Breathe
By Areli Paz
Death: the only certainty of life, no one is saved.
Oblivion: the true death.
Taste: the one daily reminder not to stop tasting life, not everything is going to please us.
I have always hated talking about death. Not mine, that sometimes I think of it as the only way to get rid of the heavy, the sad, the boring, the painful or burdensome.
Thinking about my loved ones, those I love and never want to lose, drives me crazy. I never want to lose my loves of life, but death is the only certainty we have when we are born. Nobody knows what we will do, who we will live with, who we will love or who we will be with, but yes, it is known, death is certain, it is the only one that does not respect religion, geographic location, profession, bad mood, emotion, political party, philosophy, behavior, attitude or pocket, we are going to die anyway.
The phrase sounds so strong, but nothing better than assuming the truth. My internal quarrel has been changing, as you know, age does not forgive either, but it does make you stronger, wiser and more compassionate.
It was not immediate, one event changed my perception of death and that was cleaning bones.
In Pomuch, Campeche there is a tradition that is being lost due to religious issues and because each time, the younger generations leave the town and do not return.
The tradition is to clean the bones of the dead. In the central cemetery the bones are in boxes with white folders embroidered with colorful flowers, strategically placed so that the femur comes out of the box a little bit, then the legs, arms and head are in a "good position".
In the family, at home, the women prepare the food with what the muertito liked, and the traditional pomuch bread, that soft bread, but not so soft that it can be soaked with chocolate, either milk or water, is prepared so that after the cleaning ritual, everyone ends up talking about the one who left.
The older one carries the brush, the brush, the broom, the music if he liked the music or the whistle while the bone cleaning is executed.
I was shocked, I couldn't believe that boys, girls, women and family members could talk to the bones as if they were nothing. But they made me understand that in Pomuch the relationship between the dead and the living is like that, close, one that caresses you, one that caresses you to the bone, literally.
In two hours of life and death lessons, this family shared anecdotes, some cried, others laughed, and there was room for all emotions.
Bones can only be cleaned when three years have passed after the burial and that is if the bones are ready to be cleaned, "if not until they give".
Before, the cleaning was done at home, but the government banned it due to sanitary issues, so families have understood how to live each day of the dead.
Tradition is lost, in the syncretism of religion, Mayan culture, new beliefs and the abandonment of the younger ones who no longer want to follow the rite, little by little Pomuch becomes a legend. One that, by the way, completely changed my perception of life and death, which for me, is only allowed in these days.
I'm still afraid of him, well, less so now.
The memory of Pomuch goes in the sense of death and bread, the smell of the streets and houses that invite you to sit and talk for hours to tell you about the life and work of all those who have gone and those we do not want to forget.
That is why I prefer the honor in life, when I can still say, embrace and believe that we still have a long way to go... that, no one knows.
The opinions expressed are the responsibility of the authors and are absolutely independent of the position and editorial line of the company. Opinion 51.
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