Ten years, perhaps twenty years, twelve months, thirty days, twelve hours, sixty seconds, and counting. For how long will I be staying in this dull, and lifeless paradise? For how long will I be waiting for the beautiful people to throw flowers over my stone bed? For how long will I be wandering around this lonely paradise, restless and sleepless? Can I even cross to the realm of living creatures to see them once again? I'm tired of waiting. I want to ascend already.
Am I even counting the correct years, months, days, hours, and seconds? I seem too disoriented about everything. I have neither a calendar nor a watch on my wrist, or a gadget on my hand to check the dates. I would only know that it is night once the sun sets below the horizon, and day once it rises to the sky. Day by day, my brain is becoming baffled and disoriented like a person with dementia. And I am more worried that I might forget the people I am longing for and the world as well.
While looking at the epitaph inscribed on the stone over my grubby concrete sepulcher, it seems to be forgotten by time too. The words become truncated and unreadable. And anyone who'll dare to look for my headstone would find it difficult to spot my place. Is there even anyone looking for me? I seem so lost and can not be found as it's been a long time since I saw familiar faces in my place. Have they forgotten me?
My house has been wrecked by a fallen tree because of a storm long ago, but no one cares to rebuild it. The vines and roots are slowly pulling my house to the ground. The dirt and weathered leaves are as thick as the compiled soil on the corner of the ground yard. Weeds and wild grasses are gradually growing around it. They're becoming taller as days passed by. No one cares to clean my house, not even myself. If only I could, I would surely do it. Unfortunately, I can't. So for a decade, I've been sleeping on a dirty, cold, and hard concrete bed.
Even my dress is still the same as they didn't care to leave a spare one. Can I even wash and change it? I have never worn clothes repeatedly in my entire life. Not until I laid cold in a wooden casket and they dressed me in white that I don't even like. It became permanent in my cold body and unchangeable. And in the cold days, no one cares to lend a shawl for my bare shoulders. I didn't care at all, as I was cold long ago and I became used to it.
The day of the internment of my wood casket inside my cold stone house is still vividly clear in the deeper part of my mind. All were present except for my extended relatives. Maybe because they thought that they couldn't lean on me anymore. Unlike when I was still active and useful, they would always remember me even on the simplest occasion or in their spare time. Most especially if they ask me a favor. How cruel the world is and the people are? They needed me when I was useful, they dumped me when I became weak and useless, or should I say, lifeless.
Here comes the fiesta and everyone is busy doing this and that. The beloved families of the dead souls are busy fixing, cleaning, and decorating their houses with different flowers and colorful candles. The lonely paradise becomes alive and the decedents' look happy. Except for me. Because here I am, still sitting cold over my tomb, waiting for familiar faces to appear at sight. But to no avail. Is this my fate? To wait forever even in the afterworld?
From the distance, I could see an old woman holding a rosary and murmuring words, she's probably praying for her beloved dead soul. She reminds me of my grandmother who was the busiest when this special event came. She would cook different foods and would lead the rosary for our beloved families in the afterworld. Including our deceased distant relatives, and the relatives of the relatives, and so on. It's like an unending prayer to make their souls at peace. I wonder if she's praying for me too today? Or is she even still active and full of life? I hope she is. I was just so unfortunate to cross the bridge of life before her. I guess it was my fate.
My neighbor looked happy as she saw her beloved mother carefully placing a bouquet, candles, and food on her stone bed. She wouldn't be hungry anymore. I wonder what my mother is doing right now? Back then, she would always cook something for me and save a big portion of food every time I was home to have a break from work. She never let me feel hungry and would prioritize saving food for me over my nasty brothers. My poor mother. I hope she's doing fine even though she has forgotten me too. I understood her tribulations, but can't she at least,
offer food for my hungry soul?
A grown-up boy go near me and I thought he saw me. He's holding a bag of candles. Perhaps, he'll be selling those. He reminds me of my little siblings when they were younger. They were excited for this celebration to take place as they could sell candles in the ground yard, and at the end of the day, the small number of coins in their pockets as shares of selling candles would make them so happy because they could buy anything from it. I was like them too when I was a kid. Those memories are indelible and can not be taken away by time, not even by death.
A decade or so has passed and I didn't see their faces anymore since the time they left me in this lonely paradise. What have I done to suffer even in my afterlife? How could they forget someone who offered her all to them and sacrificed her own happiness? Maybe this is my fate. And I just need to accept the fact that I AM A FORGOTTEN SOUL.
This story was inspired by the article of entitled Happy Death Anniversary Self, wherein he expressed his sentiment about being forgotten after death. I have shared the same sentiment in my article When It Rains It Pours, With Thoughts.
I was supposed to make something like this after reading Eunoia's article, but since All Saints Day was approaching, I opted to wait for this moment to come and make this version of mine. It's quite similar though because we have the same sentiment about this matter😅.
This is just a fragment of my creative mind and I don't wish for this to happen. I'm just curious though, what would you feel if your beloved families have forgotten you after your death?
You can share it below.
Thanks for reading.