Not without fanfare

You learn a lot about people via how they live, love, fight, compromise and consume. You learn a lot more (without waiting for archeological digs) via how they die and say goodbyes to loved ones.

In the West, where my father finally made to, after 10 years of living alone in our two-storied house, then to die out of country – we walk people a short distance to their designated plots. Here you can learn a lot about ethnic concentration and clusters: Korean over there, Vietnamese over here…

Not much different from the Irish, Polish and Italian who came before, except that church burial ground used to be (and some still are ) right near the parsonage.

Flowers are found on special occasions: birthday, Mothers’ and Fathers’ Day. Viewing happened at wake where friends and relatives are in black.

In the East, in Vietnam, the tradition still is heavily influenced by and passed down from generations: all whites, with traditional or modern-day band, casket laid in the living room, for three long days. Recently, they modernize e.g. all-night karaoke marathon by gay men (equivalent of Glee Club??).

I walked a short distance for my high-school principle funeral. His was a traditional one, unlike my uncle-in-law’s years ago. The later had two bands in both traditions, two horse carriages, one black one white, followed by a sea of white-clothed females and kids. He had been a theatre-chain owner in Saigon. His was second most impressionable funeral next to US Presidential’s I saw on TV, often taken place at Washington National Cathedral.

Widows in Vietnam typically would sit next to their husband’s coffins, for a ride to an outskirt cemetery. In cone-shaped cloth (resembles Middle-Age henchman’s), relatives of the dead scream at times, on top of their lungs, announce that their loved one is departed for his/her next cycle of life. Extremely rare do you find silence.

Tout est finis. It’s finished. The la het.

The end. In their end, their beginning.

Just take it as it is, no priori, no context, no speculation.

People come and go. They left their marks, their footprints and digital crumbs. They won points, score points, took a vacation, took selfies, being selfish or kind, earned high FICO or equivalent (social scores) in China etc…

The rest is speculation: where he is going to, how many more cycles before Nirvana, Heaven, Hell, Purgatory etc…

Buy this, it may help. Martin Luther said, hell no, we won’t buy (indulgences).

Others repeatedly are in denial, hence, the 5 stages of grief.

We cannot help being angry, depressed, in denial etc…

But we can also learn an awful lot about how people were by the way they die. French movies grace us with “The Man who Loves Women”.

It tells a story of a man who at his funeral, surrounded by women wearing dark glasses and dark clothes. to conceal, while their (not her) being there at all, reveals.

I hope at my cremation and tossing of the ashes (nano particles) out on the Pacific Ocean off the Pacific Highway (end the end of Santa Monica Boulevard), someone would film it, upload it, and caption it: ” he couldn’t wait for the sun to come up from Santa Monica Boulevard…”

You can tell a lot about people by the way they die, how they are buried without the need for an archeological dig. Just watch my final upload and click Like. Facebook might be accused of Racism, but in the end, it’s the people themselves who refuse to friend different, be buried different, or think different. In life, they view things and live separately. In death, it’s still the same: me, my clan, and my plot. Don’t blame facebook, blame yourself.

You seek freedom (of association) in life, why not in death? We are all pilgrims of this world and the next and the next. The journey will just be interrupted (for the sakes of loved ones, and a few enemies) but not over. There is no end to mine, and I hope the same with yours. See you on the trail, hopefully not without fanfare or fans.

Please don’t invite the Glee club or gay karaoke band. Bolero ain’t my taste of music.