greater things have yet to come

No matter how many million funerals I've been to and have been able to sit through it, I really don't enjoy going to funerals.

Then again, who does? But maybe, some people just have nothing against it. I don't like it at all. The look of the house or the funeral parlour, the songs we sing and the lack of happiness around.

I especially dislike it when it happens to be one of my relatives' or family's funeral.

I can't believe I remember this, but I do, really. The last thing Uncle Hor had told me before being diagnosed with cancer, hence, making him weak and unable to speak much, was how Bahasa Malaysia was plain bullshit. I was shocked to hear what Uncle Beng, the oldest son of Uncle Hor and daddy's closest cousin, had said when he stood up for the eulogy speech. He had said that his father told him when he was younger that Uncle Hor would sell off the house if he had to, just to pay for Uncle Beng's college fees.

I was shocked for about a second, but I recovered from it and smirked to myself.

And I'm pretty sure that that was one of the topics we would always talk about, how stupid Bahasa Malaysia is and how it won't do much to you if you go overseas.

After that, he was so weak, that he would only smile. That is, to me. He probably said much more to my grandfather and his closer family members.

Uncle Hor was probably one of the many grand-uncles that I was closer too, only because he would always be there, at my great-grandmother's house, sitting in an antique chair tied up with raffia strings and watching my great-grandmother run around the house. And when I came, he would always, always talk me and ask me to have lunch.

It's so good to know you're no longer in pain, Uncle Hor. But we'll miss you, and I'll miss that conversations we used to have two years ago. Rest in peace.