Smoke-filled Days.
On how I said how special my week was in the previous post, I wish I hadn't said that.
On the Sunday when I said I don't know what would happen, my grandmother passed away due to organ failure.
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Inside and out of the house, there was the scent of burning. Either it came from the burning of jossticks, or the burning of cigarettes, it was eye-stinging. Chants were always heard and everyone was only in one of the two colours, white or black.
People were always swarming in and out of the house, paying their last respect to the mother of eleven, grandmother of many. There she lay peacefully, finally free from the torture of her old aged body. I think she would be happy to unite with my grandfather up there, too.
Tears were shed, our hearts all carried a heavy stone while we accept the fact that she had left us. But strangely, the mood wasn't entirely gloomy. Laughs were still constantly heard, but that doesn't mean we weren't bothered by her departure.
Bare foot, we were. The feeling of rocks and sement under my feet, it doesn't affect me at all. Even if it did, I didn't want to wear my pink slippers, which immediately took notice when I arrived my hometown. Like I said, there were only two colours to wear, and I was white.
Three days I was absent from the seat in my school, chanting, praying and burning, hoping to give my grandmother a better life in the other realm. Always we were staying up late and getting up early for tomorrow's prayer. I know I never complained, because it's the very best I can do before she completely leaves us.
I felt guilty, when I was lying on the bed they moved the coffin to her grave, which was right beside to my grandfather's. All thanks to period pain, I apologized many times silently to the air.
It was over. She was under the earth, but her spirits high in the skies. We can no longer call my it as 'Grandmother's house', but 'Uncle's house' or '187', the number of the house my grandmother once lived.
Since my mother lost both of her parents, and they were the only reason to return to my hometown, I still wish to return there. It's great going there, meeting up with my family. Probably I was borned in Malacca, I'm fond with that place.
Well, after my grandmother's funeral, I was greeted with piles of homework when I finally returned to school. How kind of the teachers.
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時間がありません!
On the Sunday when I said I don't know what would happen, my grandmother passed away due to organ failure.
---
Inside and out of the house, there was the scent of burning. Either it came from the burning of jossticks, or the burning of cigarettes, it was eye-stinging. Chants were always heard and everyone was only in one of the two colours, white or black.
People were always swarming in and out of the house, paying their last respect to the mother of eleven, grandmother of many. There she lay peacefully, finally free from the torture of her old aged body. I think she would be happy to unite with my grandfather up there, too.
Tears were shed, our hearts all carried a heavy stone while we accept the fact that she had left us. But strangely, the mood wasn't entirely gloomy. Laughs were still constantly heard, but that doesn't mean we weren't bothered by her departure.
Bare foot, we were. The feeling of rocks and sement under my feet, it doesn't affect me at all. Even if it did, I didn't want to wear my pink slippers, which immediately took notice when I arrived my hometown. Like I said, there were only two colours to wear, and I was white.
Three days I was absent from the seat in my school, chanting, praying and burning, hoping to give my grandmother a better life in the other realm. Always we were staying up late and getting up early for tomorrow's prayer. I know I never complained, because it's the very best I can do before she completely leaves us.
I felt guilty, when I was lying on the bed they moved the coffin to her grave, which was right beside to my grandfather's. All thanks to period pain, I apologized many times silently to the air.
It was over. She was under the earth, but her spirits high in the skies. We can no longer call my it as 'Grandmother's house', but 'Uncle's house' or '187', the number of the house my grandmother once lived.
Since my mother lost both of her parents, and they were the only reason to return to my hometown, I still wish to return there. It's great going there, meeting up with my family. Probably I was borned in Malacca, I'm fond with that place.
Well, after my grandmother's funeral, I was greeted with piles of homework when I finally returned to school. How kind of the teachers.
---
時間がありません!
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