A funeral bazaar

That's the most apt description I could come up with. Temple-like buildings arranged side by side, each containing their own flower arrangements, mourners, and of course, deceased; the dead's names are spelled prominently on the top of each building so nobody steps into the wrong funeral. Cars and hearses crowded the parking lot. A sea of black, white and yellow.

I walked into the cremation waiting room. Families followed their respective monks in and out, stopping in front of their loved one's photo to say their prayers and pay their respects. There wasn't much space between the photos on the counters -- maybe a foot or two. Chants overlapped another; bells melded into funeral directors' calls and instructions.

"It's like a market in here," my mom observed. She was sitting in the air conditioned waiting room until our cremation service was scheduled. We munched on tea eggs from the built-in Family Mart.

This goes on every day.

I find that comforting.