It is Halloween night, and tomorrow Monday, it is All Saints Day in the Philippines. It is an opportune time to write about ghost stories, my ghost stories.
My mother has always told me not to fear the dead. She said, “They cannot harm you. They are dead.” With that in mind, I made up my mind, earlier in my youth that I will not fear ghosts. Of course, I get goose bumps when I hear stories about them, whether they are just tall tales or the truth. One of the stories that I recall was told by an old friend Gigi from Belgium. According to her, when she was on duty as a nursing student, she was asked to go to the Blood Bank. It was past midnight and the bank was in another building. She asked a classmate to go with her. They hopped in the elevator and there was another person behind them. Towards the trip down, they saw through their peripheral vision that the person behind them was levitating. When the door opened, they went running and screaming at the same time. I am not sure whether the story really happened or meant as a joke, but it spooks me still when I recall it.
My first encounter with a ghost was a “family” encounter. It happened in Manila when I was a teen-ager. One early evening, our screen door kept getting pushed and pulled as though someone was trying to open it although there was no one on the other side. My sister checked if there was wind but the evening was very still and humid. We closed the wooden door and locked it. Then, someone or something was pushing the door. My other sister started screaming and she sprinted upstairs to get her rosary and tied it on the knob. It was a scary sight; it seemed as though a force was trying to get in. My mother stepped up and said “Ipang, ikaw ba yan?” (Ipang, is that you?” She was referring to her late sister Felipa. “Ipang, ipanatag mo ang kaluluwa mo.” (Rest your soul.) The door stopped moving.
A few minutes later, my cousin Amang knocked on the door. When he came in, he told my mom “Inang Trining, my two sisters were fighting then we heard footsteps on the hallway.” My mother said, “That was your mother. It is her birthday; she wants your sisters to remember her and to stop fighting.” That experience taught me that I should never doubt when someone tells of a visit from someone who is not living anymore.
My belief was tested when one of my dearest friends contracted cancer and other complications from AIDS. We decided amongst us who were very close to him that I would be okay if he visits me after death. I would be the conduit between him and our friends. The two of us made a pact that he would “turn off” my VCR when his time came so that I would know that he has passed away. One day, I came home and noticed that my VCR was off. I called his number. He picked up the phone. I asked, “Buhay?” (“Hey, you alive?”) He yelled, “Buhay!” (Alive!) I said, “My VCR was off.” He said, “Call VEPCO. Maybe the power went out today, crazy!” We had exchanges like this. From time to time, I would call him and just yell, “Buhay?” He would yell back, “Buhay!” and we would hang up. One day, I came home to find all my lights in my condo were on. When I came in, he was collapsed on the couch, snoring away.
I have to mention that before his sickness my friend Joel was a very healthy, fun loving guy. He and another friend Vic and I would go out clubbing to dance the night away. We literally came in, danced, got a drink and go home. He would regale me of stories about his encounters with UFOs – which always led to his being chased by them in his little Chevy, his speeding on route 29, ending up somewhere in Washington, VA, which would always end up, for some reason or another in a bar where he would be dancing the night away while the UFO returned to its mother ship. Or his being a victim of a crime, yet he would have time to call the cops and join the chase in his little jalopy and he would always end up leading the cops during the chase. The absurdity of his stories would always reduce me to tearful laughter. He was my comedic relief. And yet, there was no one more loyal and helpful, kind, and reliable than my friend Joel. As a young man, he paid his way to the Ateneo de Davao, worked in the Middle East then Europe as a hotel employee. He came to the USA and worked as an employee at a Middle Eastern embassy and later on, he became a permanent resident and ultimately a U.S. citizen. He had his own printing business, and he won a contract to print stage bills and tickets for the DAR Constitution Hall. Then he got sick. His friends rallied behind him and planned for the inevitable.
