Before the Thai-Chinese population can get to holidaying and frolicking tomorrow, the main deed to be taken care of today is that of paying respects to ancestors. Only after one has passed that checkpoint, with all the incense, firecrackers and greasy food in between, does the celebrating begin. Although she was born in Thailand, my mother is a second-generation Teochew immigrant, meaning her upbringing was influenced by Chinese traditions. Like any heritage-respecting Thai-Chinese person, she is expected to be at her sister's house today, where the ceremonies to commemorate their late parents will take place.
The sentiments used to extend to me as well, but since I started working it seems that I have been let off the hook. It's impractical and unnecessary for me to take a day off for it, was what my mother implied. We never were a traditional Chinese household anyway — I was never told to skip whatever I was doing in order to take part in familial occasions, unlike other strict families I knew.
Yet I remember a time when we used to be more dedicated. I remember having to drag myself out of bed at ungodly hours as a young child so we could make it in time to my aunt's house, where we would light incense ever so many times before it was all over. I don't recall doing anything like that in the past few years, as the traditions, processes and rituals must now fit my schedule, rather than the other way around. It sounds like convenience, but the more I think about it, the more it transforms into a curse of modernity.
It feels like we only deal with something if it is convenient, regardless of its importance. There's less hassle, but there's also the fact that we are losing something about ourselves. I can't even tell if that's a blessing or a curse. Qingming, or Tomb Sweeping Day, is part of my mother's annual rituals. But even today, she is less concerned with going on the exact day. A large burial site in Saraburi means thousands of families will be heading in the same direction, a side effect of which are lousy crowds and ghastly traffic.
To avoid the commotion, my mother and her siblings visit my grandparents' tombs before or after the season, often two weeks from the actual date of Qingming. I've never been conservative, and I too understand how the combination of heat, crowds and traffic can be a recipe for an irritable day out. But despite its practicalities, two conflicting voices bicker in my head.
"It's the thought that counts," one says.
"Right, then this is no different from celebrating Christmas two weeks after the tree has come down," replies the other.
While I'm not exactly counting down the days until I can visit my grandparents' tombs again, I am anything but comfortable with never visiting again. In fact, I find it appalling that I no longer have any idea where it is located along the maze-like trail I'd have to follow before reaching it. With thousands of other tombstones surrounding our somewhat unkempt hill, I would never be able to find it on my own without my relatives leading the way.
It's disheartening to think that no one might ever do this anymore.
Although that's mostly my own fault for not being more involved. If I am any indication of what the third-generation is turning out to be, the Teochew customs of my heritage are destined to fade.
It isn't just Teochew traditions, either — every problematic cultural function, it seems, is getting a shortcut. Buddhist funereal chants these days hardly ever end after 7.30pm, mostly so they can fit seamlessly into the modern person's life. He or she, after all, must spend hours in traffic to get home — and let's not forget those work emails that must be answered.
Is "it's the thought that counts" really enough? What are you supposed to do when you want to give more, but have other, more pressing priorities? Leave a message to Jesus on some religious website because there's no time to pray?
Finding a balance between cultural faith and modern life simply depends on how much importance one places on their heritage.
It's easy to be callous about our culture in this day and age, with so many distractions that take up our time, but deep down a lack of heritage can create a shallowness in us similar to a tree without roots.
Shortcuts can simplify life, but like cooking, some things should be done the way they were originally intended.
Parisa Pichitmarn is a feature writer for the Life section of Bangkok Post.