Stillcraft / Apps / Calavera
Most of us were taught to look away from death, so it waits in the corner and grows. In Mexico, on the first nights of November, people do the opposite: they build altars, dress up as skeletons and write funny poems about their own funerals. Calavera brings that spirit to a phone: dress your skeleton, build an altar for the ones you miss, draw a card for each fear, write a funny verse about your own send-off. A few minutes a day, with colour and jokes, to make the end a little less frightening and the years a little brighter. Free, no ads, no account, no network.
Android 8.0+ · Free · No internet permission · English & Русский
The home screen is you, without the skin: a skeleton that sways under a night sky and dances when tapped. Dress it from the wardrobe: flower crowns, sombreros, Catrina's hat, a charro suit, a fiesta dress, a guitar, maracas, five face paints. Clothes are bought with marigold petals, earned by the practices.
Some things can't be bought. Glasses, a cane, a rebozo shawl and a gold tooth come with age: Catrina brings the next one on each birthday. You arrive with one for each decade past thirty. Ageing is an upgrade, not a loss.
Every day a word from La Catrina ("A wrinkle is where a smile has been") and a small errand: look at the sky for a minute, call a grandparent, eat something slowly. One quiet notice a day, at the hour you choose.
A drawn altar under an arch of marigolds. Put up the people and pets you miss, with a photo or a painted card, set out what they loved (coffee, pan de muerto, music, a cigar), light a candle once a day and keep their memories. From the 31st of October to the 2nd of November the altar glows.
Twelve cards, one a day: El Olvido (being forgotten), La Nada (nothingness), El Reloj (running out of time), El Espejo (the face in the mirror). Turn the card over for Catrina's take on that fear and a two-minute exercise. Collect the deck.
Write a calaverita literaria, the traditional funny verse in which Death comes for someone, about yourself. Start from Catrina's examples, then share it as a card with papel picado and your calaca.
Fold the tissue in half or in four, cut it with your finger, unfold it. It hangs on the garland over your calaca for a week, fading and drooping, then the wind takes it. Impermanence you can hold.
Irvin Yalom's "rippling": each marigold is someone or something that will carry a trace of you. The road grows.
Eight statements once a month; watch the temperature fall.
Plan the send-off like a party: music, food, who speaks, how to be remembered, wishes about care, where the papers are. Share it as text when you're ready.
Thirty questions for the table, to talk about life and death with family. Pass the phone round.
People who did their best work late, and Becca Levy's finding that those who think well of ageing live about 7.5 years longer.
| Practice | What you do | How often |
|---|---|---|
| Catrina's visit | Read her word, do a small errand | Every day |
| The ofrenda | Light a candle, add an offering or a memory | A candle a day |
| Lotería of fears | Turn over a card, do a two-minute exercise | A card a day, twelve in all |
| Calaveritas | Write a funny verse about yourself | Whenever the muse comes |
| Papel picado | Fold, cut, unfold, hang it up | Each flag lasts a week |
| Fear thermometer | Eight statements | Once a month |
| Pan de muerto | Questions for the family table | At a family meal |
Calavera is for making peace with mortality someday, not for hurrying it. If something you write in the app sounds like the dark thoughts are about now, it gently suggests talking to someone and links to findahelpline.com. The same link is always in the settings.
JDK 17+ (Android Studio's bundled JBR works) and the Android SDK. Kotlin, Jetpack Compose, Room, DataStore; every picture is drawn in code.
git clone https://github.com/bigdevwhale/calavera.git cd calavera ./gradlew assembleDebug # app.calavera.dev ./gradlew assembleDebug -Pdemo # app.calavera.demo with Marta, her altar and a month of practice ./gradlew testDebugUnitTest -Prender # the outfits, the altar, the cards and the screens, as PNGs
That's the point of the Day of the Dead: death as a guest at the party, not a monster under the bed. Calavera is colourful and full of jokes, and it treats growing old as an upgrade.
Then please talk to someone. If something you write sounds that way, Calavera gently says so and links to findahelpline.com, where you can find a free, confidential helpline in your country. The link is always in the settings too.
They are copied into the app's own storage and never leave the phone. You can also use a painted card instead of a photo.
No. It doesn't even ask for the permission. No account, no analytics, no ads.
Settings → Backup saves the ofrenda and its photos, verses, flags, readings, wardrobe and plan into one zip. Restore it on the new phone.
How many Saturdays you have left, and what you'll do with them.
The mindfulness multi-tool: breathing, Wim Hof, a bell, practices and a journal.
A strict focus timer that actually blocks distractions.
Don't drift apart from the people who matter.
Quit a habit, one day at a time.
Turn your days into a quest.
A quiet place for your mind.
Intermittent fasting, made warm and simple.
Your city, hidden in mist. Walk to reveal it.
Letters to your future self. Sealed until the day comes.
Every win deserves a little praise.
Goals under a night sky: 17 methods in one app.
Earn obols with useful apps, pay Charon for the feed.
One light, many colours: choose who you are in every part of life.
Cold water, contrast showers and the sauna, tempered like steel.
Chores as spells in a wizard's tower: keep the floors bright, wake the helpers.
A pixel-art familiar that feeds on the pages you read.
Photos and clips struck into pixel-art treasure in a dragon's cave.
A film camera for the family: shoot now, see the prints tomorrow.
They grow up faster than the photos do.
Vows sealed with wax, and a ladder that makes them hard to break.
A scriptorium for what you learn: your own words, fading ink, and memory that holds.
About 940 Saturdays until they're eighteen. Spend them together.
A museum for what you want to remember: dig it up, clean it, put it on show.
Race your own ghost at everyday tasks: splits, medals and the Games.
Intrusive thoughts as ships: the lighthouse beam, the evening watch, forecasts checked.
A magic lantern deals the glass; parent and child make up the bedtime tale.
A date night for two on a night train: a conductor's questions, the phone as the table between you.
The same questions to your child, yourself or a grandparent, year after year, laid as a mosaic.
Your mind is a kite on a string. A few soft tugs a day bring it back to here.
Found a bug, missing a feature, or want it in your language? Tell us on GitHub.
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