About Wakes, Funerals and Such
The first wake I ever attended was that of my maternal grandfather. I was thirteen, and it was a pretty exciting time. Not to sound callous or anything, but he'd always been a distant sort of person, preferring to hide away in his room doing God knows what as opposed to playing with us grandkids. After his stroke a few years before, he'd been bedridden and really quite senile. In the months leading up to his passing he was worse, hurling abuse and expletives at everyone who ventured into his room.
So when I got the notice at school, I was pretty damn excited. My mom and I drove over to his place, where I got to see and touch a real-life dead body for a the first time. I remember poking his arm, but I don't remember what he felt like.
The whole thing was pretty much an adventure for us kids, I believe. We got to go to the void deck of their apartment every day after school, pinned little squares of fabric to our sleeves to signify our mourning, hung out at the wake till late at night or stayed over, made games out of folding and burning the paper offerings, pigged out on the snacks and all that jazz.
At the funeral, I remember my uncle breaking down and screaming as the coffin entered the furnace. I don't remember feeling very much. Perhaps I managed to squeeze out a tear or two, perhaps not.
That's all I remember of it all.
Then followed Angeline's father's wake. I believe we were all pretty shocked, most of all herself. I remember it as being an awkward visit. We sat around and talked about pretty much nothing at all. Then sat around some more.
Later in the army I got to go to my second funeral. A section mate of mine in BMT had apparently thrown himself off a high-rise building. We were called back at midnight on a Saturday for an investigation. We answered their questions as best we could, which meant that we really couldn't tell them much at all. He was a pretty quiet guy who kept to himself most of the time. In general the consensus was that he should try to lighten up. But it was a little too late for that.
As his section mates we got to go to his funeral before we headed back to Tekong for our field camp. I don't think I dared to look at any of his relatives in the eye. My platoon commander was there too, and I recall the very brief conversation between him and the deceased's brother as being tense. No one in that room wanted to be there, it was just a horrible place to be at a horrible time. We left as quickly as we could afterwards.
Why do I mention all this? Well, last week I visited Angeline's mom's wake three times. The thing is, I don't know what I'm supposed to do at a wake. Physically, you spend hours there. But in the end you don't know if it made a difference in anything. We had a competition with other tables in folding paper offerings, which was kinda fun, although it would've been more fun if the other tables actually knew we were having a competition.
Angeline was bustling around most of time, trying to juggle her different groups of friends and relatives. It seemed as though she was trying her best to make everyone feel better and more at ease. Even though I suppose that was necessary, I don't think she needed to do it. She didn't need to be feeling more stressed out and under pressure than she was already. I guess I'm the sort who believes that the bereaved should be allowed to just sit there and grieve while everyone gives them hugs.
The first night, she asked if we wanted to see her mom. We were brought to the coffin and peered through the glass. I awkwardly took a quick glance. Perhaps it was too quick, who knows how long is appropriate duration for this kind of thing? Too quick and you're being dismissive, too long and you're being macabre. I didn't think I needed to look for that long. A quick glance was sufficient to see that the person lying before me was vastly different from when I'd seen her about a month ago. We quickly retreated to our tables, where we drank disposeable cups of mineral water and ate peanuts and folded paper offerings and talked of this and that, seeming to avoid discussing what was at hand.
I guess overall it wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be. I dunno. We're meeting later for shopping and a French Arthouse Movie so I can feel culturally superior to the masses. Maybe we'll talk, maybe we won't. I'll just see how it goes. I might add more to this post in a revision later. For now, I have to go.
So when I got the notice at school, I was pretty damn excited. My mom and I drove over to his place, where I got to see and touch a real-life dead body for a the first time. I remember poking his arm, but I don't remember what he felt like.
The whole thing was pretty much an adventure for us kids, I believe. We got to go to the void deck of their apartment every day after school, pinned little squares of fabric to our sleeves to signify our mourning, hung out at the wake till late at night or stayed over, made games out of folding and burning the paper offerings, pigged out on the snacks and all that jazz.
At the funeral, I remember my uncle breaking down and screaming as the coffin entered the furnace. I don't remember feeling very much. Perhaps I managed to squeeze out a tear or two, perhaps not.
That's all I remember of it all.
