You know traffic is so bad when I haven’t even been to a Greenbelt 3 cinema in close to a year. I savored the seats, which I think is the best of them all (excluding La-Z-Boy types). I also haven’t been able to watch as much movies as from years before when we would run out of films to watch—that’s about once or even twice a week. Now, I have Netflix, plus the nearer Century City and PowerPlant malls, which all absolve me of having to go through horrendous Manila traffic.
We saw Coco, which I thought was about a dog, haha. If I knew this would largely feature skeletons, I probably would have seen Smaller and Smaller Circles instead (promise, I will try my best to catch it in cinemas #golocal), but reviews have all been positive. Good thing I didn’t invite my family to see this, but went with P instead—the movie was about remembering the legacy of family members who have since passed away. So ultimately, it’s a pro-life movie—having children to pass on one’s memories, craft, and business or livelihood. There is a huge deal made with having someone put up a dead family member’s photo on an altar (to celebrate Día de Muertos or Day of the Dead), symbolizing how they are remembered by the living. It reminded me of the guilt I have about not having children, robbing my parents of the joy of becoming grandparents, which they have been looking forward to becoming.
But could it also be vanity? Why do people need to remember you when you have passed away? I have no knowledge of my great grandparents—I cannot even speak their names for their names have never been spoken before me—except that one came all the way from southern China. In a huge family (my mother’s side), memories of ancestors ran dry after only three generations; two, on my father’s. If I die, no one would be indebted to put up my photo on an altar or visit my grave. But the internet lives.
Then over the weekend, I completed watching Hulu’s The Handmaid’s Tale, which is also about making babies, though more literal in the sense of an actual intercourse and on a broader matter, ensuring one’s survival—or lineage—in this world. It’s a fantastic series, alarming and terrifying in its probability of actually happening.