In 1994, we had another group meeting amongst his closest friends. We decided to set a protocol when the day comes. As it turned out, I was assigned to take his body to the crematorium. I laughingly objected because one of our friends Beth volunteered to host a party after the memorial service. I protested, “What is this, I am burning our friend in an oven and you guys are partying?” Our friend Jan would just say, “Whatever you do, do not come to visit me because I will be too spooked.” One day, he was with me in the car. He pointed to a building not too far away from where we were. He said, “You know where that smoke is from? That is the crematorium.” It was not. But I said, “Oh, your personal grilling machine.” He laughed. But the laughter became subdued as the months went by. Then one day, he was rushed to Georgetown Hospital. I visited the first opportunity I had. We chatted for a while and then I had to go. He then asked me if I had two quarters. I handed him the quarters. Then he gave them back to me, and said, “Listen, put each on my eyelids.” Then he gave me his handkerchief and said, “Then tie this handkerchief around my face.” I burst out laughing. He said, “Normita, I am serious. You do this.” I asked why. He said because he cannot control his eyelids, they kept opening a little and he could not keep his mouth shut. I said, “We are going to spook the nurse. She might think you are dead when she sees you like this.” He said, “Let her be spooked. Maybe she would pay me more attention when she sees me dead than alive. ”
After he got out of the hospital, he went home and was fine for a while. During one of my visits, he told me he was strong enough that he actually killed a “huge snake.” The way he described this garden snake, one would think it was an African python. He said, “It was going to come into my walk-in basement.” He took me to the basement, he opened the door and showed me where the “python” was. I asked, “How did you kill it Joel?” He said, “I spanked it with my slipper!” “You what?” “I spanked it with my slipper!” “You spanked the snake?” “Well, I whacked it hard with my slipper. I swear it ran away!” I was laughing hard. “I have not heard of anyone killing a snake with a slipper!”
A month or so later, his condition became worse and despite all the discussions of us taking turns taking care of him, taking to the hospice when the time came, he decided to go home to Manila and die in his family home. That was the last time I saw my friend but before he left, I gave him a letter, while he could still read and understand that I would never, ever forget him and that I would tell my son all about his goodness. He left me his drafting table to give to my son. Every time I see the table, I think of all the origami Christmas ornaments he made on that table. Christmas is the one season my friend truly loved and he would forbid us to wrap presents without his help and he would turn out exquisite boxes, wrapped as if each contains the most precious gift in the whole world.
Second encounter: My friend Belle and I were visiting the home of a mutual friend. It was late in the morning. We were talking by the kitchen. I saw a shadow that kept going up and down the stairs. I checked if there was a car or something outside that might have been reflecting a shadow but there was none. It happened a couple of times. When we left the place, my friend turned to me and said, “Did you see…” I could not wait for her to finish her sentence. “Tell me if you saw what I saw!” We both saw the shadow and we both described it going up and down the stairs. The next day, I found the huge fruit bowl that had been sitting on my microwave oven for years broken in two. I never heard it break but it was neatly broken with one half on the kitchen counter. Enough of the VCR. Turning it off would not have an impression. The same day, we received news that Joel died the night before, April 17.
Third encounter: Joel’s best friend Bette was visiting the USA from Uganda. She and Jan and I decided to meet and reminisce about him. It had been years since Joel passed away. Unfortunately, the meeting did not happen due to conflicts in our schedules. One early morning, my little son woke up and complained about the smoke alarm going off. No one smokes in our home so my husband (HB) turned off the alarm. It went off again, so he removed the battery. Then, the radio in our bathroom, which has not been working for a year or so started playing weird noises; the noises like someone talking but incoherently. HB said there was nothing else he could do since the battery is dead. We closed the door while the radio kept playing. It sounded like Joel when he would cough and I flatly told my husband that I think it is Joel and I realized that he was probably annoyed that the meeting, designed to reminisce about him did not happen. The next day, as I drove to my theater rehearsal, I stopped the car at Old Georgetown Road where across the street stands a church and its graveyard. My son turned to me and said, “Mommy, we should move here near that cemetery so that Uncle Joel and his friends would not have to fly all the way to our home to take a shower.” I took note of this and then realized that it was April 17th and there is no doubt this was Joel reminding me through my son. When I got home, HB said, “Listen, talk to Joel and tell him that he has to stop.” I went upstairs and went into the bathroom then I said, “Joel, I am sorry the meeting did not happen. I also know you are annoyed at me because you wanted to come back and I advised against it. I did that because I know you would not make it. I am very sorry. I remember you and will never forget you. Please stop talking on the radio because it is starting to spook us.” The radio became quiet. We took it off the wall and threw it away. We rewired the smoke alarm and it stayed silent.
