Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Cremated

The Cremation took place in the late afternoon @ Mandai Crematorium and Columbarium.

Words without pictures.
- A documentation of the events

When the rites were over (and more to follow).

I.

Relatives, we donned our ceremonial white socks,
queued in a single-file, and listened
for the undertaker's instructions.
With heavy hearts, our socks wept over the floor
as we took our turns beside Grandma's body:
shed uncontrollable tears, and bid our fond farewells.


II.

Peeking through the glass panel,
I see her sleeping peacefully in the coffin.
A white pearl seated on the ridges of her lips*

From the range of floral wreaths,
the prettiest flowers were picked
to be laid above the coffin,
wheeled into the back of the van.


III.

We marched one thousand metres
in the vapours of the afternoon heat.
Through her familiar neighbourhood,
like how she used to shop for groceries,
before the diminishing strength in her legs.

Duty, filial piety - part of a man's pride,
Dad, and the youngest son, second-son-in-line,
and the eldest son (grandson in stead),
pushing the Undertaker's Van,
with recorded buddhist chantings.

The sun shining brightly on our faces,
some were teary-eyed, some pale
from worry for Grandma's soul.
It was surreal, as if being captured
on a black and white photograph.


IV.

The onlookers,
shuffling aimlessly past
in either direction.

A pedestrian,
standing on the overhead bridge,
or waiting at the bus-stop.

The ignorant rabble
caught a glimpse of our emotions,
as we paraded past them.

We did not return their glances
our heads bowed deep
in sorrow and reflection.


V.

My dear second Aunt was very worried,
that burning Grandma's body was
not the correct decision.
What if her soul was trapped within
her physical confines?
I mumbled away,
"Burning would be good"
No more denial - no more vexing questions.

From a body to ashes.
ashes to be selectively picked by
her sons and daughters,
to be placed in an urn like Grandpa's.


I guess she's gone for good,
and we'd have to live with her memories.

Everything that has happened,
was meant to happen.

Vita brevis ad infineteur. and Memento mori.

How it all rings in my head now.

*Tale of the Empress Dowager's body being preserved by a precious pearl, whereupon extraction of the pearl, decayed instantly into a fragmented, blackening, rotten corpse.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Notice :(

Dear Blog-readers.

KNOW THIS - on the 19th of MAY, Saturday, around 7.20 pm - my lovely Grandma - 81 years old - passed away peacefully, on her deathbed in her own home, and will be, forever sleeping among the stars.

Printed on her Death Certificate, the diagnoses:

1) Adeno Carcinoma of unknown origin with Metastasis to the bone

2) Lung Carcinoma

Her disease onset was 5 years. And severely crippling her for the last 2 months,

Her four sons and six daughters, gathered around her small bedroom, to see her off during the last moments.

It was a heart-wrenching experience for me, the hapless grandson, to be away from her side until late Saturday morning, only able to talk to someone unconscious, semi-comatose (quoting an Aunt). She was no doubt, suffering in the hospital ward. So my aunties and uncles got her discharged, and an ambulance to transport her back to her home @ 74 Marine Drive.

I hope Grandma's soul would remain at peace, and get reincarnated soon. Preferably, to be a bird would not be such a bad thing (quoting an Aunt).

I would not have the mood to blog for awhile. Out of respect for her - the best Grandma I've had - I have to reflect and recollect my memories.

=

Dear Bro.

If you'd agree with me and Mom and Dad (and Grandma's advice to keep you in the dark.), it wasn't a good idea to tell you straight away. But we're glad you found out, and hope you'd get better after a few days of mourning.

I'm staying in the wake for the next few days until Wednesday.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

The Weight of an Elephant's Dream



Check it out @ *scape. It was a rainy day and I've been daydreaming a lot myself these days.
Decided to stop by around Orchard road after reading the ad on ST.

Here's some photos of the exhibition I got from Shuxian's LJ.







