It is the place. The place where they gather, one by one. The place labelled hell but is actually a great, heaving, sweaty purgatory; a limbo of mosquitoes and jungle heat.
Meet the great monk, eternally struggling against temptations of the flesh. Gaze upon the laughing Buddha, trapped in a rictus of mirth but never really knowing what he is amused at. Pity the dragon, who once literally was the mouth of hell. All these individuals, once so familiar, now lost to the mists of time and the beading perspiration of the tropics.
It's been a long time since Haw Par Villa has held the excitement of my youth, and I think the statues know it too. I like to imagine they're holding out for one last dash, one final surge as they fight against their fate under the cosmos.