As surprising as it sounds, Taiwanese funerals are not sad. There is much more dancing than there is crying, more eating than there is crying, and almost more drinking than eating. Large green bottles of Taiwan Beer fill the gift table, and the food that accompanies it bleeds onto the floor and into the street. In many Eastern cultures, it is believed that ghosts cannot eat the food offered, but they can surely smell them. Smoke from candles and incense fills the funeral parlor to give the ghost a sweet aroma to guide them along their journey to the afterlife. Pineapple cakes, jasmine incense, and sugary drinks are given to the mourning family to make the memory of their relative all that much sweeter.
Of course, there are tears. Seldom do people mourn the death of a loved one without getting the sniffles. However, you don’t need to do the crying at a Taiwanese funeral because someone is often hired to do the crying for you. The filial daughter phenomenon began in the 1970s as many Taiwanese parents encouraged their children to make it big in Silicon Valley, according to The Nation. As a result of their American success, many Taiwanese sons and daughters were unable to make it back for their relatives’ funerals. This kickstarted an unusual occupation: professional mourner. These individuals show up to strangers’ funerals and grieve as if the deceased were their own blood. This is in no way acting; Liu Jun-Lin, arguably Taiwan’s most successful professional mourner, insists to BBC World Service that each tear she sheds at a funeral is genuine.
“Every funeral you go to, you have to feel this family is your own family, so you have to put your own feelings in it," she says in an interview with Allie Jaynes from BBC. "When I see so many people grieving, I get even sadder." Liu engages in exaggerated grieving to encompass the sadness of everyone around her so that they don’t have to be consumed with sorrow. She explains, “When a loved one dies, you grieve so much that when it finally comes time for the funeral, you don't have any tears left.”
Crying is not all that mourners do; Liu has a signature wail. She gets down on her hands and knees and crawls to the coffin. Once there, she places her gloved hands on the recently deceased and sobs audibly. Her brother, A Ji, who also interviewed with BBC, accompanies her to every performance. He explains that her screams are somewhere between loud weeping and melodic singing. Liu cries for those who are too rigid to shed tears or for those who don’t have any left. Once everyone is cleansed of their sorrow, Liu and her brother shift gears.
While A Ji plays the guqin, Liu performs backbends, somersaults, and other impressive acrobatics. This recital transitions the funerals’ guests into party mode. The music starts playing, the beers pop open, and if the family is particularly extravagant, Liu could be replaced by the Xiu Juan Female Music Band. This is an all-girl marching band offered by the Yuan-Rong Life funeral service. These scantily clad women perform a jazz concert for funeral guests to lift their spirits and get them dancing. Brian Ashcraft wrote, “These funerals prove that grieving doesn't have to be a somber affair and are reminiscent of New Orleans style jazz funerals - but with shorter hemlines.”
The percentage of skin covered by the entertainment wavers depending on the particular discretion of the family. Some funerals include a song and/or dance by strippers. This tradition originated from the Chinese belief that public events must be “hot and noisy” (热闹 / renao / rènào) in order to be deemed successful, according to anthropologist Marc Moskowitz. This originally referred to the commotion and liveliness of crowded events, but the Han Trainer Dictionary points out that the connotation has now evolved to mean, “to have a jolly time.”
Depending on the family’s wealth, a parade will follow the ceremony. Once everyone’s tears are dry, guests follow the musicians down a crowded street so that the entire town joins in celebration of the lost loved one. The musicians and exotic dancers perform on what are colloquially known as electric flower cars. These are pick-up trucks whose trunk has been converted into a stage to ensure the heat and noise follows the family and all who celebrate alongside them, seen in a documentary by Moskowitz. Beautiful bouquets of chrysanthemums intertwined with lilies are piled on to the platform on the caboose of the parade symbolizing the support of neighbors and friends. Flower petals and candies are tossed from strangers who just happen to be walking by. Smiles and waves are exchanged in celebration, not in sadness.
Western funerals tend to be monochromatic; everyone wears black to symbolize their depression for the deceased. Instead, the Taiwanese don every color of the rainbow to symbolize their respect and adoration for those they lost. Liu wears a white, hooded robe to each ceremony while A Ji wears a brightly colored track suit when he assists his sister in her acrobatics. The Xui Juan Female Music Band always wears tight, bright shirts with a black or white miniskirt almost resembling a schoolgirl uniform. Funeral guests wear nice, but not their nicest, clothes to the event as female guests wouldn’t want to dirty their floor-length ballgowns while marching down the street alongside the parade. The parade itself is the most colorful part; between the flowers and the musical instruments, the entire rainbow is represented to symbolize the vibrant life that was lost. May they rest in peace.
Every culture, regardless of religion or traditional custom, hosts funerals. This is because human beings have an innate craving for closure. When someone dies, funerals provide the goodbyes that would’ve been said to that someone if their friends and family knew the tragedy that was to come. Funerals offer a strong support system of warm embraces, even if just for a day. More importantly, funerals force guests to question the significance of death, which in turn forces them to reflect on the value of life. It’s easy to be sad at a funeral, almost effortless. It takes a bit more mental acuity to see the beauty in the circle of life and be grateful enough to celebrate it. Well, the Taiwanese have acuity to spare. These funerals illustrate just how meaningful the brevity of life is. In the eyes of the Taiwanese, death is not meant to be dark; instead, it is meant to be jampacked with aromatic scents, heat and noise, and every color of the rainbow, as life is.
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