Funerals

I attended the funeral service of a friend's father.



I remember blogging about something akin to this a few posts ago. But no, I have no fixation with death. It's just that I guess wakes, funerals, death itself gives a very pointed reminder to the brevity of what we are.



When I think of life, I think of people bursting out with laughter, like the three of us in the study a few hours ago. I think even, of people crying, like the widow at the funeral, sobbing great big sobs that send her frail shoulders shuddering. I think of those close to my heart, so zealous, so passionate, so driven, so far away. And it becomes terrifying, that all of this ends with a powdered lifeless face with dry leathery skin and lips drawn into a smile with a lipstick of sorts.



On a lighter note, I was once again an enormous klutz. I only realised when I plonked my butt down on one of the white plastic chairs, that everyone else was in either white or black. And myself:


A dark bold red.


Heng people were nice about it. But I need to stop being so sotong...