that basically sums up the moral of the movie coco, where remembering is just as important as loving. in other words, to be loved is to be remembered. to love is to remember.

to put it simply, pixar's coco has always touched me in different ways other movies have not. i can still remember the first time i watched this, though not whether i watched it alone or with my sister. regardless of that, i want to let the whole world know just how much of an amazing movie this is. it's not your typical kids' movie; it is much more than that. at least, to me.

while watching the movie, i figured out i have a particular similarity with miguel—his love for music. like miguel, i have a deep admiration for it. not in performing, though, but in listening. although sometimes i wonder, if i had a different life, would i be pursuing a career in music instead of what i am taking right now? would i like walking on that path? would i be satisfied? would it feel as satisfying as getting numerous weights on my shoulders lifted off? questions like these often bug my mind, and when they do, another thought comes rushing with it, as if they're lightning and thunder—always bound together. "yes, i have the passion, but what about motivation and the means? do i have them?" the answer to both, for now: i do not. maybe not ever. maybe it is not often, but the thought of that feels like a hand clawing its way out of my chest.

apart from that, coco is also about family. as its most common meaning, family is the basic unit of life. however, it is not limited to someone you are related to; it could be anybody from any part of the world, or any creature—fictional or not, famous or not, just like how coco is to me.

i also think the reason why coco feels closer to me is its similarity to the philippines'—my country's—tradition: día de los muertos. every all souls' day, we also light candles, put the pictures of people we have lost in our ofrendas—which, in my country, is placed in the altar—to remember them and honor their legacy.

more than that, coco is also about grief, the twin of love. some time in the past, i thought the twin of love would also be something uplifting, something positive, until i learned it the hard way when i lost someone dear to me. the opposite of love is not synonymous with the words sunshine, candies, heaven, safe, familiarity, and comfort. rather, the twin of love is grief. and again, coco tackles it perfectly in hector's story—miguel's great-great-grandfather.

just like everyone else, hector lost a treasure dear to him: his career, his dreams, his future, his wife, and most painfully, his daughter. but even in the afterlife, he did not stop thinking about his family, not even once. maybe not ever.

and yet again, what is love, if not by remembering?

how could hector love imelda and coco if he did not remember the longing he had felt before and after his death? how could miguel love his life if he did not remember his passion and did not mourn the possible loss of music, the love of his life? how could coco love her father if she did not have it in her to remember him? how could you love if not by remembering how much your heart swells because of the things you adore?

up until now, i still believe in the idea that "love transcends anything." in this case, love transcends the afterlife. as someone who currently works in the medical field, i learned that matter cannot be created nor destroyed, so i thought, neither can love. it just does not manifest in physical forms, but it does not equate to its absence. rather, the abundance of it that even death cannot stop.

that said, i would like to think that maybe, the people we have lost are still with us. maybe it is in the way we hum whenever we think of a song, in the way we brush our fingertips against the rusty and old material of our instruments, in the way we put up pictures to honor their memories.

and most importantly, in remembering.