Catching a flight during Holy Week in the Philippines is difficult. I am keeping track of my mother's travel to Auntie M's wake in Cebu via SMS and overseas calls. God she was a very cool aunt; loyal to my philandering uncle til the very end. She had a flair for smart fashion. I wonder how did she look like before she made her final exit. She was once facetious, "I want to be buried wearing my electric red lipstick."
Whether she's getting what she wanted or not, I do not yet know. The latest update that popped into my pc instead says Mama (who arrived at 4 AM today) and Auntie M's daughters are in a hair saloon. I am convinced they are having fun despite the occasion that brought them together. Girls will be girls, funeral or not. And I'm stuck jealous in Bangkok. So what else is there to do but snap the weekend away.
This is my urn and the clay base of my reading lamp. Auntie M is not headed for the crematorium though, but going down a vault. And my urn is where I sometimes store candies.
I dug into drive C and found another relative shot. I went with colleagues to the Grand Palace to pay our respects to HRH Princess Galyani. Her lying in state put an interim lull to the 2008 political protests. Isn't it sweet what princesses do even in death?
And this is the chinese cemetery in Thailand's ancient capital, Ayutthya. I took this shot from a running tour bus.
Apparently not a mausoleum; it's only the Bangkok skyline portraying my thoughts and mood this weekend - a spaghetti mix of dark and sparks. I imagine streaks of Auntie M's lipstick reflected in the electricity that powers the lights. They beckon life to move on.
Comments
My entry this week: in HERE. I hope that you can stop by as well. Thanks
@lupusurvivor, thanks. you are kind.
Happy Monday!
And btw, murag wala paka naka vote kay wala man niuswag akong vote number. lol!
have a good easter, and thanks for dropping by my site. :)
Some old grieving practices in the Philippines, i.e. giving off wails that the entire neighborhood can hear or engaging in showy fainting spells - are thankfully disappearing. I am proud that my family takes tragedy using only a few plies of Kleenex. (God, Auntie M's ICU bill is horror enough) While watching my father go down the vault, I managed to remain dry-eyed. It made people ask, "What happened to the Papa's girl?" Had they asked how ripped my heart was at the sight I would have appreciated their sensibility. Then I hosted a catered funeral reception in which the menu included cakes and ice cream along with heavy meat. A little niece wondered, "Is it Grandpa's birthday?" (birthday ba ni Lolo?)
My family likes to celebrate life. It may sound strange against traditional Filipino culture of dealing with death, but that's how we cope. I accept your condolences, Kerslyn, with the hope that others do not have to knock themselves out grieving over their loss.