This isn't a sting from death...

Or maybe I'm just holding back the tears because I refuse to admit it stings.

What flashes through my head these last 4 days is that first encounter some twenty years ago.

Waking up early after the first night, I found this tall man burning 'hell money' for my mum.
The light from the flames made his face aglow.
Having apparently done that the whole night long, I was fascinated with what he was doing.
Whoever he was at that point didn't really register until later years.

And somewhere in that period of days, he carried me up to look inside the coffin.
He was way taller than anyone else who had carried me during that time.
So the lift up in his arms was particularly high.
It was an awkward moment considering I was then old enough not to be carried,
just unfortunately still too short to look inside on my own.
And I've only been lifted up by my father or Ko at that point.

R.I.P. 2ku.

~
It was a dilemma to follow the rituals with a heavy heart, standing firm on not bowing or involving in the joss stick burning sessions. And sticking up like a sore thumb for being anti-white.
Yet wanting to pay respect in the midst of all that.

~
#186 I'm thankful that I somehow did not roster myself for this weekend as we weren't expecting death to be near.
#187 The weather was fine at all the night sessions and this morning.