02/11/2025
"๐๐ณ ๐๐ฒ ๐น๐ถ๐๐ฒ, ๐๐ฒ ๐น๐ถ๐๐ฒ ๐ณ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ผ๐ฟ๐ฑ; ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐ถ๐ณ ๐๐ฒ ๐ฑ๐ถ๐ฒ, ๐๐ฒ ๐ฑ๐ถ๐ฒ ๐ณ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ผ๐ฟ๐ฑ. ๐ฆ๐ผ, ๐๐ต๐ฒ๐๐ต๐ฒ๐ฟ ๐๐ฒ ๐น๐ถ๐๐ฒ ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐ฑ๐ถ๐ฒ, ๐๐ฒ ๐ฏ๐ฒ๐น๐ผ๐ป๐ด ๐๐ผ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ผ๐ฟ๐ฑ."
- Romans 14:8
On the second of November, we make our way to cemeteries to walk among the resting, to whisper prayers, to lay offerings, and to kindle candlelights. All gather in remembrance; all pause to honor what once was. From the dust we came, and to the dust we shall return, yet in this cycle, in this sacred rhythm, our soul stays intact.
We remember, rejoice and mourn. Candles flicker in gentle procession, flowers bloom in tender tribute, and small remembrances of love rest upon the graves of those who once shaped our days.
Though sorrow may stir, we remember that life does not end upon death. Death marks not a final sigh, but the first breath of eternity. In this remembrance, in this ritual, we find reverence and renewal โ that our dearly departed have not quite left, but have found solitude far, far beyond the sod they rest upon.
Caption by Eumi Kanindot
Layout by Aryzia Carreon
