I think it was two Sundays ago when my older brother told me that he dreamt that I died. It was so vivid that he described how it went, on how it started out sad and then scary until it got all batshit-crazy.
…He said that when he looked inside my coffin, I was alive and was actually texting.
…That the next thing he saw was me running around (he said my wake was held inside a relatives’ compound) saying I am not dead.
...That people in my wake bolted out of there in panic seeing me alive (who wouldn’t?)
…My late dad was there during the commotion and said: “Kawawa naman si Vayie, na-embalsamo na `yan eh.”
…Then I went up to the stage (yes, there was a stage) and sang this song.
See, told you it was crazy.
I know most of us try to brush that thought aside but deep inside, we all have our own mental picture on how we want it to be when we’re already in that eventual state. This may be a morbid thing to talk about and some may not be comfortable in discussing it, but let’s take this lightly for now because just like everything else, we have our preference even when it’s about our own death.
Like how, if I ever get to choose, I don’t want it to be an open casket for me. Just like when my dad was still alive, he’d always tell us that he wanted to be cremated immediately and then on the wake it will just be his ashes inside an urn. He said he doesn’t want people peeking through his coffin and saying things like: “He looked like he suffered a lot.” or “He looked different. He lost a lot of weight.” — so yes it was all about vanity up until the very end.
When it happened, none of us wanted any of that for him and gave him a traditional viewing. The good thing about it was my daddy never looked so handsome, it’s almost like how he looked when he was in his early 40s, (a younger Rafael Alunan III). It was the exact opposite of what he feared people would say when they see him in such state. I think he got more compliments while lying in there than the last few years of his life.
I always say jokingly and not-so-jokingly to make every effort in making sure my corpse is pretty enough to be viewed. I want a flawless, airbrushed make-up finish in the right shade. That may sound so vain, but I don’t think that’s too much to ask. If people will come to see me for the very last time, I wouldn’t want them whispering to themselves, “Did they use a pink undertone Kokuryu summer cake on her?”. I mean, if they won’t go to great lengths prettifying me, then cremate me, pronto. I won’t be a beautiful corpse. Heck, I’m not even beautiful while sleeping.
I also don’t want to wear something white as I never liked that color on me, instead, I want to wear something in turquoise blue, one of my favorite colors other than black and red.
It would still be a Catholic funeral, with masses and prayers, but when it comes to my wake, I don’t want it to be a sad, somber affair. I want ‘80s New Wave songs to be played on a continuous loop. I want everyone there just having a good time snacking on Boy Bawang and Ding Dong while swapping funny stories. Promise, I won’t take that as disrespect of my memory.
Also, no eulogies, please. Everybody says only the nicest things about you when you’re already dead. And while I believe my spirit may be hovering around my own wake anyway—it defeats the purpose of such tribute when I’m already a cold corpse.
Unless you have a family mausoleum, you wouldn’t choose to be buried considering the sad state of cemeteries in the Philippines. That’s why even then I wanted to be cremated. I wouldn’t want them to place my corpse on the ground and leave there to be eaten by maggots. Good thing this is not open for discussion anymore since we’ll all end up in the same crematorium vault where my dad is now. (Once upon a time though, I wanted a Vikings funeral with flaming arrows to hit a pyre, similar to Frigga’s in “Thor: The Dark World”. Then again, where will I have my ship burial float? Manila Bay? No, thank you.)
While we should all live with the end in mind, I hope that talking about this now won’t jinx me and this post becomes some sort of a premonition. That would be totally fuc*ed up.
But come to think of it, they say only the good die young. If that’s true, then I will be safe for now.
…He said that when he looked inside my coffin, I was alive and was actually texting.
…That the next thing he saw was me running around (he said my wake was held inside a relatives’ compound) saying I am not dead.
...That people in my wake bolted out of there in panic seeing me alive (who wouldn’t?)
…My late dad was there during the commotion and said: “Kawawa naman si Vayie, na-embalsamo na `yan eh.”
…Then I went up to the stage (yes, there was a stage) and sang this song.
See, told you it was crazy.
I know most of us try to brush that thought aside but deep inside, we all have our own mental picture on how we want it to be when we’re already in that eventual state. This may be a morbid thing to talk about and some may not be comfortable in discussing it, but let’s take this lightly for now because just like everything else, we have our preference even when it’s about our own death.
Like how, if I ever get to choose, I don’t want it to be an open casket for me. Just like when my dad was still alive, he’d always tell us that he wanted to be cremated immediately and then on the wake it will just be his ashes inside an urn. He said he doesn’t want people peeking through his coffin and saying things like: “He looked like he suffered a lot.” or “He looked different. He lost a lot of weight.” — so yes it was all about vanity up until the very end.
When it happened, none of us wanted any of that for him and gave him a traditional viewing. The good thing about it was my daddy never looked so handsome, it’s almost like how he looked when he was in his early 40s, (a younger Rafael Alunan III). It was the exact opposite of what he feared people would say when they see him in such state. I think he got more compliments while lying in there than the last few years of his life.
I always say jokingly and not-so-jokingly to make every effort in making sure my corpse is pretty enough to be viewed. I want a flawless, airbrushed make-up finish in the right shade. That may sound so vain, but I don’t think that’s too much to ask. If people will come to see me for the very last time, I wouldn’t want them whispering to themselves, “Did they use a pink undertone Kokuryu summer cake on her?”. I mean, if they won’t go to great lengths prettifying me, then cremate me, pronto. I won’t be a beautiful corpse. Heck, I’m not even beautiful while sleeping.
I also don’t want to wear something white as I never liked that color on me, instead, I want to wear something in turquoise blue, one of my favorite colors other than black and red.
It would still be a Catholic funeral, with masses and prayers, but when it comes to my wake, I don’t want it to be a sad, somber affair. I want ‘80s New Wave songs to be played on a continuous loop. I want everyone there just having a good time snacking on Boy Bawang and Ding Dong while swapping funny stories. Promise, I won’t take that as disrespect of my memory.
Also, no eulogies, please. Everybody says only the nicest things about you when you’re already dead. And while I believe my spirit may be hovering around my own wake anyway—it defeats the purpose of such tribute when I’m already a cold corpse.
Unless you have a family mausoleum, you wouldn’t choose to be buried considering the sad state of cemeteries in the Philippines. That’s why even then I wanted to be cremated. I wouldn’t want them to place my corpse on the ground and leave there to be eaten by maggots. Good thing this is not open for discussion anymore since we’ll all end up in the same crematorium vault where my dad is now. (Once upon a time though, I wanted a Vikings funeral with flaming arrows to hit a pyre, similar to Frigga’s in “Thor: The Dark World”. Then again, where will I have my ship burial float? Manila Bay? No, thank you.)
While we should all live with the end in mind, I hope that talking about this now won’t jinx me and this post becomes some sort of a premonition. That would be totally fuc*ed up.
But come to think of it, they say only the good die young. If that’s true, then I will be safe for now.
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