I grew up going to aunt’s and great uncles’ and grandmas’ houses where there would be 20-30-40 of us crowding into the kitchens and living rooms. The adults would chit and chatter while us kids would run around the house making up games. When the food was ready, everyone would round up by the tables, but we wouldn’t eat just yet.
Nearby would be a framed photo, candles, and little dishes of the food we were about to eat. It was the yearly remembrance. One-by-one or two-by-two, each person knelt in-front of the little shrine, burn a sandalwood incense, bow, and clasping the incense in their palmed hands gestured their hands over their heads three times.
The incense would be placed in a holding bowl, and the next people would walk up and repeat.
In my family, each next of kin was responsible to remembering the deceased family member. Each year a meal of food would be placed, and light a few incense sticks. It was an easy way to get all the family together for an afternoon.
I’m reminded of this when I was thinking about Facebook this morning. When a person is alive, their social media is a conduit, a communication channel. But when they die, it becomes their memorial. A trove of artifacts and memories. With no one to tend to it.
Remembering to put out food and burn incense is to remember that person. To take care of those memories, and a way to bring those who are still living together.
This isn’t a “let East meet West in tech” moment, but rather an opportunity for technology to gain the nuance of the human world—a complex and fragile set of considered actions.
