Updated: Sep 28
The day of the funeral was like any other childhood memory that I have: short snippets in time, yet, very vivid. During the funeral, I remember sitting front row at the ceremony. Not really fully understanding, but also crying my eyes out. I remember a lot of people coming up to my sister and I to give remorse... seeing their sad faces and telling me to stay strong. I stood there with tears in my eyes with the flashback image of the dug up grave.
In Chinese tradition, it is typical to have a meal after the ceremony. This was to celebrate the deceased person's life. As a kid, I thought this was quite weird. The thought of celebrating death was so insane to me. Why would this be a happy moment?! Why are we eating around the dinner table like it was just another day?! My father placed a bowl of rice for the seat across from me. It was all set up prim and proper with the chopsticks stuck inside the bowl. The others that attended, started placing various side dishes on the bed of rice and I thought to myself... What is going on? There is no one there to eat it! Dad explained to me that this was for Mom, and at that moment I tasted the