"That's It" or "Is that it?"

Attending a funeral and another wake on the same day make me feel kind of spaced out. If you have ever witnessed the procedure leading to the cremation at the Mandai Crematorium, you can not but feel that the last leg at the viewing gallery is really quite poignant. (I wonder whether it was designed that way with that purpose in mind. Please don't read on if you feel moody or think it morbid). See, from the viewing gallery you wait in silence looking down at quite a large room with inlaid tracks. The casket then emerges from below the gallery and one sees it moves slowly along the track vertically across the room towards an opened door at the opposite side of the room before it is out of sight and the door closes . It really brings out "the final journey" feeling.

He was my mother's younger brother, the eldest of 3 sons. My earliest memories of my life were images of my maternal grandmother's house where this uncle worked and lived. My family moved from Singapore to KL when I was 2 and I was left in the care of my grandmother in Singapore, until I was bigger and needed less care and attention. Both my grandmother and uncle doted on me. I remembered his workplace that overlooked an airwell on the second floor of a shophouse. I remembered how he would berate my grandmother's negligence if he ever noticed a slight bruise on me. I could remember his anxiety on one of my visits to a clinic in the hospital although I have forgotten what ailed me.

He was a tailor and an educated one. When young he attended an English School in the morning and a Chinese school in the afternoon. My grandfather hired a rickshaw to fetch him around. My grandfather also bought a gramophone and introduced western classical music to the children which this uncle appreciated deeply. The early privileged life of my mother's family came to an abrupt end when my grandfather passed away suddenly and the dire family circumstances were further aggravated by the Japanese occupation. This uncle then apprenticed as a tailor, a job which seemed quite appropriate for him as he was extremely reserved and hated company. In those days a tailor could work at home and was paid on a piece rate by the tailor shops. Had he been born later he would have been labelled as being an Asperger for he had severly impaired social skills. In those days matchmaking was common and there were many interested women as he was deemed quite cultured for a tailor. He read both the Chinese and English newspapers, kept himself abreast of world news, listened to Western classical music and interested himself in the biographies of the composers as well as the latest audio systems and technology. He remained a bachelor and when he became too old to sew he worked at various jobs as a garderner and security guard. In his twilight years he felt bitter over what he deemed as a lack of personal accomplishment. He lost interest in his hobby and stopped reading. His hi-fi set was left untouched and the records and tapes became mouldy. I am sure he would have been happier if he had continued engaging his passion for music and was less concerned with his status in society. In fact, he was more informed and knowlegeable than many a better educated person.

I bought a bouquet of white orchids and the undertakers placed it on top of the casket. As the casket with the bouquet moved across the room I thought about how we touched each other's life some 50 odd years ago. As he bade his leave I wished for him a peaceful after life. Whilst the doors closed upon us, I have a feeling that straddled between "That's it" and "Is that it?" That is what I meant when I said I am spaced out.