A Chinese Funeral
I received news yesterday that Brother Jiang’s (he wanted me to call him that) mother-in-law has passed away, at the age of 90. To the Chinese, the funeral of anyone who passes away at the age of 80 or older is meant to be a “celebration” rather than a mourning, a celebration of joy that someone has lived to a ripe old age.
Sir, JL and I represented the school management to attend the funeral, held at a parlour near the school. The place was very well-planned – florists and restaurants were available in quantity, and smartly-attired staff attended to the various mourners present. We were early – the bad traffic meant that the mourners (who have to come from their homes, where the wake was observed) were late.
Brother Jiang was very happy to see us. Lots of important people were present – the 村长 Chiefs (present and former) of the village, the 消防局长 Chief of the Fire Department and a whole bunch of business and government officials (I heard that even the Mayor or Vice-Mayor of Shanghai came). In such occasions, it is considered an honour to the family for important people to come. I remembered my family being very happy and proud when my Navy colleagues and my church friends all came for my grandparents’ funerals.
We were supposed to place a red flower upon the casket. I was puzzled. Back in Singapore, nobody wears any red items to a funeral, because red is a colour of joy and happiness. Not only that, but I could not attend a funeral in my military uniform, because superstitious Chinese believe that the spirit fears 官员 government officials (and my uniform represents that), and also because my Navy uniform has GOLD insignias and ranks (gold being another no-no colour for funerals – this I do not know the reason…I am a bad, bad Chinese).
One of our Chinese colleagues (from Logistics) present explained to us that her passing away at 90 is supposed to be a joyous occasion, so we are supposed to place red flowers. Silly me, how could I have forgotten that! Puzzle solved!
The three of us attended a dinner hosted by Brother Jiang that night. When someone of his influence and close relationship to us (Sir and I address him as 兄 elder brother) hosts a dinner and invites, one does not refuse or the relationship will be very strained (he loses “face”). Chinese culture is a matter of relationships and reciprocation, and is very difficult for many westerners to understand.
I found out that all funerals in China conclude with a dinner for all those who attended the funeral. As an overseas Chinese myself, I am always amazed at how different our customs can be, even though we all call ourselves Chinese. After funerals among Chinese Singaporeans, we all go our separate ways.
The three of us drank quite a bit, but at least it was red wine (not that disgusting throat- and liver- burning 52-proof white wine that I took at the other dinner). The Village Chiefs (both former and present) were at the table, as well as some businessmen – one of them is our vendor for our flowers, gardeners and other green needs.
I find myself having to put my foot down and refuse a smoke, citing my religion. I can understand that even my Lord Jesus himself drank (what else do we think He was doing turning water into wine, and presenting Himself as the wine to be drunk at the last supper?), but I do not know of any early Christians or our Lord Jesus doing substance abuse! Yes, I do not see the difference between a nicotine high and a marijuana high.
The next time I am forced to, I will tell everyone that I have made a vow to the Lord not to smoke. If a person can still try to persuade me to violate a vow, that person is not worth my trying to save his “face”.
JL and I were somewhat tipsy by the time the dinner concluded (I think I may actually have taken at least 3/4 to a whole bottle of 12-proof stuff). JL’s face was all red, and Sir still looked ok (though he claimed in an SMS to me that he could not take it any more – as if I would believe him, the consummate drinker!). I went for a massage to get my blood-flow moving, and felt better.
I hate entertaining in China, but if I intend to be part of the Chinese landscape (whether doing business or just maintaining friendships), I may have to learn to deal with it. My Lord Jesus at least have the advantage of drinking from young (plain water is dangerous to the stomach in those days) and in a culture where celebrations mean drinking.
Sir, JL and I represented the school management to attend the funeral, held at a parlour near the school. The place was very well-planned – florists and restaurants were available in quantity, and smartly-attired staff attended to the various mourners present. We were early – the bad traffic meant that the mourners (who have to come from their homes, where the wake was observed) were late.
Brother Jiang was very happy to see us. Lots of important people were present – the 村长 Chiefs (present and former) of the village, the 消防局长 Chief of the Fire Department and a whole bunch of business and government officials (I heard that even the Mayor or Vice-Mayor of Shanghai came). In such occasions, it is considered an honour to the family for important people to come. I remembered my family being very happy and proud when my Navy colleagues and my church friends all came for my grandparents’ funerals.
We were supposed to place a red flower upon the casket. I was puzzled. Back in Singapore, nobody wears any red items to a funeral, because red is a colour of joy and happiness. Not only that, but I could not attend a funeral in my military uniform, because superstitious Chinese believe that the spirit fears 官员 government officials (and my uniform represents that), and also because my Navy uniform has GOLD insignias and ranks (gold being another no-no colour for funerals – this I do not know the reason…I am a bad, bad Chinese).
One of our Chinese colleagues (from Logistics) present explained to us that her passing away at 90 is supposed to be a joyous occasion, so we are supposed to place red flowers. Silly me, how could I have forgotten that! Puzzle solved!
The three of us attended a dinner hosted by Brother Jiang that night. When someone of his influence and close relationship to us (Sir and I address him as 兄 elder brother) hosts a dinner and invites, one does not refuse or the relationship will be very strained (he loses “face”). Chinese culture is a matter of relationships and reciprocation, and is very difficult for many westerners to understand.
I found out that all funerals in China conclude with a dinner for all those who attended the funeral. As an overseas Chinese myself, I am always amazed at how different our customs can be, even though we all call ourselves Chinese. After funerals among Chinese Singaporeans, we all go our separate ways.
The three of us drank quite a bit, but at least it was red wine (not that disgusting throat- and liver- burning 52-proof white wine that I took at the other dinner). The Village Chiefs (both former and present) were at the table, as well as some businessmen – one of them is our vendor for our flowers, gardeners and other green needs.
I find myself having to put my foot down and refuse a smoke, citing my religion. I can understand that even my Lord Jesus himself drank (what else do we think He was doing turning water into wine, and presenting Himself as the wine to be drunk at the last supper?), but I do not know of any early Christians or our Lord Jesus doing substance abuse! Yes, I do not see the difference between a nicotine high and a marijuana high.
The next time I am forced to, I will tell everyone that I have made a vow to the Lord not to smoke. If a person can still try to persuade me to violate a vow, that person is not worth my trying to save his “face”.
JL and I were somewhat tipsy by the time the dinner concluded (I think I may actually have taken at least 3/4 to a whole bottle of 12-proof stuff). JL’s face was all red, and Sir still looked ok (though he claimed in an SMS to me that he could not take it any more – as if I would believe him, the consummate drinker!). I went for a massage to get my blood-flow moving, and felt better.
I hate entertaining in China, but if I intend to be part of the Chinese landscape (whether doing business or just maintaining friendships), I may have to learn to deal with it. My Lord Jesus at least have the advantage of drinking from young (plain water is dangerous to the stomach in those days) and in a culture where celebrations mean drinking.
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