All of the above art is done by the NTU graduate, Shu Xian & friends Cherie, Hong Jun, and Samuel. I have absolutely no ownership of their work and no affiliation to them, but I very much admire what they have created. Woah... painting on walls, chopping boards, video exhibits of blue men. And also bitch a little about life in Singapore... with style!


I think it went somewhere along these lines:


"Singapore is an Elephant


It makes people dream big things...


..Big things = very heavy.


I am depressed."



My favourite was an improvisational drawing on the animated blue men (second photo from above). It was this little guy who kept on bowing madly. He was put into the context of being in the midst of a group of Japanese businessmen.. and you know now why he bowed like mad. It is hilarious, I tell you! XD


Shuxian's LJ is full of Art, but bewarned - not for those who get easily offended / conservatives - R21 drawings. I especially liked this entry and this one years ago - being an artist isn't easy. (I can imagine the inherent psychological battles and mental barriers that serve as input, to twist out the creative output - like juicing an orange?)


(excerpt from Shuxian's LJ archive)

Some poetry

put to sleep,
destined for slaughter


(XvX)

The host of fowl shared
a common dream of reincarnation,
and hastened their feathered bodies
across the conveyor belt.

The factory operator wipes
the sickly sweat off his brow.

A vegetarian himself,
he shakes his head in disgust,
and utters a buddhist scripture
under his cotton face mask.

Their conciousness melted,
somewhere further down the line,
where they were put to sleep,
by a sterile hypodermic needle.

The feathers were unplucked
to reveal a gross white fat.
Their shivering bare flesh hung in mid-air,
commanding the stark shadows on the floor.

That they revered in newfound freedom,
of the stinking bird coop
where they once lived.

As the steamer sang and hissed in triumph,
the metal grimace yawned wide open,
to reveal an impending darkness.

(XvX)

Surely this is good enough reason,
good enough respect for a living being,
to give prayer for the sanctity of life,
and thanks to the food.

Amen.


The first time in a long while, guilty feelings have crept in while eating food.
I ate Chicken Cutlet at a Western Food hawker stall that does a fair bit of evangelism.

(XvX)

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Macabre.

bloodstains on a tree.

killed by natural-unnatural courses.

If a tree fell in the forest
and no one heard the woman scream
Tell me, would the falling tree
have made a sound?

Or was maniacal laughter heard
under the rustling leaves?


On the Sad News.

Why did the girl decapitate
her poor mother's head?
Was she mentally ill.
Did she feel really bored,
Or was it God's will?

Why did the same girl
chop off her mother's arms,
but did not practice cannibalism
for them than decor for plants?
Or was it an offering?

Why does mother mine shiver with fear,
- feels a chill along a patch of her neck-
as she reads the news, as if
worried that I might -
out of naive human curiousity,
subject her to the same experience?

Is the Day of Judgement upon us.
Where every person shrieks in madness,
and amok runs around naked,
Or have we witnessed an isolated incident?
My current idol, local troubadour Leslie Low replied my questions regarding quality guitar shopping today.

I'm not only obliged to expand his bulletin on MYSPACE. But it has almost become my duty to share his music (what I'd do for friends too).


Late night musings.

(carry-forward post)

imagine you were on a hot air balloon, and that spherical expanse of air above, that vastness of space below you. how can it possibly be great? you don't know if you are simply floating, or riding on a current of air. reminds me of that feeling I get when playing FF12 in the mysterious landscape of the yellow Urutuan Yensa Sandsea.... (in Chinese, Yensa literally means salt sea)


Of course, it would be great, if you had a romantic companion with you. However. The. Feeling. Here. Is. Quite. Alone.

=

"Plunge in headlong - into the void - with me and take a look into my world," cries the artist. In fact, most humans want this above all. To be understood by fellow humans.


Artists are - unable to express themselves - adequately - through conventional means - they feel that - being creative - is their - our- birthright, and their ego manifests universally - into a superego - undeterred - not something everyone should take for granted.

I'm such a self-proclaimed person. but under close scrutiny, I could be reduced to nothing.

