UNDAS is Memory Lane… and Potholes

Some roads to memory lane are rivers now.

Every 1st of November, Filipinos walk memory lane. Cemeteries fill with families honoring the departed—parents, siblings, grandparents, friends who shaped our lives. For me, UNDAS brings back Daddy Jaime and Mommy Eliza, Auntie Lung, Kuya Dante, Boboy, and Kuya Pepe—and Lola Sisang and Lolo Binong, Lola Maria and Lolo Juan. Their laughter, stories, and lessons live in every ILAW candle we light, every flower we lay. UNDAS is a day of love, reflection, and family tradition.

It used to be us inside the family mausoleum: children, titas, titos, cousins, nephews, nieces. As time passes, so do memories and values. Family is conscience. Members may differ in how they view the present and the past. Each family member has a different lens through which to look at the dead and our loved ones who have gone ahead. The past has much to teach us about how to see the present. It is in remembering the lives of those who came before that we find guidance for the choices we make today.

Yet this year, memory lane is full of potholes. Roads to cemeteries are broken. Low-lying towns flood easily. Paths that should guide us safely to our loved ones turn into rivers during heavy rains. What should be a solemn journey becomes a harsh reminder: neglect. Sometimes, outright corruption. Billions of pesos meant for flood control have been wasted, poorly executed, or stolen. Graves are washed away. Flowers destroyed. Memories at risk. If the dead could see, they would seethe. UNDAS is supposed to be a day of remembrance, yet the living suffer because public funds vanish into empty pockets. Memory alone cannot protect what we hold dear. Respect for the departed must be matched by responsibility in the present.

This duality—the sweetness of remembrance and the bitterness of neglect—is a lesson for all of us. Honoring our departed with candles and prayers must be paired with vigilance and accountability. Communities deserve roads that withstand the rains. Drainage systems that actually work. Leaders who treat public funds with integrity. Without this, even our most cherished traditions are vulnerable—to storms, literal and figurative.

Walking among the graves, I see families wading through floodwaters just to reach their loved ones. Graves topple. Flowers are swept away. Sorrow deepens into frustration at failures that could have been prevented. UNDAS, meant for reflection, becomes a lesson: dishonesty and inefficiency have consequences.

There is also a cultural dimension to consider. In the Philippines, UNDAS is not just a family ritual; it is a national observance that binds communities together. When the dead left naturally or not, we remember them and how they went, if sad or happy, in pain or just slept without knowing if it would be forever.

We light candles and offer prayers for those who shaped our collective history. The act of remembering is intertwined with care for place—the cemetery, the neighborhood, the town. When public systems fail, it is more than inconvenience; it is a breach of the social contract, a fracture in the way communities honor memory.

Yet amid grief and anger, there is also a call to action. The dead may rest, but the living must act. UNDAS teaches us not only to remember, but also to protect. One candle, one flower, one honest flood control project at a time, we honor both past and future. Every project, every road, every drainage system is a way of caring for life—both living and remembered.

UNDAS reminds us that life is fragile—and so are the structures that support it. Love for those we have lost must extend to the living. Cemeteries, homes, communities—all deserve protection. Memory and action are inseparable: to honor one without the other is to dishonor both.

This November, as I walk memory lane, I carry both love and outrage. Love for Dad and Mom, Auntie Lung, Kuya Dante, and Kuya Pepe—and outrage at systems that fail the living. Many perished for the failure of government systems and greed. UNDAS is memory lane, yes—but it is also a call to responsibility. Tradition, memory, and accountability must walk together. Only then can memory lane remain a place of love, reflection, and dignity for generations to come.

Because in the end, memory without action is hollow. Candles burn, flowers fade, graves crumble—but integrity, vigilance, and care endure. If we want the memories of our loved ones to be preserved, if we want the communities we inherit to thrive, we must treat both memory and life with the respect they deserve.