I paused, and then said, “Yes, I do.” In that moment, I decided to go to Auntie Ah Lian’s house. I grabbed my bag and showed the driver an address on my phone. My mother’s sister must know something.

I had tried calling Uncle Kong Tuan several times after I only received a busy signal calling Auntie Ah Lian’s number. I called from the Hong Kong airport during our layover and when we first arrived in Brunei. Both times, Uncle Kong Tuan told me to call him back when I was settled. When I finally reached him to say I was ready to visit, he made excuses for why he was too busy to meet. I knew Mother had a difficult relationship with her sister, but I still hoped that they remained in each other’s orbits.

I braced myself for how my relatives might receive me. I was uninvited, unwelcome, and unexpected. When I arrived, Uncle Kong Tuan was in his garden, tending to his collection of bonsai trees, flanked by a series of birdcages hanging under an awning. I startled my elderly uncle by showing up unannounced at his home and quickly introduced myself. Uncle Kong Tuan shifted nervously between the bonsai trees perched on wooden stools and motioned for me to sit at the outdoor table with him. I handed him gifts of maple cookies and a bottle of cognac.

“Will Auntie Ah Lian be joining us?” I asked.

Uncle Kong Tuan sighed and cracked his knuckles. “Your auntie died last year,” he replied bluntly.

I stared at my uncle, crestfallen. Finally, I mustered, “Last year? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Uncle said in an offended tone, “Tell you? Why should I tell you? I don’t even know where your mother is. How should I have told you?”

A breeze triggered tingles in my spine, and I suddenly became aware of the cavernous gorge between my uncle and me. But I couldn’t dwell on it. I needed to recover what I could from this meeting.

“Uncle, I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said. “Had I known, I would have called you sooner.”

“E bo ho, she was not well,” he said. “Ken se, cancer.”

Uncle told me about her diagnosis and quick decline. I listened and followed him inside his house as he scrambled to make tea and place a few wafer cookies on a plate. In the lull in the conversation, I asked him about his bonsai trees and his birds. He shared his bird calls with me, and his ritual for pruning his trees. When I felt I could, I asked the question I had come for.

“Uncle, you mentioned that you didn’t know where my mother was. Do you have any idea where she’s gone? That’s why I’m here. I’ve come back to look for her.”

Uncle tsked and cracked his knuckles again. “If you don’t know, then how am I supposed to know?”

“I know she stayed with you some years ago. Did she leave a forwarding address, a phone number or a letter?”