Ghosts Ghosts Ghosts

By Lovelyn Chang

Dear Reader, let me take you out of the logical and tangible world of the West into a diferent paradigm, one where folklore and metaphysical beings roam among the physical. In parts of Asia, the Americas and Africa, people believe they live and breathe amongst spirits, and these very spirits are part of the collective consciousness that manifest itself in their cultural practices and belief systems.

I grew up in the Philippines, a tiny archipelago in Southeast Asia, where stories of haunted houses and ghosts (aswang) are as commonplace as tropical fruit. As a child who frequently heard of these mythical creatures, I was terrifed. Having been brought up in the church, biblical notions of demons and spirits magnifed my existing fear tenfold. I remember one time during recess in my early elementary years, my friends and I walked towards the restroom, only to see hundreds of kids milling outside the girls’ bathroom. Apparently, someone saw a ghost and all these kids refused to enter the restroom. Te stories developed into diferent iterations―from a ghost to a bloody hand on the wall, to an octopus that swam in the swamp. Speculations continued for a long time, and for many months, I had to walk to a farther restroom not on my foor.

For many years thereafter, I feared walking into a room by myself. I wish I could say that I let go of my childhood fears when I came to America, but truthfully, these fears followed me into early adulthood. Even walking to a room by myself or crossing through a dark hallway gave me paralyzing fear. I did not tell anyone that I struggled so much because only children seemed to experience silly fears like these. One morning in my early twenties, I wanted to use the restroom as part of my everyday routine. Being a private person in a house of six, the bathroom was also a place where I sought a quiet place to pray. I liked to sit quietly on the foormat away from any prying eyes. However, my intense fear that day kept me from getting out of bed. For maybe up to thirty minutes, I felt unable to even rise and walk the four yards required. I must have prayed and sought help from God, because the next thing I knew, I heard or received this strong sense that God was calling me. Ten I ran to the bathroom. Relief fooded me. At that moment, I am not sure how it happened, but all the years of paralysis and fear just melted away.

I still believe in ghosts and have friends (even the logical engineer type) who have seen them with their own eyes. However, I no longer have the same type of trepidation as before. My understanding of ghosts has evolved also. Some say that the dead can visit us from the netherworld. Perhaps our subconscious longs for them, and we see them in our dreams. When my father passed away from cancer two decades ago, I received one such visitation during sleep. His face was bright and cheerful, and he told me, “I am healed.” Even though that was a happy dream, I woke up in tears. Te last earthly image I had of my father was his organs shutting down one by one, with his nails already turned blue and purple while his breaths slowly faded away. Seeing a vastly diferent image of him in my dream, it spoke to me about the healing not only of the body, but of the soul. In death, my father received a new mind. In the past, he unashamedly clung to patriarchal notions and said hurtful things to females in the family that ft his limited worldview. Moreover, the outspoken extrovert that he was often spouted sensational and gimmicky information he gullibly believed. Sometimes, I just want the earth to swallow me up after hearing him talk. Other times, I throw myself on the foor and laugh out of sheer incredulity.

When I refect on this dream, all the embarrassing viewpoints and false notions he had are now replaced by a new understanding. He is now a more perfect being. Tis “ghostly” dream is a far cry from my childhood fear; it ofered me hope that healing and reconciliation does not only happen here on earth but beyond.