The question of Death came to me when I was merely 6 years of age. I woke up that fine morning wondering how it is like to experience Death. Lying on the mattress I had shared with my aunt, I tried to imagine that I could no longer think and pretended I was dead. Then in my little mind, I realised that Death was just like sleeping. When I get knocked out, I felt nothing. That nothingness scared me and I started sobbing. Death was a darn scary thing to me at that instant.
So afraid I was that I ran up to my grandmother and demanded a photograph of her. Not knowing that it was a taboo thing to say, I told her "Cos I'm afraid that when you die, I will never get to see you again. I need your picture now!".
Amazingly, given my short term memory, I could still remember this scene vividly. My grandma's wide eyed look was replaced really quickly with a warm smile as she acceded my request. She gave me a coloured passport picture of herself and told me "Must remember ah ma ah".
Years down the road, I think I still have that picture safely kept in one of my memory boxes. And thankfully, my maternal grandmother is still around. I guess having that picture or not makes not much of a difference now. Our most treasured memories are often the most well preserved in our minds isn't it.