We wake up at 8am, take a two-hour bus ride to the New Territories and then walk for another hour to the cemetery. We elbow our way through the crowds of people shrouded in clouds of smoke.
We reach the wall of rectangular boxes which contain our deceased relatives' ashes. My aunt puts down some bowls of rice, cups of wine and roasted meat on a table nearby.
Then we burn piles of paper money, a paper hat and a paper Rolex watch in the incinerator. My eyes start to water as the smoke stings them.
We bow for a few seconds, make sure that all the paper has been burnt to ashes, gather around the food we've brought and wolf the roasted meat down. Then we make the three-hour journey home.
The traditional Ching Ming festival gives us a chance to show respect to our deceased ancestors. However, I do have some doubts about it. Does the paper money really reach the deceased?
As far as I can see, the paper just turns to ash and pollutes the air with black smoke. And the offerings of food are meant to let our ancestors eat but, in fact, we're the ones who eat it.