Tomb-sweeping

Early this morning I went to Bright Hill Temple, where my grandfather was cremated more then a year ago. A swarm of people, rows of smoking incense, paper money and food for the offering. 3 joss sticks were thrust into my hands, I waved them in a vague prayer.

We entered the columbariam to search for him amongst the shelves. There he was at 20608, smiling out from a coloured photograph. He never drank, smoked nor gossiped. He had 8 children, 13 grandchildren (I'm the eldest), and was still fixing tires months before he died. I'm beginning to look like him, I think.

Qing Ming, the tomb-sweeping, literally means "bright and clear". I know little else about this day, save that policemen turn a blind eye to illegal parking as long as there is all likelihood of a nearby grave. And that once a year, at least, people are reminded to respect their dead. Yet how easy it is to turn all thoughts back to the business of living. We went in search of noodles after that.