Then followed Angeline's father's wake. I believe we were all pretty shocked, most of all herself. I remember it as being an awkward visit. We sat around and talked about pretty much nothing at all. Then sat around some more.
Later in the army I got to go to my second funeral. A section mate of mine in BMT had apparently thrown himself off a high-rise building. We were called back at midnight on a Saturday for an investigation. We answered their questions as best we could, which meant that we really couldn't tell them much at all. He was a pretty quiet guy who kept to himself most of the time. In general the consensus was that he should try to lighten up. But it was a little too late for that.
As his section mates we got to go to his funeral before we headed back to Tekong for our field camp. I don't think I dared to look at any of his relatives in the eye. My platoon commander was there too, and I recall the very brief conversation between him and the deceased's brother as being tense. No one in that room wanted to be there, it was just a horrible place to be at a horrible time. We left as quickly as we could afterwards.
Why do I mention all this? Well, last week I visited Angeline's mom's wake three times. The thing is, I don't know what I'm supposed to do at a wake. Physically, you spend hours there. But in the end you don't know if it made a difference in anything. We had a competition with other tables in folding paper offerings, which was kinda fun, although it would've been more fun if the other tables actually knew we were having a competition.
Angeline was bustling around most of time, trying to juggle her different groups of friends and relatives. It seemed as though she was trying her best to make everyone feel better and more at ease. Even though I suppose that was necessary, I don't think she needed to do it. She didn't need to be feeling more stressed out and under pressure than she was already. I guess I'm the sort who believes that the bereaved should be allowed to just sit there and grieve while everyone gives them hugs.
The first night, she asked if we wanted to see her mom. We were brought to the coffin and peered through the glass. I awkwardly took a quick glance. Perhaps it was too quick, who knows how long is appropriate duration for this kind of thing? Too quick and you're being dismissive, too long and you're being macabre. I didn't think I needed to look for that long. A quick glance was sufficient to see that the person lying before me was vastly different from when I'd seen her about a month ago. We quickly retreated to our tables, where we drank disposeable cups of mineral water and ate peanuts and folded paper offerings and talked of this and that, seeming to avoid discussing what was at hand.
I guess overall it wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be. I dunno. We're meeting later for shopping and a French Arthouse Movie so I can feel culturally superior to the masses. Maybe we'll talk, maybe we won't. I'll just see how it goes. I might add more to this post in a revision later. For now, I have to go.
posted by cinewhore @ 6:21 PM
8 mindfucks
8 Comments:
could u define an "arthouse" film ? low budget ?
Generally, "non-mainstream" and having some inherent artistic value or aspirations. Used here in semi-jest, and in a self-deprecating manner.
I think funerals are a kind of therapy really. especially to the immediate family.
they have to busy themselves with the paperwork, coordination soon after-no time to really stop, be alone n grieve. then there are the relatives and friends. they talk to them abt the death- therapy again, and gets surrounded with their care and concern (well, at least for that brief while). and then there is the folding of paper offerings. now, this is what i call real therapy. u try to fold as much as you can throughout the many quiet nights when most have left the wake, hoping that this is the very least you can still do for the dead for one last time. n if u are not folding, u will be talking to somebody else. plus the minimal hours of sleep. when u do get the chance to be alone, u will probably be sleeping.
u will have the time and energy to grieve alone, other than perhaps during the most immediate impact upon knowing abt the death, only after the funeral. by then, sigh, what's it is it. u still grieve but no amount of grieve will change anything. being busy in a funeral gets u going, not giving u a chance to stop and grieve. it makes you hold on to the thought that life must go on.
still, this is what i feel after being physically n emotionally involved in the funerals of my 2 grandmothers and 1 uncle. it might be different.
-mh
and which french film are u refering to? comme une image ?
urgh what you mean, maybe we'll talk. we always got talk what, before, during and after anything.
except sometimes we sing :)
I meant about last week and the topic of my post. But we don't have to. I guess we did cover a little of that ground.
And yes, sometimes we sing. But unfortunately, the sometimes last night was not especially well in terms of form.
And sometimes we lose S$40 of haircare products too.
well their budgets are lower than your mainstream stuff. but otherwise, i don't think you determine an arthouse flick by its budget. it should be something like this: A film intended to be a serious artistic work, often experimental and not designed for mass appeal. ya? no?
gimme some mindfuckery
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