Bus number 5A

I take the bus into work every morning (those mornings when I have not missed the alarm, that is - then I take a taxi). Usually I sit on the lower deck because I cannot be bothered to go up the stairs. This morning though, I decided I wanted to go up, just to see what it is like.

We pass by St. Michael's Catholic Cemetery. The cemetery reflects life in Hong Kong - crowded in death as in life. Sculpted white angels jostle for space alongside the white tombstones with black and white photographs and gilded inscriptions. The cemetery faces the sun, but also the highway to Aberdeen and the Happy Valley racecourse. I think perhaps it is not a quiet resting place, but then, these Hong Kong souls are probably used to the hustle and bustle. Most cemeteries in Hong Kong are placed atop of hills, a little bit away from the forest of high-rise buildings, but not that much away - you can see rows of gleaming white tombstones standing like barley on the hills of Kowloon on your way into Central if you take the Airport Express.

I have always imagined that if I die, I will be cremated. The lucky person named in my will (yet to be made, of course) will get a chance to fly to the Bahamas and scatter my ashes in the blue sea there. That way, hopefully, my loved ones will not be so sad that I have left - pina coladas work wonders if imbibed on an hourly basis. My sisters cheered at the idea of going to the Bahamas, but M. didn't think that it was a good idea ("What happens if I want to be sad? You can't stop that. And of course I would be sad."). I suppose it would be much better if I didn't leave M. by dying first. I wouldn't want him to feel lonely.

We pass a school, then a Sikh temple with a colourful roof and a small entrance. An old man wearing a purple turban and a white beard comes out, looks up at me briefly before bowing to touch the steps of the temple and then going his way. I wonder which he would prefer - a cremation or a burial? I know nothing of Sikh religion.