MANILA, Philippines - When i was much younger, a feature writer asked me what kind of a funeral I would like for myself. I was game enough to answer a horrible question like that so I said I fancied a burial like those of ancient Filipinos? yes, wrapped in a mat!

But not just any old mat. I then owned a shop that sold folk arts and antiques and often carried really fancy double mats from Sulu (much finer and larger than today?s versions). The best ones were woven in Laminusa, an island so dry and desolate that even its mayor, in the ?60s, refused to reside there. I wanted a bright pink, beige and purple wedding mat so intricately patterned that it would take the weaver two years, and maybe two crossed eyes, to complete. In time, though, I forgot the idea because Sulu became a war zone.

Then I remembered an apocryphal story about a grand uncle who died at home on a four-poster bed with a lace canopy. The tenants of his farm just lifted the four-poster cum corpse and walked with it all the way to the burial ground. That appealed to my sense of drama. What a show!

Then I heard about the send-off for the much-loved Baguio installation artist Roberto Villanueva. His friends put his urn on a bamboo raft with a load of flowers and flickering vigil candles and floated it out on Burnham Lake. Why, that was even grander! I also heard that Pepito Bosch, the hippie guru?s ashes were released with some kalachuchi by Sylvia Mayuga on the swift Agusan River. And Abe Aguilar Cruz (Larry?s late father) wanted his remains scattered on Mt. Arayat. I did not know where I wanted to be scattered so those, too, became passing thoughts.

Maybe my wake should be like that of the beautiful Ayi Malay (mother of Bobbie and mother-in-law of Satur). It was held in her own home although I suspect it was because her husband Armando wouldn?t agree to dress up everyday just to stand by at a funeral parlor.

About that time, my daughter-in-law, Lanelle, who is a potter of dinnerware, was approached by a very insistent customer who wanted to buy an urn. She was not yet into anything funerary. (In fact, during the Japanese time evacuation, Teddy Abueva remembers their family having to carry their living lolo?s specially handcrafted pre-need coffin from place to place). But then push really got to shove with Lanelle, so she took an elaborate cookie jar (that didn?t look like one) from the display shelf, and told the guy, ?There?s your urn!? That?s how Lanelle got diversified into the making of urns and was soon firing really nice ones that didn?t make one feel like an Oreo.

I also remember some time telling my pal, Manny Chaves, that when I passed on, he must order, instead of a wreath, a grand multicolored Chinese paper cutout offering such as one sees in Taipan wakes. It is a materialist vision of Chinese heaven?usually a mansion with a porch on which stand eight celestial goddesses as well as representations of family members. It sometimes included a lawn and a cardboard Mercedes and wads of fake currency (all meant for burning). But I knew the idea would immediately be vetoed because I was the wrong nationality.

Many today still don?t like to be cremated. ?Ayoko, mainit!? complains Tia Dading. But when she heard about the Standing Room Only Singapore cemetery, which even in the ?60s was already so full the corpses had to be buried standing up, she said, ?Ayoko din ng ganyan! Tila nakakangawit!? Besides, the church preaches the resurrection of the full body, and in this age of transplants, whose kidney or heart or eyes are going to join whom? And indeed, how will your mortal dust get all together again?

Eventually I decided on departing in a creation by UP artist Roberto B. Feleo. He had just had a stunning exhibit in Jun Villalon?s Drawing Room of contemporary spirit boats based on Philippine mythology. Filipinos believe each soul is brought by a spirit boat to the hereafter. This is depicted on the lid of the prehistoric Manunggul jar, which has a ghoul-like pair paddling a native banca.

Bob Feleo had several versions of the spirit boat. I chose a two-feet high beauty made of wood. The art piece has, on its lid, a bakunawa, the Philippine dragon that swallows the moon (according to the Bagobo) and causes the eclipse. Below, curled around the ?post supporting the earth,? is the mythical serpent which, when it moves, causes the earthquake. When the top of the urn is removed, you will find a little boat suspended inside in which a Barbie doll can fit. (Otherwise it will do for normal people?s ashes). That is the unbelievably beautiful receptacle for my mortal remains.

I chose it in the exhibit but, like most of the pieces, it had already been reserved by some filthy rich guy. I waited. When you wait patiently, the universe may want to overturn matters and drop what you desire on your lap. The filthy rich guy decided to put his wife?s ashes in a gold enameled receptacle instead. The piece was mine, all mine?six months to pay!

Burying me

On my 75th birthday, my friends spirited the urn away and gave me a surprise party that I knew about. The art piece was put in the middle of the celebration space that they had rented. Mother Earth girl, Odette Alcantara, surrounded it with 75 tall colored candles she had bought in Fort Pilar (Zamboanga). That was supposed to be my birthday cake. My friends either said some flattering things about me on the mike, danced or sang. It was like a necro. Ever since I can remember, my friends have been burying me!

Anyway, when I got to be 76, I wrote my children a letter with some last, last instructions on a final radiant send-off (apology letter to my conservative spouse attached). I wanted a funeral that was happy, and fun! Only gourmet pica-pica must be served and fine wine. Chamber music groups would alternate, but also Beatles, Diwa de Leon?s Makiling Ensemble and Lourd de Veyra?s angry poetry (sound-proof corner for Dad?s friends). There were a lot more elaborate bilin.

Then my only sibling died. Tess was a really good sister. Even if she was blind for 8? years, she never pitied herself?in fact any friend who needed moral boosting usually went to her!

Tess died on a Saturday morning after a lot of pain and was cremated at twilight. Hordes of people came to talk to her ashes in the chapel afterward. She had no Laminusa mat, no Chinese cutout, no raft, no four-poster, no urn with dragon and serpent. Just Tess and her luminous soul.

And so, for the fourth time, I am changing my funeral instructions. Which brings me to the point of this article. Old people keep changing their minds, even their wills, driving their children bonkers. So you young people, better expect it. (But really, you don?t have to obey everything the ?dedbol? say. They have no choice).

By now I have canceled all my requests and am just letting my kids take over. I trust them to make the arrangements without me directing the show from the other side. I will not even haunt them if they serve hopia and tetrapak drinks (although they might hear a faint groan or two).

Immortality, after all, is not about a deathless worldly identity that we leave behind. It is more the impulses toward good (political, social, cultural, personal, etc.) that we have planted. In short, the love we have extended to others.

Only one request remains. That my ashes not be divided into four cookie jars for our children to take home (and have to look after during wars, floods and other calamities). The ashes will go directly into the ground, among the roots of our 80-year-old santol tree by the gate. There three faithful dogs and many turtles have been buried. But I?m not a snob. It?s all right to be eaten by worms, Tia Dading. They enrich the soil and make the santol fruit very sweet.