A ghostly calm envelops the typically bustling streets of Manila, starkly contrasting the city’s usual cacophony. In the heart of the city, where the symphony of urban life plays out in a blend of movement and sound, there is now a haunting hush. Today is All Saints’ Day, or Undas, as it is locally known. November 1 marks a time of quiet reflection—celebrating saints and cherishing the memories of the departed.
This celebration is more than a date marked on a calendar; it weaves through the cultural essence and spiritual consciousness of this multi-ethnic Southeast Asian nation. It serves more than just a tribute to the past; it connects generations through an unbroken thread of tradition. The observance stands as one of the most deeply rooted customs, illuminating the richness of the Filipino experience.
As the cemetery comes into view, the atmosphere shifts almost imperceptibly. Streets become narrower, bordered by rows of flower vendors, their bouquets growing denser and more fragrant the closer one approaches the gates. Council workers, clad in their uniforms, monitor makeshift barriers, guiding an ever-thickening stream of visitors. The solemnity deepens with each step. Council staff give way to SWAT team members standing sentinel with submachine guns, their expressions marked by a vigilant caution that adds weight to the proceedings. The balance between piety and security is palpable.
Passing through the entrance, the clamour of vendors hawking food, toys, and fabrics begins to fade. The surroundings transform into an expanse imbued with purpose. Here, the commerce that had flanked the streets thins out, replaced by the low hum of shared memories and soft voices. Visitors may opt for a ride to specific gravesites courtesy of enterprising locals offering transport for a fee. Despite the nature of the day, the grounds hum with a surprisingly positive energy. Families sit in small circles, laughter punctuating stories, voices rising above the murmur of prayers. Yet, within this tableau of warmth are moments of solitary reflection: an older man at a weathered grave, eyes unfathomable, and a boy lighting a candle, his small hands trembling as the flame takes hold.
Amid this dance of life and remembrance, economic disparities persist even in death. Some graves are ornate, well-kept monuments, testaments to families of means. Others, simpler and neglected, speak of different stories—perhaps of loved ones long absent or of generations grappling with fewer resources. The juxtaposition is striking, a silent reminder that inequity leaves its imprint not just on the living but on the memory of the departed.
Visitors carefully tend graves, adorning them with vivid flowers and softly flickering candles. These acts reach beyond mere ritual; they embody a respect that keeps memories alive. The air hums with whispered prayers and the rhythmic cadence of the rosary, merging with the glow of candlelight to form a spiritual guide for the departed. To witness these moments is to step into an ongoing narrative, one that embraces both the living and the dead.
Undas is not bound by solemnity alone. The day is one of renewed bonds, where laughter mingles with quiet reflection. Families remain well into the night, some setting up tents and sharing meals, recounting stories passed down through generations. What may seem unsettling to outsiders—the vigil at the graveside—brims with an undercurrent of joy, a unique synthesis of celebration and remembrance.
Food, in this setting, takes on a symbolic role. Staples like suman and kakanin, along with an array of delicacies, make their way onto mats and into conversations. Sharing food at gravesides reaffirms familial unity, echoing the sentiment that life itself is shared, cyclical, and deeply communal.
The streets outside become arteries for this pilgrimage, connecting homes with hallowed grounds. Stray dogs trot alongside the processions, adding a touch of levity to the solemn atmosphere. Within the shaded expanse of memorial parks, mats and simple comforts transform the spaces into collective gatherings overseen by officials who ensure this ceremonial tradition unfolds smoothly.
Besides visits to the cemetery, religious services anchor Undas, filling the grand halls of Spanish-era churches with hymns and intercessions.
The familiar rhythm of prayers provides a feeling of consistency, strengthening a long-standing custom aimed at bringing peace to those who have passed on.
Yet, Undas is not solely a relic of Spanish influence. The occasion retains echoes of pre-colonial practices, where families leave small offerings and follow customs that honour the unseen. Even modern technology plays a role, with digital candles flickering on screens and masses streamed online, allowing those far from home to remain part of the moment.
All Saints’ Day in the Philippines transcends ritual; it embodies a living testament to remembrance, respect, and the resilient ties of family. To witness it is to immerse oneself in a deep tradition, one that reminds us what truly matters: honouring our roots, cherishing those we love, and embracing a shared identity that persists beyond time.
