My funeral, a royal wedding

Solemn, heavy, silent . Monks mumble and hum inaudible hums in some ancient language. Everyone circles his coffin, take one last look at his face with overly excessive make-up, and cries. I wish I could say he looked like he was resting in peace, but no. He just looked sad. And unnaturally tanned.

His brother, a colleague and some friends share memories of their beloved lost one. We watch picture after picture of his short but colourful life.

Everyone leaves in silence and mourning.



I left thinking how I would want my funeral to be the exact opposite of what I had just attended. So friends, I put my faith in you, that if ever I have the privilege of going earlier that you, you would make the following happen:

My funeral should be full of song and dance and celebration.

No one should wear black, but everyone should dress a fabulously and as colourfully as they can.

The only tears allowed are tears of joy.

There should be NO testimony about how great a person other people might have thought I had. Only testimonies of how great Jesus Christ is and what he offers his children.

Worship songs should be led by an awesome worship team.

All my family and friends, Christians and non-Christians, should attend.

There should be cake, a lot of cake. Many different flavours of cake. And then all leftover cake must be given away to the poor and homeless.

All my possessions should be sold and given to the poor, along with the cake.

My funeral should be as big as a royal wedding.

When we arrive at eternity's shore,
Where death is just a memory and tears are no more;
We'll enter in as the wedding bells ring,
Your bride will come together and we'll sing
You're beautiful...

My head feels like a rock

If you have forgotten what it's like to have a cold, here's a friendly reminder:

You first wake up with a burning sore throat.

But you're too tired and brainless at that time of the day to make good judgments...

..so you power through your morning routine just like any other day because your late because you spent that extra few minutes on the toilet thinking why you're feeling like you haven't slept.

Your nose then starts to run and won't stop all throughout your commute on the metro, as you get disapproving looks from the people around you for not wearing a biohazard suit.

For the rest of the day your body feels defeated and you sort of wish you had called in sick but you also think that would've been a bad idea 'cause you have so much work that needs to be done today.

Then you pop into the supermarket and, even though you know that chocolate and junk food gives you phlegm and know you shouldn't eat it you buy all that junk food anyway 'cause you think you deserve a treat for :
A) being sick, and
B) going to work while you're sick

The next day you roll into your office, your head is throbbing 'cause your nose is blocked and you've left your nose spray and lip balm at home and the dry lips make you feel worse.

Your manager gives you a ton of work and you're running around like a headless chicken with that blistering headache trying to get everything done before dinner.

You don't have much appetite for lunch but at 5pm you're starving and you're now addicted to the nose spray you bought during your lunch break.

At the end of the day you're in bed and you're really tired but the germs have messed up your brain and you're blogging about what it's like to have a cold.

Calm before the peak

I had turned around, put away my camera, was ready to run down the mountain and to not be cold and regain feeling in my feet, when Monik stopped me. Slightly above the Horizon a bright but tiny orange dot peeked through the clouds. It grew larger and larger, and this salted-egg like figure emerged.

First sunrise of 2011 witnessed.

And then I turned around, put away my camera, ran down the mountain and regained feeling in my feet.

It's now the 4th day of the 1st working week of the year. Also the 4th day of the 1st week of, what is known in the profession as, "Peak Season". Peak Season means long hours and maybe Saturdays in normal world language. But Peak Season, in Hong Kong, from what I've heard, means ridiculously long hours, working til midnight and beyond, not seeing your family and friends for weeks, not being recognised by your family and friends 'cause you've either gained so many pounds from sitting and snacking and cheap dinners and midnight snacks; or the stress has stripped you of your appetite and your flesh and revealing the shape of your cheekbones. (Although it's usually the former...unless you're suicidal.)

Luckily for few including me, this week has been very relaxed - I've been getting off work between 5:30-7pm, and actually went shopping after work and saw friends for dinner a couple times.

But that's about to end, and I'll have to face the oncoming reality that is the 4-month wave of slap-in-the-face corporate labour.

God be my strength and shelter.