Monday afternoon was a very special occasion. The three-minute silence of mourning was one of the most memorable moments of my life.
About 10 minutes before 2:28 pm, I heard a crowd had gathered in front of our building. So, I joined them. Surprisingly, there was no crowd control. The only instruction I heard was for someone in a bright shirt to move to the back row, and he murmured some apology for not dressing properly.
More people filed downstairs. Then all vehicles on the street stopped, blaring their horns. I took a peep and noticed that even pedestrians were lowering their heads, though facing different directions. Many around me wiped their eyes. After that, we all filed back into the building silently.
A more moving ritual I have not seen in this country. It was therapeutic because for one week people did not know how to mourn publicly - the last time we did that was in 1976. I do not remember who said "grief shared is half the grief", but it was very true. Without the ceremony, it would have been difficult for us to get back to normal life. We as a nation were simply in dire need of a collective outlet for the sea of tears inside us.
For a "ritual", this was quite spontaneous and optional. Except for organizations with flagpoles, everything was left to individual decisions. You could pause and bow your head, or you could carry on what you were doing; you could honk or not honk. Nobody was forcing you, and as a matter of fact nobody criticized you for not complying with the majority - at least as far as I know.
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