we are seated at a table with two other residents. many questions are asked about my (non-existent) husband; i have to convince everyone that i am my age adn not in my twenties. then, i am encouraged to go around and talk to people, because i am such a distinguished guest. that's weird because i dont know anyone. a woman walks up on stage and starts singing in this amazing beautiful voice. about a minute in, someone asks if i understand what she is singing because, apparently, she is belting out celine dion in english, and no i have no idea (but crazy amazing voice). then, the wedding party arrives. first the parents, ushered in by boys (well, men but they look 13) dressed as nutcrackers (or bellhops) and girls (women) in long white dresses. i try to ask who those people are but my questions are misunderstood. then, the bride and groom. everyone lines up on stage; the MC says some things. a hot chick in a LBD reads a letter the bride supposedly wrote for the groom (the groom is sort of not listening). glasses of rose champaign are offered to parents, in sequence, which they drink together. then, the cake is sliced; the nitrogen is placed in the glass tower and same rose is poured over creating a fog cascade. everything is paused adn posed for photographs.
then the food arrives. i mention no meat for me. are you vegetarian? you didnt tell me earlier! i feel terrible, i feel like a traitor who had just sold top secrets to the KGB and betrayed the country. but the kitchen will make me a vegetarian thing, whcih arrives 20 minutes later: zucchini flowers, spring onion, and oyster mushrooms atop noodly noodles (to quote my friend Mo). totally vegetarian, except for pieces of ham carelessly tossed in, which i carefully extricate. i am also immediately handed fork and spoon because i am white adn not to be trusted with chopsticks. sad day. after my noodles, which are way to big to finish, meat that looks like beef but smells like pork in stew form arrives with bread rolls. i am to dip my bread roll (without stew) into soy sauce. the bread tastes oddly as if it was basted with condensed milk but soy sauce makes everything better. then hot pot for hte rest, and i am handed another soup. no, wait, not soup it's dessert: tofu in lychee syrup.
throughout dinner people are getting up on stage to sing. apparently, everyone in vietnam is an american idol contestant. i am asked to go up and sing as well, as a wedding gift. absolutely not, that would be a terrible gift. we go around the table a couple of times to discuss that i am, in fact, older than 23. the bride and groom come over a few times to toast (i am toasting wiht water); at some point, the bride stops by adn is offered a bowl of hot pot (she has not eaten yet), and because everyone else is sitting i hold the bouquet. everyone is amazingly sober, most importantly, me. and after dinner we make our way out.
now we are headed to the funeral. is it ok taht it's so late? yes, the family will stay up all night, so we can come late. is it ok that i am dressed like this? yes, you are a foreigner, you dont know. we drive throuhg the city to find the street where the 'shiva' for lack of a better word is held. the street corner is marked with a flag; same flag is atop the house where the family lives. the funeral is held in the courtyard. the family, dressed in white robes, hospital gown style, and white head bands, greets everyone and offers them drinks. there are funeral wreaths at the door, white and purple flowers. the air smells like incense and jasmine flowers. the family sits around with us at a table. the man who died was 84. his grandson went to school in england and is helping translate. he apologizes for the randomness of me being there. no, i'm sorry for your loss. dont be, he was old and ill, it is better this way. but grandma, who is handling this well right now, may not be ok. so they talk about giving her medication, benzos, to help calm her down. after settling on a med that wouldnt interfere with her hypertensive meds, someone is dispatched to the pharmacy.
i ask some questions about tradition, although it seems weird to ask questions at a funeral. the family will mourn until wednesday, when the body will be cremated. the length is prescribed by the monk who looks into multiple things to come up with the number of days. then, we head upstairs to pay respects. i stand towards the back as bows are offered to buddha first so he may hear, and then to the photograph of the deceased to pay respect. cupboards are covered in newspaper. apparently, buddhists, like the jews, cover their mirrors when there is a death.
we head out, driving through the night city. there are a ton of people out on teh streets; the streets are lit up; traffic moves all around crazy-style. the city is alive.
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