The Art of Dying – A Personal Perspective

Tai Lung Keow

To a sixteen-year-old, the subject of death is irrelevant. To a sixty-year-old, it is a reality check. Still the universal perception of death across most cultures, religions, races or classes is one of finality. The Grim Reaper is often portrayed as a fearsome character – a skeleton draped in a black cloak holding a scythe in one hand.

As the popular adage goes, there is nothing more certain and unavoidable as death and taxes. Yet despite the inevitability of death, you still hear of many tales of the search for the fountain of youth, the miracle cure or drug, the wonder cream to ward off wrinkles: futile attempts to avoid and keep death at bay! However, the reality remains that from the moment of birth, our cells start to die, although these are initially more than replenished by the continual generation of new cells. The same is not true during old age. The average woman is expected to live up to eight-six years of age, though not always necessarily in good health. But as long as both legs can take us from one point to another without any mishap, as long as there are enough good teeth to chew with and savour the food we like with relish; and most importantly, the grey matter still works; then let's embrace and welcome each day as it comes.

The world does not know me. I have not climbed any mountain, invented anything or saved any one. In Singapore , I am a mere digit whose existence is acknowledged once every four years during the elections and a potential candidate shakes my hand and asks me to vote for him or her. My whole existence is marked by a trail of documents: a birth certificate, a marriage certificate, a passport and thirty-five years of payslips from the Ministry of Education. I plan not to collect the final document yet – the death certificate – until I am ready to go (as if I have a say in this). I do not yearn to be famous or infamous. I have not made any inroads into history. Once I envied youth and beauty and was an ardent fan of Elizabeth Taylor. But now I realise with glee that when both of us meet the end of days, my skeleton and hers will look similar in the grave.

Mediocrity is the theme of my life and I am glad for it. I am proud of my mundane achievements. I have raised three wonderful children on my own, taught many generations of students, some of whom surprisingly still remember me with some fondness. Now that I am retired, I rejoice at the small and ordinary moments that come my way each day. Every day, I wake up in the morning and look forward to what lies ahead. A quiet breakfast by myself while I watch the rest of Singapore rush to work with worried frowns on their faces, probably thinking of reports to be submitted or deadlines to be met. Then if I feel like it, I wander around the neighbourhood. I might watch a movie, meet up with a friend or simply go home and watch television. A good day can also be spent at home doing what I enjoy best – needlework.

I want to be remembered by those who care for me, during and after my lifetime. Death will not diminish or eradicate me as long as one grandchild can say, ‘My grandma made this quilt for me many years ago.' That way, I shall live on in that quilt, that doll, that Chinese New Year dress, that heirloom. My children will have their memories of me too, both happy and sad. These memories will keep me alive in their hearts. ‘Remember the time when mummy caned me because…”, I will continue to live on. They will of course mourn my passing but that must not be forever. I have lived a full life, a good life, and I have made things happen, not earth-shattering things but things that matter to those I cherish most dearly. So I spend my twilight years fashioning things that will last while my eyes are still sharp and my fingers are still nimble. It is my special way of using up each day as my days become more numbered.

I don't welcome death. But it will come and when it does I hope it will allow me to go gently into the night. Will there be life after death? Is there a heaven (or hell) waiting for me? I don't really care. Don't burn paper models of Mercedes Benz for me, of ten-room mansions and an army of servants. Certainly I don't need paper money or a paper handphone. Don't try to instil the fear of God in me for not accepting Him before my time is up. I may or may not end up at the pearly gates but right now I am content in living each moment and making each day count.


Tai Lung Keow is a retired school teacher. The views expressed by the author represent the opinions of the author and not those of the staff and management of the Centre For Seniors.