It was raining when we woke up as the skies remained gloomy until it ceased. The night's drizzle was still evident on the dripping plants and trees around Villa Sylvia and the slippery, muddy lawn. We left Abigail's unopened Tanduay rum and Fundador to one of the caretakers as a token of niceties. Abigail had left the previous day after concluding our lake-hopping trip in San Pablo to attend a family gathering. That left me and Cathy finishing off the weekend by checking out the Underground Cemetery in Nagcarlan.

The cemetery is easily accessible via a short jeepney ride from San Pablo to Nagcarlan. I was eager to visit this location because I'm becoming deeply interested in old cemeteries. As someone who grew up celebrating the country's tradition of spending the Day of the Dead every November 1st in graveyards, I've grown accustomed to reading tombstones and calculating the ages of the deceased by simply subtracting their year of birth from their year of death.

Imagining the state of the world in which they used to live is difficult in newer cemeteries, where they regularly exhume the bones of those who have been dead for 20 years. That is why I prefer older cemeteries housing the remains of those who departed between the 1900s and the 1940s. Those two worlds are unquestionably vastly different, and reading their tomb epitaphs gives me a dreamy, nostalgic image of the world they occupied when they passed.

I saw a few graves at Nagcarlan Underground Cemetery dating back to both pre- and post-WWII eras. Looking at them filled my mind with images of historical hardships, war, and violent departures, but I hope they simply passed from old age or illness brought on by the realities of life at the time. I'll never know for sure, but knowing that they're at peace wherever their souls rest right now gives me a calm, abrupt understanding of the cycle of life and death.

As you enter the cemetery, you are greeted by a vaulted arched stone entrance and two heavy iron grill gates. Beyond them lie near-perfectly manicured grassy grounds that lead to a small, elegant baroque-style chapel. It was as if a switch was turned, instantly transporting us back in time. I heard Cathy voicing her apprehension about going inside the underground crypt as the vibe grew increasingly solemn the deeper we crept.

It felt as though the world around us had reverted back to 1845, when Father Vicente Belloc, a Franciscan priest, oversaw the design and construction of the underground complex. Fascinatingly, during the 1896 revolution, Laguna's revolutionary leaders used this very crypt as a secret meeting place to plot their defiance away from Spanish eyes.

By virtue of Presidential Decree (P.D.) No. 1505 on July 11, 1978, which amended P.D. No. 260, the Nagcarlan Underground Cemetery was officially proclaimed a National Historical Landmark. While it carries an undeniably eerie atmosphere, it is easily one of the most uniquely charming heritage spaces in the country. Alongside the famous San Joaquin Cemetery in Iloilo, it stands out as one of the most stunning permanent retirement places in the Philippines.

We stayed underground for quite a while, trying to read the weathered epitaphs on each tomb and admiring the intimate, gothic setting. Sunlight seeps softly through well-placed windows and ventilation holes integrated along the crypt walls, producing just enough illumination to brilliantly complement the eerie, dark corners of the stone brick chambers.

As we climbed the narrow stairs back up into the small chapel and out into the open courtyard, the rain began to fall again. There must have been many days like this in the olden days when they were burying their loved ones here, with the skies shedding tears profusely over the brick walls. Hearing the distant horns of passing vehicles out on the municipal road quickly broke the somber mood, distinguishing the reality of the present from the heavy atmosphere of the past.

I was relieved to return to my own time, yet immensely grateful that I could glimpse the texture of bygone eras thanks to the Nagcarlan Underground Cemetery's storied crypt. While waiting for the downpour to ease, we sought refuge at the nearby St. Bartholomew the Apostle Church—a massive structure made of deep red bricks and stone that has stood firm in the face of fires and natural disasters since 1752. Once the rain stopped half an hour later, Cathy and I hurriedly boarded a jeepney bound for the shoe capital of Liliw.