Pagpag

https://vocal.media/writers/-a2ee1c047f

Not going straight home after a funeral is a widespread cultural tradition meant to confuse wandering spirits and prevent them from following you .

In Filipino tradition, stopping at a public place like a store or a restaurant before going home is called pagpag. While Pagpag literally means to shake off dust or dirt is also used as the term to trick or shake off lingering spirits.

Pagpag

Although it has just passed two in the afternoon, the dirt path winding away from the cemetery through the forest was dark. The branches overhung each side and joined in the middle, making an avenue for his departure after his own mother’s passing. It would have been much quicker to walk past the church onto the road back to his family home but he was right to hesitate. He had a distinct feeling that his mother’s spirit wasn’t going to be that easy to shake.

The sunlight broke through the end of the clusters of trees, and he felt at ease. His mother had been elderly, and her death had been a gentle one. A retirement of both body and mind. It was her choice. Her friends first came to say goodbye, then the family, and finally his sister, Angel, joined him. They held on to one side each as she slept and slipped away.

She lay now with his father and the baby boy, Jun Jun, who never saw past a first birthday. Sensing that she wasn’t quite finished with him yet, he took a sharp left, veering towards Alden’s diner, and continued towards the giant wasp sign hanging above the entrance.

‘Sorry to hear about your mother, Manuel. She was a good woman.’ Alden gestured for him to sit at the bar and placed a cup before him.

‘Thank you,’ was all Manuel could manage back. He was confused by a tickle in his right ear that felt like someone whispering incoherent words. He shook his head, but the noise only increased. The smell of sweet mango and peach distracted him back to the diner, and he realised that a fruit pie had been placed by the coffee.

‘On me,’ Alden said, and turned back to greet a new customer.

Manuel stuck his fork into the dessert, but the whispering in his ear grew louder. It was accompanied by a growing clicking sound that mimicked a distinct noise his mother made when she disapproved. Every time he leant forward, a sharp, cold breeze snapped against the back of his neck, forcing him to sit up straight.

Unable to finish his food, he turned towards his coffee. But as he reached out with his teaspoon toward the sugar bowl, he took in a sharp breath. The bowl slid away from him, entirely on its own and completely out of his reach.

Feeling he must be more exhausted than he thought he was, he got up. Walking towards the door, he noticed a real wasp tapping rhythmically against the window, as if trying to break the glass to come in. If he had not known she was gone, he would have said it was his mother’s cane tapping against the wooden floor of her bedroom as she arranged herself for bed.

Unable to motivate himself to add any more detours to the journey, he walked straight home. He'd carried a cold weight on his shoulders, which, as soon as he entered the house and opened the door to the small kitchen that his mother had cooked in throughout her life, just vanished. Maybe she had left him for the air outside.

The burner on the stove jumped into flame. A blue fire flickered under an empty pot, quickly followed by the rich, aromatic smells of garlic, vinegar, and bay leaves. A wooden spoon on the bench rattled, and the fridge door opened to show a chicken.

Manuel sighed. He rolled up his sleeves, took the pot, and filled it with water. He added the chicken and the herbs, feeling a soft breeze travel down his spine one last time before it rattled against the open window and blew past.