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Three days ago the grandfather of my brother Seyha died. Today is the cremation. Tomorrow, on the 4th day, the final day, they will bring the urn back home, to his daughter´s, Seyha´s mother, home. All the men of the family shaved their heads, I felt quite cozy surrounded by all the baldheads. The family will keep the urn for one week, then they bring it to the family stupa, where the wife is waiting for grandfather. All the timing is up to the families. Some rich families celebrate the death of a member sometimes for a month. Usually the mourning is during cleaning the body. But even this event is, framed by tradition and religion, up to the amount of tears and fears, so pretty human. In two hours they burn the body, in front of the furnace, which chamber is still filled up with ashes of another dead body went up in flames two days ago. So the chief monk, because the grandfather worked at or better for the pagoda, decided to keep the family business clean and not to mix ashes with ashes. Maybe his wife wouldn´t stand his aroma anymore? Who knows. Like Seyha said, “Nobody.” – And it´s the first funeral where I was said goodbye with a blown kiss and a bunch of older cambodian women smiling and waving. Thank you Cambodia to let me be part of your dead.