Chinese Seventh Month

Chinese Seventh Month
- TC Lai 7th August 2019

John had been standing at the corner of a quiet street for sometime, not sure what to do. He knew he had died for sure, recalling the scene at the ER where he had seen himself on the operating table and hearing his heart monitor beep to a flatline. He also saw a bosomy nurse turning on one valve and another to try to aid the doctor in reviving him. But as his heart gave out, his bird's eye view of the chaotic situation collapsed and zoomed into the cleavage of the nurse and that was that; a bit of a tight fit and everything went dark afterwards. No tunnel of bright light, no white waiting room. It wasn't too bad after all: Orbs of flesh over orbs of light. But this limbo at a street corner was troubling. People would think he was selling backside.

Presently, John needed to pee, which surprised him. If I am dead, do I still need to do that?

He walked over to a nearby tree to relieve himself. His pee was thick, dark and smelly. How long have I been dead, he wondered?

A voice sounded from behind the trunk, which caused John to jump back, pee staining his suede shoes. The stains will, no doubt, take time to remove.

"Er, can you say "Excuse me" before you do that?" it said. The "it" belonged to a fella, this much John could make out. The apparition was sallow in complexion and moved with a limp. He was dressed in 70s fashion - big collars and bell bottoms. Obviously a ghost from an old death.

"You too?" John suggested, noting that the fella might also have been banged up in a hit-and-run just like he was. And at the same street corner some more.

However, a huge circular safety mirror had since been erected nearby and it clearly reflected off both their silhouettes. This surprised John a bit as mirrors were loathed to do that. I mean, how else are you going to tell ghost from human, or vampire? Maybe it did not matter in this whatever place that he was in. Maybe this place is.... And John began to drift away to ponder about string theory and quantum loop gravity. John was like that, even when he was live. A nerd.

"Hellooo?" echoed the apparition, snapping John out of his cosmic daze.

"Oh, sorry about that," offered John. "I just had the urge to pee and couldn't control."

"It's like that here. Probably as a result of denial. Everybody who dies think they don't need to go toilet anymore. So by the time they have to go, it is often too late. Maybe that is why when you go to places like Angkor Wat or any of the old ruins, they smell funny. Centuries of ghost pee would do that."

"Smell can cross into the real world?" asked John.

"Sure. Smell mechanism is quantum. Throw in entanglement and god knows where that ends up," said the apparition, suddenly as erudite as Richard Feynman.

"You mean I will have to shit sooner or later?"

"Yup."

"Darn, I didn't think I would have to. And I don't have toilet paper." Saying this, John patted his pockets. Empty.

"We all use these here," said the apparition and dug into his pockets to pull out wads of cash.

It was only then that John noticed the bulges in the fella's pockets. They were stuffed full of monetary notes - all at least in the 100 million dollar denomination. At the centre of each note was a chubby mandarin with a beaded curtain hat. That would be Hell's emperor.

"What, you mean you use money to wipe your ass?"

"Yes."

"Wow."

"Yes. Isn't that cool? I can finally be Warren Buffet with diarrhea!"

John wasn't too sure. If folks used money to wipe their asses here, wouldn't the place suffer hyper inflation like how it once was in Zimbabwe in 2007, where a loaf of bread was valued at 35 million zeebaweedollars?

"So. If paper money is useless here, what is valued more instead?" asked John, bringing forth his latent Milton Friedman side.

"Well..." pondered the apparition. He was apparently too long rooted to the tree to give an immediate and current answer.

"Well," it finally said. "It used to be fancy consumer goods like Benzes and BMWs, Lear jets, mega-sized TVs, etc., - all paper models that were burnt from the other world. Then for long periods, it was the iPhones and iPads. But since Steve Jobs passed through here shaking his head, the must-have phones here now belonged to Samsung. Even the exploding Note 7 did not faze anybody. They just pretended it was a novelty feature. I mean when you are dead, why care?

So if you see anybody walking around with half a face, you'll know that they were once Note 7 users. Iphone users still use theirs. But they hang their heads in hoodies to hide the shame. Or stick on a Samsung sticker and pretend otherwise." Looks more like an Oppo, corrected John to himself.

John was once an Apple fan. But since Tim Cook took over from Jobs, he had switched allegiance to Android. His last phone was a Google Pixel 3, now smashed up, of course.

"Of late it has been Huawei, you know," said the apparition, as if reading his thoughts.

"But how do you get to own a handphone here? Is there reception? 4G, 5G... the Internet of Things???" cried a bewildered John, who was clearly a newbie to this place and understandably, had a gadzillion questions to ask.

The apparition leaned on his tree, rolled a cigarette with a 100 million note and drawled out these words: "Well, they are posers, you see. That is one expect of you that's hard to rid of when you die. You'd still want that branded bag, that well-badged car, that famous jewel. It's what keep those joss and afterlife gift paper modellers going too. Why, I used to know this joss lady boss who'd spent 10/12 months living on her yacht. That Seventh Month period revenue alone was also able to send her kids to uni studies in the UK.

And even famous pastors here still hankle after their business jets and armour plated cars. And for what???"

"But how?"

"The usual method lor."

