Name: Farah Yaasmeen
Age:14 (going on to 15)
D.O.B: 20 October 1994
Words of Wisdom: 'Never be a slave to your pencil.'-By Me
Thanks for reading (if you did) :D The coloured tabs on the side of the 'Notebook' are the navigations and you can swtich off the music player if you want to, cause hey, it's your
computer. Enjoy! :D
Monday, December 22, 2008
I just came back from my grandmothers' old house at Chua Chu Kang. The funeral's done and all-but we have to go back tomorrow to the crematorium to collect the ashes. My dad says that the grandchildren have to pick a bone each and put it in the urn.
My eyes are still stinging. I cried in the yesterday during the first break from the three hour long ritual that's supposed to help my grandfather have a smoother journey home. My aunts, cousin and my mum would cry now and then. I'm still sad that Ah Gong is gone. The feelings came to me on the yesterday, and the man, was the ritual long. I won't describe it now, because it's really lengthy and all. But I had to burn paper in a metal tub with my aunts and my cousin and my god-uncle's wife. The fire was so hot that I was getting kind of worried of getting burned. The tub was near the coffin. Alot of chanting, music and the guy shouting instructions in Hokkien.
We had the wake downstairs at the void-deck of 249, my grandmother's old house. The wake was a drag, in my opinion, cause we had stayed till 2am every night. But we stayed over at the house yesterday-it was my parents' turn to look after the coffin and the rest of the stuff.
On the first night of the wake, some guy pushing a trolley tried to take the drinks and anything else he could take but my third aunt, whose turn to look after place with my uncle at that time, stared him down till he had to get up and leave. Seriously, the lack of respect!
Anyway, I had to look after my baby cousin during the wake and he was pretty tiring to chase after. Even just watching him in action makes you tired.
Ah, that heavy feeling in your heart. My eyes are stinging again; it took me quite awhile to get over Uncle Casey's death and even now, it doesn't even feel like he's gone. I sometimes forget it, because his presence is still felt as usual when he was still alive. When he died and after the funeral, it still seemed to me that he would be with Aunty Judy, wearing bermudas and a striped polo, tall and lanky with his moustache. He used to make Haikal paper aeroplanes whenever we met up with him and Aunty Judy; he'd make them to see which ones would fly higher or further, sometimes even both.
Sorry, I had to stop for awhile. I can't find the darn tissue box on the desk. I reckon that my eyes will be burning tonight.
4:09 PM
