My Funeral

I hate being alone. Don’t get me wrong, I like my space especially when working on something. I have been alone for most of my life and I guess that is what gets to me. I love being around people mostly because I get to observe them and also the fact that good vibes and positivity tends to rub off of people. Lately this has been scarce in my life. I have been at a really bad place in my life and it’s been crazy. I have had crazy lows and gone to places in my mind.

Wednesday April 1st 2015, 10:11pm

I get into bed alone, lay on my back and stare at the ceiling. There’s not much light except from the mosquito repellant. Even that isn’t much to light up anything. My hands are resting on my thighs as if am in a coffin. And that is when I start thinking of my funeral. I can see it all happening. Colours are clear but my eyes are blurry from the tears falling down the sides of my face into my ears. I am damaged. True! Questions are running through my mind.

How did I die?

I must have been fixing something in my house when I fell and hit myself. That is the problem of not owning a stool or ladder and always fixing things up on your own. Not to brag but I am quite handy. I wonder how that will be helpful when dead. It must have taken days for my body to be found. That is my other problem. I live alone and never socialize with the neighbours. I know no one in the estate. The caretaker of course and the ‘watchies’ and they are being changed on a daily. My body must have given of a crazy stench to warrant them opening my door. I just hope I wasn’t naked when they found me. Hopefully in my shorts and t-shirt. A dignified body at least.

Emergency contacts? None. Phone? Dead. Facebook? Yes. I am guessing my mother found out through Jobu, my cousin. He is online a lot.  Mostly cursing at the world, but still online.

Who are these people?

They must be my Facebook ‘friends’. This is the problem with Facebook, they never verify profile pictures. I don’t know these people! Their names sound familiar from random comments, likes, shares and weird inboxes. Well at least they came. My dad didn’t. Not shocked though. My grandmother seems to be the only one crying, go figure!  Must be because I was named after her.

As they lower the coffin, I can see people taking photos. Hope they tag me. Too bad they can’t post on my timeline and I can’t review the tags. Well, there’s not much I can do from here. They are throwing dirt on me. Pricks! They didn’t even know my first name until they read the eulogy.

What are they saying?

I heard ambitious, driven, hard-working after which I stopped listening.

I am damaged!