18 November 2007 marked the 49th day of my dad's demise, and also the end of the mourning period. We held a little private session at the temple early in the morning, and i woke up that day feeling heavy in the heart.

the monk we asked to pray for dad was a young man who dedicated his life to buddhism. he stood in front of the table after all formalities were done, and proceeded to start the session. As the prayers went on, I had to battle with all the emotions within me. The sadness consumed me first. Everything that I remembered about dad came flooding into my mind. From the very faint memories that I had with him when I was young: the time he took me to the hospital after mum gave birth to brother, and placed me on the bed while telling me that little red thing in the box is my brother; the times we had breakfast as a family at the market on Sundays, and thereafter to the park opposite; the Friday nights in Boon Lay; the times i used to wait at the window to spot his car coming back; the day i brought Charcoal home; the time my dad called me when i was on my first SNY to Incheon; the very few dinners we've had after we've all grown...

and then anger hit me. I stared hard into the back of the monk's head, and silently wondered if there was any point in giving prayers, for the monk never knew my dad, never knew our family, never knew what we had gone through since young. Never knew what good or bad deeds my dad did, never knew if he did more bad than good, never knew how we are planning to survive for the rest of our lives since dad left us almost nothing...I got angry at the fact that I didn't get to send dad off, I got angry with the fact that almost every time we went to visit dad at the hospital we had to face that irritating male private nurse who never failed to make us feel unwelcome. I got angry at the fact that I couldn't do anything when the other family refused to let us attend the wake. I got angry at the fact that dad's eldest son from that family refused to partake in the prayers the night before the cremation just because he believed in a religion different from dad. I got angry at the fact that after the whole funeral thing, people talked about my mum taking a lot of money from dad when he was around when the truth was that we never took a single cent more, apart from money into education, from dad ever after I started working at 16 years old.

and then i wanted to laugh badly. I thought about how everything was just one big joke, that dad left us nothing but debts, and that my so-called plans have to be altered just because. I wanted to laugh at how my dad had been a womanizer when he was around and how he in his foolishness, had been conned by other people of his money. and I wanted to laugh at the fact that no matter what the monk chanted, I understood nothing. I wanted to laugh at the fact that no one will ever know how my dad looked like because i didn't put up a picture of dad on the tablet we made for him. I wanted to laugh at the fact that I was the cause of my own misery just because i wasted all those years not knowing who dad really was.

and i went blank. i stopped crying and stared straight ahead. I wondered why people light candles at funerals, why the picture is always put in between the candles. I wondered why some of us light incense for the dead. I wondered why in Chinese customs, it is always the guy who holds the picture of the deceased. I wondered why we couldn't celebrate the passing of a loved one. Like drink till you get dead drunk kinda party. I wondered why I paid so much money for the prayer session in a temple, because we can't offer any meat to dad, as we had to respect the fact that only vegetarian food can be served there. and I wondered if dad would be a little pissed at the fact that he can't eat meat from our offerings, and wondered if he could be appeased by eating mock meat. And I wondered why people called it mock meat when it wasn't meat at all. I wondered who invented mock meat and how did vegetarians know if mock duck meat tasted like duck?

the whole session took half the day, and by noon, i was totally drained. emotionally and physically. and when i heard of news about a friend who had to pax back on the same flight I did the other time, because her grandfather had passed on, I started to wonder if she had already known when i was chatting with her online earlier, and wondered how she would feel on the flight back. and all the memories attached to that day I flew back from Frankfurt came to me again, and i had to hold them back and enjoy the dinner with people i love and care for. by the end of the night, all i wanted was to sleep and do nothing at all, because i was so drained i wished i could have slept forever.

sometimes i get tired of explaining myself, and why i do the things i do. i get tired of trying to put across how i feel at times, because i don't know. and i get mad at myself because i am so easily irritated now, and am seldom happy. and i get upset at the fact that sometimes i still do cry alone in the hotel room, and i don't know how long it'd take for me to get on with life without dad. I don't know which is worst, losing someone you've lived with your whole life or losing someone you never really made the effort to live with.

and sometimes i bother to explain myself and why i do the things i do... because it matters to me how u feel.