Death. Five letter word.
I know at least 10 people with 2 degrees of seperation of the guys who died in the recent motorcycle fatality. These few days, they've been going to the wake, coming back with sombre faces, recollections of the open casket.

I heard on the radio in a cab, then on the news later at night yesterday, there has been a third murder in the same week. In Singapore, my home, my country. it's not patriotism, it's proximity.

How do we know if a death is timely? Snuffing out of a life is the end of so much possibility, heck every moment is possibility. The closest two deaths i've been near to are my grandfather and Waicheong. My granddad died in his sleep, i spent the next day at his house, when not in the living room, in his bedroom chanting the name of amitabha buddha next to his body. He looked asleep. My father was his oldest son. My uncles gave him a change of clothes then carried him out with a cloth over his head to the transport.

I received a call from Chunmeng three days after my 15th birthday, june 5th, that Waicheong was departed. His wake was on the 6th, Waich's birthday. We were supposed to celebrate together. The casket was open, i looked upon the make-up artist's work after Waich's 14th storey leap. I laid my laminated embellishment of his name at his hands, it was supposed to be for him to stick on his room door. I didn't cry like my friends did at the time, but i needed their help getting over Waich's departure for the next few months.