At the death cafes she organises, Catherine Ooi hopes to help people make the most of their lives. The death positivity advocate – someone who helps people come to terms with death instead of fearing it – believes that being able to talk openly about the end of life will allow people to lead more fulfilling lives.
“Because death is seen as a taboo topic that society doesn't talk about, people don't have the chance to come to terms with their mortality and, as a result, they may not pass on well, ” says Ooi, 40, who works with a hospice in Malaysia.
Kuala Lumpur-based Ooi has always been fascinated with the topic of death and she started hosting death cafes to provide a safe space for anyone who feels the need to talk about the subject.
Death cafes aren't actual physical cafes, but rather gatherings at cafes, eateries, public spaces or homes where attendees can have cake, coffee and conversations about a subject we can't escape from and yet, mostly avoid speaking about.
Although not a new concept, death cafes are relatively unknown in Malaysia.
The death café movement was founded in 2011 by the late Jon Underwood in London, England. The first death cafe in Britain was held in Underwood's own house in Hackney, London, and was run by his mother, Sue Barsky Reid, a psychotherapist. Interest grew and soon, they hosted more such events in cafes and private houses (and even a cemetery, according to an article in The Guardian).
After Underwood's death in 2017, the movement is continued by his mother, sister Jools Barsky, and wife Donna Molloy. Today, there are death cafes all around the world, in some 75 countries, according to deathcafe.com, the official website of the movement. Since the pandemic, death cafes around the world have been reported to be experiencing a surge in interest as more people feel the need to talk about life and death, and mostly to express their fears or anxieties about the current health crisis.
"It is not to be morbid, but the purpose is just to raise an awareness of death and 'help people make the most of their (finite) lives'," says Ooi.
"There is no agenda and attendees can discuss anything – from their thoughts, dreams, fears or anything else about death and dying – at a death café. This provides people the opportunity to dig deep into themselves, ” she adds.
Passionate about dying
Ooi, who admits that she’s “passionate about dying”, says many people have a lot of fear and are uncomfortable with the topic of death.
But she's convinced that it's something that we all need to come to terms with.
Most of her friends don't share her perspective on the topic and often tease her about it
"My friends often make fun of me. They’ll tell me, ‘you’re such a happy person, why are you into something so morbid?’, ” she shares.
But their ribbing doesn't bother Ooi who believes that her early life experiences have shaped her interest in death.
“When I was young, I lost some really good friends. I was supposed to meet (this one friend) and then the next day, I went to his funeral instead.
“And this other friend who was in hospital – I was in the room when the family decided to switch off the life support machine, ” she recounts.
She was only 19 then.
“Seeing all of that and how fast life goes – somebody is here today and tomorrow they might be gone, made me realise how important it is to appreciate the people we have because we don’t know when they might be gone, ” she shares.
Ooi also recalls volunteering at old folks homes when she was young.
“I saw so much loneliness in their eyes and thought I could do something about it, ” says Ooi, who went into geriatrics and from there, death studies.
She has a Masters in Science from the UK and a diploma in counselling from Australia. She also studied Business in Australia.
Ooi is currently the general manager of Kasih Hospice and vice-chairperson of the Malaysian Hospice Council. She also works with grief and loss, going to NGOs and giving talks about this, as well as trains the volunteers of Buddy Bear, a child helpline.
A good crowd
Attendees of the death cafés that Ooi hosts range from older folks to youth fresh out of secondary school.
"There are the older ones who think they’re next and come to see what it’s about and share their life experience, right up to young ones from high school. Their interactions are so interesting because everyone learns so much from one another, ” says Ooi.
“There are also counsellors, those who’ve lost loved ones, people from all walks of life, all levels of education, and all religions. Each death cafe is different because of the no agenda rule, ” she says.
The "no agenda" rule was outlined by Underwood when he started the cafes.
