Autumn has come to an end, the clocks have fallen back, and with that, this year’s final holiday season has finally arrived. Nonetheless, I am still reflecting on my unexpectedly special experience with this year’s fall festivities. Although it wasn’t my first Halloween in Montreal—nor my first Halloween celebration—Montreal’s serious celebration of the holiday struck me even harder this year. I watched everyone become so invested in their costumes, planning them in groups and talking about them for days before, saw every house transform with spooky decorations (cobwebs, lights, skulls, gravestones, to say the least), and was surrounded by people of all ages in celebration at all hours of the night as I walked through almost any street on the 31st. The feeling of admiration—and the yearning to join in—was very real on my behalf.
Through Día de Muertos, it is believed that all dead creatures’ souls, people and animals alike, come to visit the land of the living.
I found that my previous experience with these festivities back home in Mexico City greatly differed from this one. Even though the city has gotten so monopolized and gentrified to the extent where Halloween is celebrated through basically the same rituals, I have now come to understand the importance of the national festivities and celebrations. This was even clearer to me on November 2nd of this year, the day on which Día de Muertos is celebrated. Día de Muertos (“Day of the Dead” in English) is a Mexican celebration that is very close on the calendar to North American Halloween. Having some roots in ancient cultures mixed with a strong colonial influence, it is a celebration that happens during the last week of October and reaches its climax on November 2nd. Through Día de Muertos, it is believed that all dead creatures’ souls, people and animals alike, come to visit the land of the living. For this reason, people prepare colorful altars with elements that somehow recall those who are expected to visit; additionally, they leave food and drinks that their departed loved ones used to enjoy so that they can have some upon their arrival.
Having been blessed with a beautiful Mexican and Latin American community here in Montreal, I was invited to a couple of different activities to celebrate. Despite various hindrances to my mood—from poor weather, to school, to homesickness—I decided to go to both, maybe even get some pan de muerto and hot cocoa. I’m glad I did.
The first event was an altar organized by my friend in solidarity with Palestine. I arrived at Sir Wilfrid Laurier Park just as the clouds turned a lovely shade of pink to meet my friends on a park bench to share cups of hot cocoa, chat, and listen to an incredible Mexican-themed playlist. As day turned to night, we started lighting the candles and incense placed for decoration, turned the music down, and gathered in a circle around the altar. First placed down was a framed picture of Neem Rabhan, who was one of the many children murdered during the ongoing mass ethnic cleansing in Palestine. The picture, placed next to a small pile of Halloween candy depicted Rabhan smiling with a pair of ponytails. A list of all the Palestinian journalists that have been murdered during the last year was set down beside the image of the girl. Finally, the last issue of the Jabalna magazine, along with two other books; with them, we placed memories (written and in form of objects) of deceased grandparents or friends who also passed. After everyone had said some words of reflection or remembrance, we stood there, close together, having more cocoa and eating some pan de muerto, trying to feel the shared warmth and prevent the candles from blowing out.
After a while, it was time to go to the next event: the monthly fandango, which is, very reductively said, a musical jam from the traditions of the Jarocho region in Mexico. The event was doubly special given the coincidence with the Día de muertos celebration and the fact that the group was celebrating its 13th anniversary. My friend and I walked to Café Amaranto and once we arrived, everyone was already there: my friends from Montreal who introduced me to this group, the Mexican folk who are always in attendance, and even a Mexican friend from school who I didn’t know was coming. As soon as we left our things on a table, my friend changed to her dancing shoes and hurried to the stage, where people were already playing, dancing, and singing. Joining the celebrations, we ate quesadillas, cheered, and sang along.
I was left thinking about how all this, all the events I had just experienced, only showed how such contrasts can coexist in the same space. How two cultures can meet and result in a beautiful way of honoring. How the mourning and the celebration can go hand in hand.
Throughout the course of events, and even with the celebratory tone of the fandango, I couldn’t help but think of the departed people close to me, and about all the ever-growing death that surrounds the world. On my way back home, many feelings were pulsating inside my heart. I felt so cold on the outside, but at the same time so warm inside. I was left thinking about how all this, all the events I had just experienced, only showed how such contrasts can coexist in the same space. How two cultures can meet and result in a beautiful way of honoring. How the mourning and the celebration can go hand in hand. And in the current reality, I have decided to hold on to that feeling, even to keep feeding it.
And, who knows? Maybe next year I’ll win best costume at some Halloween party.
