"I hated going to weddings. All the grandmas would poke me saying "You're next". They stopped that when I started doing it to them at funerals."
- Anon. (found at some random message board)

there's a wake going on now at the foyer a few blocks away from mine. apparently, today's the cremation or burial (i want to be cremated! but more on that later). it's a really tragic affair apparently from the way the family members are wailing like banshees. which makes me wonder: why do funerals have to be such sad, depressing events where people cry buckets over someone's demise. true, it's about death and dying and bidding people goodbye. but if you look on the brighter side, there's insurance money to be claimed, CPF to be shared and plenty of tontine money to be collected. that's of course dependent on whether you want to have a lavish funeral complete with clowns, fire-walkers and a group of dancers carrying black umbrellas moving to the tune of Helena. other than that, there's actually plenty to be happy about, no? after taking care of you bed-ridden loved one for such a long time, i'm sure the least that he can do is to reward you with that trip to the Maldives that you so deserve. or at least that live performance of the dancers from Helena.

this is why i'm blogging this post. it's a description of what my funeral will be like. and already, if you read my blog, you are coordially invited to it too. just print out this post and keep it in your pocket or safe or whatever. 30 years down the road, bring the printout along and throw it into my coffin. you can invite your friends and all the other people you know from Friendster, Fridae or Trevvy. up to you. just tell them that it's going to be held at somewhere happening, though i haven't decided on the venue of my funeral, but it's definitely not at my house downstairs and neither at that funeral parlor residing in Lavender. bring plenty of money. and BYOB.

but really, i'm not so much as afraid of death. if i were to die young, then good lah, at least the morticians need not do any drastic cosmetic surgery to improve my features (though pec implants would be much appreciated). and if i were to die old, it doesn't matter still. life is like so over when you hit 21 anyways. to tell the truth, death doesn't scare me. it's the way death will come for me that scares me. the same way that i know ghosts are not scary. it's just the approach and 'foreplay' that the spirits somehow enjoy so much, that scares the shit out of me.

when i die, i want to be buried in a white coffin. the fabric on the inlay would be made up of stripy prints. preferable the authentic Paul Smith stripes. i don't care how you get it. you could shop for a bale of Paul Smith fabric or simply just buy several dress shirts and stitch all of them up together. as long as i can sleep in style, i'll be fine. if the funeral parlor cannot do stripes, a Paul Frank skull and crossbones motif on a black background will suffice. in the case of Paul Frank, my coffin would be black and preferable pirate-inspired (i dunno, bandanas, bracelets, neck charms, skulls, earrings, etc). and please don't put a layer of glass over my face. in the case that i do wake up and i bump into the glass, and everything shatters, and i get cuts and lacerations. then i might as well just go back and join the eternal slumber.

most importantly, someone needs to hire Jill Lowe to dress me up inside. preferably something one would wear to an exclusive club. hopefully i'll be going to heaven where there are literally more higher class clubs to party at. gothic make-up also. not those over-powdered faces that make every single dead person look like extras from Memoirs of a Geisha.

the venue would most likely have to be setup at a field. you know like those huge-white tentages they set up in the middle of the Takashimaya courtyard during the Singapore Fashion Festival (or was it the Singapore Fashion Week?). i would really like that. air-conditioning is a definite must. nobody likes to attend a funeral that's as steamy as a sauna. well, the whole venue has to be decorated in blacks and whites. the dress code is not boring ol' 'smart casual' or 'black tie' or 'disco' or 'retro'. nope. it's just simply 'Funeral black, Funeral White'. you are left open to interpret that for yourself. no flowers at my funeral please. but plenty of rented modernist furniture. the chairs will be arranged in a semi-circle, with my coffin in the center. and there's a podium beside the coffin where you can tell dirty jokes about me, say silly things, do a striptease, play win, lose or draw, preach a sermon, sing a love song, breakdance, play the harmonica, propose to a loved one, whatever you want to do beside my coffin. i will give you my spiritual blessings.

when all that talentime crap is over, 5 of my bestest friends and the brother will give their eulogies. like 'oh he was so talented but he was quite an ugly fuck, what you have here is all thanks to MAC'. stuff like that. if they have bad english or stage fright and can't do eulogies, they are allowed to select their favorite posts from my blog to read from. and please don't let them pick the short ones. i know eulogies are damn boring. so that's why it's BYOB. you can create your own mixers or even better, approach the experienced bartender that's somewhere at the funeral. the boyfriend can make drinks. you'll see him going round with the drinks trolley and a genial smile.

and remember! it's cremation, not burial! unlike our ang moh counterparts, our cemeteries are pretty much resemblant to our HDB apartments. packed, compacted and boring. and anyways, there's only so much fun you can have when you're stuck in a coffin awaiting biodegradation. i have as much fat as a prime japanese cow that you could just incinerate me and the fat would fry. put me in some salt shakers and sprinkle over food. that way, every time you're damn hungry you can say things like 'oh i'm so hungry that i could eat a cow!' and actually mean it.

but no, i'm joking about the salt shakers. after i get cremated, please put me into nice little boxes or vials or whatever. and distribute them to those 5 best friends and the brother. sort of like a way of saying thanks for the eulogies (despite the fact that they prolly had nothing much to good to say about me). it would be nice if they would take me on a trip to somewhere foreign. let me experience the sights and sounds of this transitional world before i finally fade into oblivion or get my entry pass into the party up there. and i know this is damn cliche, but the lucky bearers of my remnants should sprinkle my ashes into the sky just for the fun of it. if they don't want to and would rather let me sit on their mantelpiece, can also. i'll be there watching all your domestic quarrels and the bad sex though. in spirit.

but what are the chances that i will get to have such a lavish funeral when i'm dead? i definitely don't think the parents will help arrange something like that. they are practical people who are going to call a funeral parlor (like the one shown in the picture) and invite all the church people and the church reverend and preach some shit about death and dying and how Jesus will welcome me at the pearly gates together with St. Peter and his entire crew. i've attended enough boring funerals that i don't want to set a trap for another one. so please, if the parents decided to do something like that please kindly remind them that i'm not just their dead son.

i'm their dead GAY son.

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