This means that the death cafe, which is free (attendees only pay for their own food and drink), doesn't have any intention of "leading people to a conclusion, product or course of action". The host is there to help to bring everyone together to start the conversation about death, and the attendees usually come to their own conclusions.
Subang Jaya-based student, Erin Indriani, 29, attended the sessions in February last year out of curiosity but came away not only better informed, but better equipped to deal with loss.
“It made me realise that death is also for the living, not just the dying. It’s the living who are left behind that need to deal with their loss, survive and move on, ” says Erin.
“I wanted to know people’s attitudes towards death, and especially the relationship between the living and deceased.
“The session made me understand better how death impacts the living, how people prepare for grief and death which is inevitable," she adds.
Erin reveals that she used to be fearful of losing her loved ones and, as a result, would often isolate herself to protect herself from getting hurt.
“But the discussions made me realise that the essence of death and grieving is the attachment we have towards our surroundings – people, pets, things – and the pain comes from being separated from them.
“It made me want to nurture meaningful relationships and cherish every moment, resolve conflicts as soon as they arise, and appreciate what and who I have, ” she says.
When Luke Chin, who is in his 20s, attended the death cafe, he didn’t know what to expect – whether it would be depressing or enlightening. He’s glad that he decided to give it a go.
“It broadened my own outlook on life and mortality. During the session, I got to hear some firsthand afterlife experiences, which was extremely interesting.
“It has helped me to live more confidentially, and also be more tolerant and kinder towards those around me because life (and death) is so uncertain, ” he says.
The sessions are usually about two hours long and the number attendees is not more than 10 to 15 per session.
"This is so that everyone will have the chance to talk. It’s based on the premise that everyone has things to say (or ask) about death. They ordinarily don't get to because there isn’t a safe space for them: they feel that they can’t talk about it at home, at work, or over meals, because people may think they’re being morbid, ” she explains, adding that usually after a few times, attendees become braver and share about what they think death is, talk about their fear of pain or ponder past issues.
Sometimes, the sessions spur deeper conversations about death, so Ooi arranges for more in-depth discussions to be in closed (non-public) sessions.
Since the pandemic, Ooi has put all (public) death café activities on hold, and only carried on the death cafe with these ones who have attended before, online.
Death workshop
“The topics are tailored to what is of interest (to the public) and can cover a wide range of topics – from legacy (what happens to your possessions after you die, including making a will), to science (learning what happens to the body physically after death), to art (an exploration of art and stories on how people in the past looked at death).
“I had a workshop on death rights and everyone wanted to know how they could protect themselves against an unwanted severe medical intervention should they be hospitalised.
“So they wanted to know if they could set an advanced directive to protect themselves. In such cases, they're also advised to have a proper conversation with their families, who might want something completely different from what they are comfortable with, ” she says.
At death workshops, Ooi conducts games, activities and initiates discussions that help participants think about their values about death and end of life, ” explains Ooi, holding up a pack of cards as an example.
“This card game allows people to answer questions or do tasks. One question is: ‘write your own epitaph in five words or less’.
Most people never think of such things and at a death workshop, I tell them what they need to consider in order to prepare themselves for a 'good death', says Ooi.
The death cafe is an “everyman activity”, says Ooi who wants to encourage the public and other organisations to form their own death cafes.
“If anyone wants to learn how to host a death cafe, I can teach them too, ” she says.
Ooi relates her thoughts on death to an ancient cultural belief.
“Bhutan is known as the happiest place on earth and they have this saying: ‘How do you live a happy life? Think about death five times a day’, ” she reveals.
“This is because when you ponder death and your own mortality, you’ll have a more graceful way of going through your day – you’ll live in the moment, let go more, get angry less, be more patient, appreciate life, and treasure your relationships, ” she concludes.
During the pandemic, death cafes are carried out via Zoom, Skype or Google Hangouts.
For more information or to attend a death café (online), visit facebook.com/withCatherineOoi.
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