A blind man who thinks he can see. A pop artist hungry for commercial success.

Downwards is hellwards. Upwards is skywards. Yet, Ohh... don't forsake me (..God, for I am stating my own.. convictions - what I am led to believe; what you led me to believe)

Long fall's a hard fall.

The Gospel of Judas by Simon Mawer... The novel was very interesting - gave a real glimpse into the passions of humans (how a Catholic Priest lost faith in everything he yearned to believe in, and it was a sad story. the end.) The real Gospel of Judas however, simply states that there were conflicting ideas in the early church. In the former, was Judas stoned to death because he witnessed an entirely different aspect of history..? Biblical scholars debate over this speculation.

Will God save us all? There is altogether a possibility that we might not enjoy salvation. The sacrifice is too great. I.e. human sacrifice, rights & freedom sacrifice, social sacrifice, creativity sacrifice. I am a skeptic. who internally frowns @ such ideas. The kingdom of God. And why you must believe...

C'mon c'mon. "Happy the atheist who gives the poor man money enough for a meal without any other... thoughts of kingdom or salvation" (Cyril Wong) . He should be taken into heaven too - Is heaven's will not Justice? As happy as I can be, floating on the clouds like the illustrated Monkey King wielding my golden bamboo cane. If not, I think I would be even happier in a lukewarm hell - what we Chinese have traditionally believed in.

Monday, May 14, 2007

do (y)ourselves a favour

Sunday Times reported on the informative blogs
of a foodie-cum-clinician, Dr Leslie Tay.

makan sedap!!
http://ieatishootipost.blogspot.com/

the clinic
http://karrifamilyclinic.blogspot.com/

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

My Cousin the Newlywed

I came with my mother,
Shaked hands with my uncle and aunt;
the parents of the bride, my cousin,
on this joyous occassion.

The Swissotel Stamford.

At the reception, an icy sculpture,
on which hung green grapes - the ones with seeds,
(a tribute to a fertile marriage)
Red strawberries and cherries
which were savoured with relish.

A group gathered round the ice and
stared in wonder, making O-shaped
mouth sounds, in appraisal of the stylish offering.
We feasted on the ripe fruit; the baby was fed in morsels.
Time passed while everyone was talking
to fill the air with kind wishes.

We looked around for a glimpse of the star couple.
A sweet-looking young girl was playing a baby grand.
The music was -
"She's teaching music. Studying in Junior College."
"Oh really? She looks just about my age."
- unfamiliar -
a soft, soothing lounge music to my ears.

Time passed and we met with more relatives.

We went in and ate the 8-course Chinese dinner.
Fussed over the gifts and service.
Toasted beer, wine, and champagne to the couple.
Applauded to their speeches.
Tables of smiles were captured by
a photographer wielding a sleek black camera.
Looked around to fill our desires,
to be served and entertained.

The dessert - Black glutinous rice with vanilla ice-cream.
When the evening was over,
The well-wishers shaked hands with the couple.
Outside, we groped the melting ice sculpture.
Until it broke.

We got a ride home
from an uncle who
drank four glasses of (bitter-tasting)
Sherlot
Red wine and declared himself
sober.

==

ON my computer table is a pink rose from my cousin's wedding.
Still pink in freshness, and scented like two days ago.
Like some of my relatives, I picked up a bunch and took a whiff.
It was easy to understand, Girl's fascination for them.
Their divine geometry, their intoxicating fragance.
Sweet smelling roses, exuding youth and exuberance.

How I yearn, oh, to be closer with the rose.
If only they aren't so short-lived.

Anywhere the wind goes..

A TRIBUTE TO BACH

In the choir warm-ups,

I once experienced a wonderful sensation.

We were rehearsing at the Singapore Chinese Orchestra hall

And when the command was given for silence,

The flow of air was heard from the aircon on the ceiling.

I thought I heard the crisp notes of Bach's Air,

from on high, carried from the descending current.

sharpening my awareness, before I sang.