BLACK CLOTHES AND WHITE HEADBAND.

I went back home from the funeral. What a long day. I realized life could be a whole universe or a grain of sand. And that doesn't even matter. People are ghosts walking around ready for their coffins. I'm so tired from the cries and the deadlines up to my ears. And I realized I no longer could just pop up a rambling message and hoped for comfort. Or a simple "How are you?" Perhaps besides my family and Hedi, no one would care if I had ever gone back. Such little things remind me of such great value I used to have. I woke up from the most tiring nap having no idea it was a sleep. Today, some people left the sea, some came off the mountain, some went back from a funeral. I envied those who were enjoying life while I passed my mother's grave in the purest sadness. I was speechless, vulnerable, and very lonely. She now rests with her brother, the kindest uncle of mine. He was a sincere and generous man, a man that never judged. This is one of the saddest day I've ever gone through. The day I saw my mother again in black clothes and white headband, saw her dear brother off the road of his life. Even if vulnerability was inspirational like they said, it's aching to confess the truth.

ANOTHER DEATH.

My uncle passed away this noon. When I heard the news on the phone, I thought of my mother and how she would have felt if she had been here, how she would have cried. All those nice people die first. I put down the phone and went on watching Bridesmaids, eating KFC and laughed at my favorite scenes. That moment when you feel the bottom of your stomach becoming endless.

My mother died on 2nd July in lunar calendar. I only remember that day for its bad luck. After she died, I made some phone calls, let some people in, then went back in my room and slept. My father was speechless. My younger sister was bathing in her tears. I was too prepared to do anything. She would no longer have to suffer. Our family could then go back to living. Soon we would be having enough sleep, and not burying ourselves in chemicals and needles. I felt nothing when my mother died. But I felt a lot in the next two weeks. And every single day after.

I don't want to confront a sudden death. I don't want to stop hearing my father cough one day without any preparation. My stomach has had its bottom ripped off  too many times. Look at my father's eyes through my windows. Aren't they teary? I know his next move. He's going to go up the roof, smoke and call it a day. Even he has to suffer.

Death has arrived this afternoon. The same thing that arrived when I was 13, 19, and many other kinds of ages and parting I can't call the names. Did all of them let go and accept it? Did they fight? Did they think "Not today"? Or could they even think of anything?