculous now: what if the body breaks? Will there be a sound like creaking wood? What if a part of her comes off? Thankfully, nothing happened, and apparently she was very light. The body was expectedly stiff, but it surprised me HOW stiff, as in she stayed perfectly straight even though she was only being lifted at her shoulders and legs, with no support under her back. Glass lid was placed, flowers transferred, lid closed. Into the truck and back to the burial lot where some people were still waiting, though most guests had already left. The casket is carried to the lot and there’s another last viewing, my dad and his siblings checking the casket. The casket is lowered, and someone makes a joke: “Take two.” We throw flowers in again. The cement lid is put in place again. This time, though, the soil (actual soil now) is shoveled in. We wait until it’s full, and I learn from my mom that while I was away my dad said something like, “She refuses to go.” It’s old-people humor. The OIC ordered a bunch of Jollibee hamburgers and drinks for us. So I don’t know if there’ll be a lawsuit or not.

What should’ve ended at 1230 ended at 4 PM.

I’m almost sorry I mentioned the smashed lid to my parents, because it became such a headache and caused all this trouble. But then, it was right, I think, to do so. We paid for the casket, after all, and I don’t think it would’ve been fair to keep her in the ground without knowing what happened. It’s just so damn ridiculous. I can only imagine what my dad and his siblings felt. How would I feel if my mom’s body was possibly damaged by the negligence of an overweight ignoramus? I probably would’ve clocked the guy. It’s a disgrace, an insult, disrespectful. If any of you are getting buried at Manila Memorial, be careful about how it’s done.

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This is my first funeral since my maternal lolo back in around 87. I’d forgotten about the procedure. While everything was going on I just kept thinking about what other people must have been thinking. Old people in the crowd: were they contemplating their own funerals? Did the kids even realize what was happening? Did the workers appreciate the irony of making a living from tending to the dead? Or were they just numb and cold about it, seeing it only as a job? I wonder if my parents were thinking about what the view is like from the other side. It’s probably because I kept taking pictures, so I was just looking at people’s expressions.

I think I’d like my funeral to be kind of like a party.

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On a lighter note, congratulations to Lia and Quark! The former for turning (only) 22, and latter for pulling off a sweet surprise party. And for giving Lia a lomo. Shee-it. Good food and company galore, plus some porn, which is always good.