In a Mock
Funeral
48
www.groovekorea.com September 2016
Edited by Naheen Madarbakus-Ring (naheen@groovekorea.com)
ENTERTAINMENT
When Dying can Lead to a Better Life Story by Ali Saleh Photos Beautiful Life
I
've now seen the paper tombstones. The written wills. The coffins and chants of mourning. The photos of those who chose to “end” their lives with the hopes of beginning a new or clearer one. I've now seen and heard the argument that in order to live a happy life, we must first die a happy death. It's no surprise that this relatively new practice, often referred to as a mock funeral or fake funeral, is trending in South Korea. The economic boom that took Korea from one of the most impoverished countries in the world to one of the most global and affluent ones didn't come without its repercussions. With its long working hours, high alcohol consumption, and a culture that revolves around—if not obsesses about—academic success, Korea is also home to one of the highest suicide rates in the OECD. When I ask Kim Gi-ho, program director and owner of Beautiful Life death experience, why South Koreans have become so drawn to the mock funeral, he says, “Unlike Westerners, Koreans are most concerned with their families and how they're viewed by their peers. In the West, people are more individualistic and can enjoy more personal freedoms. This puts
a lot of pressure on Koreans to live up to their surrounding expectations.” Kim, a PhD in Palliative Care, started the Beautiful Life program in 2002. He operates in a Buddhist temple in the south end of Gangnam. It's small and simple and sports a large, golden Buddha engulfed by a forest behind the temple. “When we are mindful of death,” Kim says, “it takes us to a higher point. When we have one day to live, life is very short. Time slows down. We see our lives from a greater vantage point and this allows us to discern what is important and what is not.” Kim stands before seven death-goers, mostly in their twenties and thirties, and asks them to think about what is most important to them. They have their pens and papers under their paper tombstone and photographs standing upright on their desks. One of the memorial quotes reads, “It was fun.” During the break, Kim explained that the process started a week before their arrival. “If you want to really experience this kind of death,” Kim said, “you have to start preparing a week before. You have to think about your death constantly and completely empty your life. Clean your room, throw out your food,
and organize everything as if you were never coming back.” After taking their photos, receiving the lecture, discussing their lives, discomforts, fears, anxieties, and other personal matters, Kim asks them to close their eyes. He dims the lights and plays a bell recording on repeat. “Watch your funeral,” Kim says. “Imagine everyone there. Imagine yourself in the coffin. Let death be your teacher, dying be your mentor.” While they write their wills, I have another short chat with Kim. “Most people focus on meaningless things,” he says. “Their minds are limited by this big cloud that is our daily lives. In the coffin, they will see their lives moving slowly. They can examine what their purpose is. They can see, clearly, what is and isn't important to them.” The participants are moved to a large, dimly lit room where they take a seat beside their wooden caskets on the floor. They sit cross-legged in front of a small box supporting their photo, flowers, and a burning candle. They are then given the opportunity to read a portion of their will in front of their peers. Lee Sang Ju, a 30-year-old participant, has written his will in English. He speaks, mostly, of his family. He apologizes to them and thanks them and acknowledges their bond.