Fourth Encounter: HB went on trip, recruiting law school students at Yale. That night I was studying in the study room at the basement. It was Friday night. We had a maid who did the laundry on Wednesday. All of a sudden, the washer started spinning. There were no clothes in it. I turned it off. A few minutes later, it started again so I turned it off again. The phone rang and it was my coworker, Lise. I told her what was happening. She said, “Unplug it. If it turns on again, do not call me.” It turned on again so I unplugged it. I continued studying when the phone rang. It was my sister-in-law’s brother. He told me that my sister-in-law Ann just passed away. She was vacationing with my brother in Spain. I am not sure where I got the idea that a person’s dying spirit uses up an overwhelming energy so that the signs the soul sends to the living stand out. I believed that it was my late sister in law Ann who was behind the washer spinning.
Over a year later, my brother who has since remarried was moving out of state. My new sister-in-law asked me if there was something I wanted from the attic. I asked for an old serving bowl that belonged to my brother’s late wife. The bowl has never been used and it was still in its original box. Unfortunately, when I opened the box, it had cracks and I decided to use it only for fruits and only on special occasions. As I put it away, I “talked” to Ann, “Sister Ann, we still miss you and now I own your bowl. I will take care of it.” I called my sister in Florida who does ceramics to ask if there is a way to fix a cracked ceramic and she said there’s none. I told her about the bowl and she told me to continue using but do not put liquid in it. Around the summer, I took it out to use it for summer fruits. I was careful to handle it because of the cracks. Then to my surprise, the cracks were gone. I was bewildered. I called my sister again to ask if she has had any cracked ceramics that “healed” themselves. She said never.
Fifth Encounter: My niece and I came back to our hotel room from a day’s outing during our vacation in a resort in southern Philippines. I noticed when I went in the bathroom that there was sand in the bath tub. This struck me as strange since we have not been swimming in the ocean. And we were out the whole day. Some of the flowers by the dresser were also in the tub. I changed into a new sarong I bought from our trip into town and posed for a photo. Behind me was a wall and window. We occupied the end room on the second floor of the main pavilion. When we reviewed the photo, my niece asked me, “Nice photo. But who is this?” pointing to the man behind me. There was a silhouette of a man behind me. The shape was totally discernible. It was a man standing straight. I asked her to take another photo. The man was no longer in the photo. My other niece knocked on the door while I zoomed the photo, trying to put some logic as to why there was a shadow of a man behind me. It could not have been my niece since she was the one holding the camera to take the photo. It could not have been my shadow because I was posing obliquely. I deleted the photo as I sensed my niece was getting scared. The other photo without the silhouette disappeared from the camera as well.
The next day at breakfast, I asked our waiter if there is a ghost in my room. He said there is no ghost in any of the rooms. My sister asked me why and we told her the story of the photo we took. She told me and my niece not to empower the ghost; that we should refer to it as a shadow and nothing more. She asked me if I believed in ghosts and I said I did because of my friend Joel. “And oh by the way, what was today’s date?” I asked. She said, “Today is April 17th.” I went back to the room by myself and talked to my friend “I am sorry I deleted you from the photo. You are welcome to join in.”I started taking photos of the room but I did not capture one shadow. I regret having to delete the one the previous night but my niece said that the “pass” the spirits get to visit is limited to a few seconds only. Thus, I missed another chance of chatting with my friend again. I know, however, that one of these years again, as he has done in the past, he would send me some subtle sign that he is hovering over me.
