Have you ever wondered who would cry at your funeral? I did—well, in a dream. It was one of those dreams that sticks with you, not just because it’s funny but because it gets you thinking.

In the dream, I was dead. Yup, gone. There I was, lying peacefully (at least I hoped I looked peaceful), surrounded by people mourning my loss. Except, it wasn’t all mourning. I got the best seat in the house—watching everything like a secret guest at my own farewell party.

The first thing I noticed was the room. The flowers smelled stale, the chairs were harder than my old high school desk, and whispers filled the air. “Did you see her saree? At a funeral?” one aunty hissed, loud enough for the next street to hear.

And then came the tears—or attempts at them. Some cried like it was a movie audition. Others dabbed their eyes just enough to look sad, but I caught one guy scrolling on his phone. He was Googling, “How long should you stay at a funeral to seem respectful?”

One aunty stood out. She wept so loudly, you’d think I had been her lifelong confidant. Turns out, she was just upset because someone else brought better samosas. Classic!

But what hit me the most? Some of the people I thought loved me weren’t even there! Maybe they were too busy, or maybe they just said, “Ah, he’s gone now, no need to return that Tupperware I borrowed.”

Amidst all this drama, there were some real moments. My childhood best friend was crying like we’d just had a fight yesterday. My family, even the ones I hadn’t spoken to in years, looked devastated. It made me think: who really loves us, and who’s just playing their part?

Funny enough, this dream reminded me of something that happened years ago. A distant relative called me “the most important person in their life” at a family wedding, then never picked up my calls when I needed help. It made me realize, even in real life, it’s easy to confuse loud words with true love.

But there’s another lesson I took from that dream: before questioning others, I need to look at myself. Am I showing love to the people who matter? Am I being real, not just with them but with myself? It’s easy to play a role in life and forget to reflect on who we really are.

So, I decided something. I want to live in a way that the love I give and receive is genuine, not just for show. And if anyone’s still faking tears at my real funeral one day, well, I’ll be watching. And yes, I’ll know if the samosas are bad.

Takeaway: Don’t wait for life’s big moments to realize who truly matters. Show love now. Be real with the people who care, and take time to reflect on your own value and authenticity. And maybe, just maybe, learn to laugh at life’s quirks along the way.