That last "lor" cocked a surprise in John's eyebrow. Is he a compadre or FT in disguise? John wondered but before he could verify, the apparition continued:

"You'll need to try to appear in the dreams of your loved ones so they will burn whatever you need during Seventh Month. It has always been like this for centuries. And by the way, do you mime?"

"Mime?"

"Yes."

"So-so, I guess" said John, who was once locked in his office after-hours and had to mime to a fella in the opposite tower block to call his security guys to let him out. The next day, he mimed again to thank the fella and got a flying kiss in return. He quickly waved goodbye and drew his office curtains. This was when he worked in the fancy Marina Bayfront area.

"If you are not good, there are centres here to help you," offered the apparition helpfully.

"But how am I to move from this spot?" said John, who smartly realised spirits liked to haunt the very place where they were first harmed.

"Ahh..." pontificated the apparition. "Very good question indeed." After that, there was a long pause as he drew and smoke-ringed, drew and smoked-ringed on his tobacco roll.

John knew he had all the time in the world and said nothing. He just hoped he needn't have to shit at the moment, else he would have to borrow money from the apparition.

More than branded goods, John hated to owe people money. He could never forget a debt and the stress would rash up the area around his belly button. The times it happened it upset his girlfriends who thought mistakenly that he was suffering from some STD and refused to get close to him. He would then rush to settle his "debt" causing acquaintances to think him petty and siao. Fifty cents only mah! they would holler. Even a dollar was no big deal to them. Two dollars maybe because that can get you novelty stuff at Daiso.

And the rash would somehow mysteriously disappear once the debt was settled. John was thus extremely happy when the Paywave cards and QR code payments became the norm. As was PayLah, PayNow, and the latest one, O$P$, which was really funny with its suggestive dripping paint icon.

"That my friend, is an interesting phenom," noted the apparition finally and stubbing out his ciggy. "Excuse me," he said, absentmindedly apologising to himself and his tree. (It is a well-known superstition that you don't litter around a spirit tree. An unapologised cigarette butt can cause your PMD to explode later in your home or your house to catch fire for no apparent reason. So don't play-play, especially NS men.)

John watched all this earnestly, eager as a noob at a watch convention, to learn.

"You see, WHEN you CAN leave or how FAR, depends on your 'attachment'. No one knows for sure. It is as if the powers that are want you to work out your angst or something."

"And why haven't you left already," asked John, revisiting the idea that he was speaking to an older spirit. The apparition sighed and then perked up and pointed skywards.

"See this tree. It is a MSW. See the other side, it is Dark Thorn." And then he chuckled, as if not believing his good fortune. "Where to find!!!"

John wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. He had heard of hybrid trees before, but two kinds of a fruit on the same tree? That's waaay stretching credulity!

But John was no fruit grower nor an agriculturist, so he attributed the phenom to the eccentricities of the place that he was in. Maybe his loved ones in the real tied two different durian husks together and burned them. Seriously, who knew!

Maybe that is also why this guy is getting an endless supply of "toilet paper". MSW and DT being very popular species of durians WOULD fetch a pretty penny.

He also knew if he appeared in his loved ones' dream asking for toilet paper, they would think he was crazy or something and ignore his request. And nobody alive would want to be seen burning toilet paper to their dearly departed ones. Even if it was Dove branded. "We love your bottom as much as your face!" was their somewhat misguided slogan.

Not even packet tisue too or they'll think he wants to haunt an mrt station or hawker centre. Jeesh, who would think toilet paper was so important in the afterlife? Wah piang...

At piang, the apparition continued:

"Actually the thing you want most is a passport. Passport to as many places as possible. Once you get a passport, a number will magically appear at the top-right corner. And just as it happens at Changi Airport, your number will be lotteried. When enough people have passed through, a lottery is held. The winner will be garlanded and sent on his or her way - with pocket money to spend as well. But whether it is back to where you come from or to another place, no one really knows. All we have heard or learned were like ghost stories when we were alive. The stories were always never first hand, unless it was from that fella TC Lai who saw ghosts growing up in Geylang. But mostly, it is of the "someone told me" variety. But the lottery is real. Wait for the ghost bus. It will take you to the Dream Materialisation Centre (DMC) where you will learn to communicate effectively in mime. When all is done, the same bus will bring you back. Ignore the horsehead or cowhead driver. The vehicle is actually self driven and they just like to frighten newbies.

Plus, a bingo parlour in the annex will announce who has won the jackpot. Now, as you have the time, figure out how to mime "passport". It is a difficult word. And given the small time window of each turn, you don't really want to galang-gabut and send your loved ones the wrong message. Look here, I've gotten novels I have no wish to read," said the apparition, who was still waiting for back issues of Mad Magazine, recently retired. MAD, he realised, was also an extremely hard word to mime.

"Look, it is always live transmission. So don't play-play and miss the chance!"

With that the apparition turned and disappeared. John stood there for a while, a little perturbed, a little exasperated but wholly relieved. Urinary as well as mindfully.

He walked back to his spot and patiently waited for the ghost bus. In the air was the smell of great durian mixed in with the vapours of someone who most likely was heaty. His loved ones shouldn't burn him durians of any kind. But do they sell paper cans of JiaJia liang cha at joss shops? one wonders.

The end

Background: (Inspiration) Well, inspired the Seventh Month