I am that guy who likes being called luzzio online, but hates it when ALWAYS REFFERED TO BY IT in school.

I am that guy who was born with the name Mervyn Lai Wei Shiung(mur-veen)

I am that guy who knows evil people can be taken advantage on.

I am that guy who likes to be rude and offensive when in a bad mood.

I am that guy who wants to be by your side and comforting when you need a friend.

I am that guy who sighs and droops away when you said U didn't need one.

I am the guy who thinks chinese girls are in majority by far prettier than american girls.

I am the guy who says that because chinese girls have smoother skin.

Vijay catches the pervert, and sends him off with a warning.

Anyway-

Warg. The story is too long. I'll just skip this part.


Anyway, the bus had arrived at the border, and we were to present our passports. Outside, I noticed something.



This is the Bus Company that Boon Heng took. The NICE company. Typical BH, sitting on a bus with a name as cocky as him. Ngehehe.


Fast forwarded, my family and I arrived at a relative's house. To some of those who aren't that familiar with Singapore, land there is EXPENSIVE. Which is why a terrace house there is probably a few times more expensive than a bangle here. My host relatives lived in a DUPLEX, which is basically like an apartment, except that it has two floors. How to explain ah...urm, my pictures will lo.



The kaki lima outside.



My aunty, busy washing in the kitchen.



And this is their hall. You can't see the TV from this angle.



I guess this explains it. It's just like any other terrace house you can find in Malaysia, minus the drive way and garden. Oh, and not to mention its several feet up in the air. Lol.



Alright, it's 2am in Singapore at that time and I'm sleepy. See you in the morning.




MORNING COMES



The first thing I realized that morning was that my phone was no longer using Maxis. Someway or another, the line was now SingTel. Lol, it's freaky, because Maxis seemed to know that I had left Malaysia. I received about 5 smses from them telling me my services were now being handled by their joint partner, SingTel, including alot of other spam. Sad thing is, I can sms, but can't call. Bloody international roaming isn't in my package, it seems.



My family had no idea how to get around Singapore at all, so far-far-far cousin Ashley helped us out with the taxis. l-r Mom, Dad, and Ashley.



The taxi ride was splendid. Unlike the Proton Saga's used commonly by Malaysian taxi's, all the ones in Singapore are import cars. From Toyota to Mercedez's. Wow.



Another thing I noticed about Singapore was that everyone drove rich man cars. Our Protons are their Japanese imports(Toyota, Honda, etc), and our Japanese imports were their Europian imports. LMAO.



Before we forget, this trip to Singapore was to attend the wake of the late Uncle John, who passed away less than a week ago.



The parlour was behind a church, and the mourners(can harldy call them that, actually) sat around tables, talking in a different room. I was given permission to take pictures, so if any of these pics offend you, just close this blog now. You have been warned.



I didn't really know Uncle John well, but with due respect as a felow family member, I came down from Singapore to pay my final wishes. Rest in Peace, Granduncle John.



Chinese traditions never cease to amuse me. There was a plate passed around, filled with red strings. The older people hastily tied it around their fingers. I watched for a moment, and asked my mom what they were doing. According to her, chinese believe that attending a wake is 'bad luck'. So, by wearing a red string around our fingers(not necessarily has to be finger, or even a string actually), it sort of COUNTERS the bad luck. Alot of physiques involved, but basically it's just to even out your luck I think.



Did I mention that this family has around 200 members? Conveniantly, only 1/10 of them came from around the world, so the wake wasn't that jam packed.



Great-great grandfather has 5 wives, and spawned 14 children. These are the 2nd generation.



The 2nd generation spawned about 30 children, and these are the 3rd generation.



Needless to say, I am the fourth generation. And this is only 1/10 of the family.

There was laughter, chatter, and the occasional crude Hokkien word which I didn't understand. It didn't feel like a wake at all, because no one was crying, or even showing sorrow in their faces. All were smiles, and bright moods. I suppose inside, it felt bitter to lose one, but even I would like to see my family smiling during my funeral, then crying non-stop. Would let me pass on easier.



Before the coffin was sent for cremation, we all sang "Amazing Grace" in unison.




A small white van filled with flowers inside was waiting to bring the coffin for cremation. For those who are blur, cremation is an ever growing modern tradition to incinerate the deceased with high heatm until even the bone turns to ash, and later stored inside a Jade pot or some other medium to use a memorabilia or totem of the deceased. Sort of like a symbol, I guess.



We booked a bus entirely for our family to follow the coffin to the crematorium. Picture is shaky cos the bus kept on vibrating, and I couldn't keep a steady hand.



My phone's operator had changed again. My gawd, what a long unmemorable name for a network company. I kept my phone on silent mode, remembering Kenny Sia's blog entry about how a phone had rung out 50 cent's "Hey Shawty!" while people were mourning around his father. Twice.