My last blog post said that Ada’s ashes were coming home tomorrow.
Well — that didn’t hold true.
Your ashes didn’t come home on Tuesday, nor on Wednesday, nor on Thursday.
Finally, on Friday, I got a call from the funeral home, and they came by.
And of course, they also handed me the invoice — as expected.
But there was something absurdly funny about it: they even had to charge VAT.
You can’t even die and be done — you still add value. Value Added Tax.
It still makes me smile somehow.
I’m glad I chose an earthenware urn. Metal would have felt too cold, too impersonal. The clay seems right — grounded, natural, and human.
Today, I prepared a letter to Ada’s brother John and his wife, Gesille.
Family is often complicated.
Why do I say that? Because in this case, it wasn’t.
John and Gesille were always kind, compassionate, and genuinely present.
They stayed in touch regularly — every couple of months, sometimes more often in the past year. A truly warm family.
When their son Joel married Roxanne, Ada and I were invited.
I’ll never forget that day: there was a moment during the ceremony when I was symbolically welcomed into their Chinese family. I was stunned — I cried. It was profoundly touching.
(It happened just before the photo that appears in this post was taken.)
Some months ago, John sent Ada his sarong — a gesture that meant the world to her. (Thank you, Gesille!)
Today, I’m sending it back to Singapore, together with one of Ada’s prints and a photo of her with Lee Kuan Yew, which he had signed for her.
I believe it was taken at the United Nations in New York, around 1979.
You can find it in the About Ada section.
Ada loved being out in the world — doing her thing, following her path.
But she never forgot Singapore, nor Burma.
She carried both places deeply in her heart.
She was deeply affected by the long, seemingly endless military rule in Myanmar — how the wealth of the people and country was wasted for the benefit of a few.
And yet, she also understood that suffering is part of life — part of the human condition — and she tried, in her own way, to accept that.
That strange crossover — between trying and accepting — was very much Ada.
She certainly admired Aung San Suu Kyi and was deeply shaken when the military seized power again. But she never let political despair take away her belief in kindness, compassion, and human dignity.
Bringing your ashes home today felt like closing a circle — and at the same time, opening another.
You are no longer out there in the world, but somehow, you are more present than ever.
In every gesture of care, in every breath of stillness, in every moment of quiet understanding — you live on.
Not as something to hold onto, but as something that keeps moving through life, softly, like the wind that touches everything and belongs nowhere.
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