Hammocks are ubiquitous on Phu Quoc. The definition of ubiquitous. A corner store that offers a three-item menu could have up to ten hammocks ready for clientele and employee use. Our homestay had five rooms and six hammocks. The gas station attendants have hammocks, never mind the beach.

It stands to reason that hammock at a gravesite in a place full of hammocks may not mean much, culturally. (Also, it could have been taboo for me to take this photo–I don’t know.) To me though, upon seeing it, I felt all the goodness of grief, a beloved emotion among the many I so often feel. I will often tout the benefits of grief (akin to the feels in my last post, I see grief as a necessary aspect of a happy existence) and I do love dead things. I think everything dead still tells a story, if you let it, and often better than the living.

I love the idea of comfortably lounging with a loved one departed. Who wants to stand in the elements six feet above a coffin and talk to their lost beloved? I can’t believe any of our deceased would like us to uncomfortably lean from foot to foot for an entirely too brief conversation. They never wanted that in life, anyway. Why not stay a while?

I also love the idea of grieving while physically comfortable. So often when loved ones die we find ourselves crying publicly, awkwardly, on hard surfaces or while standing; definitely with too many eyes around and not enough genuine empathy. Hammocks offer comfort, almost as though being held, and even a bit of privacy if you let yourself sink in.

I can’t stop thinking about this place, and the love I imagine resting calmly there.