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I took the A out to Brooklyn to meet my mom at JFK back on Saturday so she could take me out to my great uncle’s funeral. On the way out, we finally got above ground at some point and I had the opportunity to look out the window.

We were passing a grave yard, but this grave yard was half overgrown. When I say that, I mean we passed a half the graveyard that was completely overgrown and the other half graveyard that was still, in a sense, open for business.

When I finally got to the funeral, I was there when they put my great uncle into the ground. Everyone around me was crying and I felt nothing. I don’t mean I was completely emotionless, just that I kind of felt like this wasn’t the time. Later that day, we went to a memorial where people talked about him, talked about all the great things he had done for them, how he had made their lives better–that was when I almost cried.

I guess the point here is, I don’t want anybody to cry over my body–that’s no longer me. If, at my memorial, people don’t come and tell great stories, I might as well have never been born. (Also, I was thinking at the funeral, my body is really only here so I can make kids and memories. Both have to be raised properly and if I don’t, ) I’ve wasted my time here. My body will just occupy a bunch of space and provide you absolutely no memories. Cremate me, put my name on a plaque at a good school and share stories about me. I don’t care if my plaque is on a bench where people rub their ass all over my name, I just don’t want a plaque in a cemetery; no one will ever go to see my name in a cemetery. If my family does, they’ll go there and cry. If they go to my school, at least they will have another reason to go there and perhaps the knowledge that I was a happy person who once enjoyed that place.


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