On Peter’s advice, I stopped at a small store to buy some oranges and incense. When we arrived, I told John to stay in the car with Leo. The driver was so nervous to be so close to the cemetery that I gave him permission to take them for a drive. I told him I would only be fifteen minutes.

It was a small cemetery that had been left partially neglected, and I had to walk among the rows to reach Mother’s tombstone. It was a hot day, and my backpack was heavy. Sweat formed on my back and I quickened my pace, worried by the storm clouds overhead, pushing their way towards me.

I felt sorry that Mother was buried nowhere near family and wondered if she was lonely in the afterlife, too. The gravesite was neat and clean, thanks to Peter. I noticed the dirt around her tombstone was dry, cracks and crevices in the earth calling out for water. I replaced the incense and lit it, arranged the oranges, and knelt down to finger Mother’s name engraved in Chinese. I took a photo, and then set out to leave. As I was putting my phone back in my bag, I saw out of the corner of my eye a dishevelled woman with long black hair running in a dark flowing dress. Was it E gui? Was Mother’s spirit restless? Had she been waiting for me? I walked quickly back to the parking lot; Peter’s advice to leave as soon as I felt something bad echoed in my head. I only started to breathe normally again once the cemetery was no longer in sight.

That night, while John and Leo were deep in slumber, I was so nauseated I couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it was the series of switchbacks we drove through that afternoon when we visited the tea plantations in Cameron Highlands, winding back and forth around the mountain bends, staring at the unsightly greenhouses flanking the valley. The bubbled greenhouses of the strawberry and vegetable farms looked like pustules and abscesses, suffocating scores of migrant workers, marring the once majestic landscape. I felt like I was trapped in one of those plastic enclosures. I needed to go outside and breathe.

I stepped onto the front steps of the guest house to look at the bright full moon. The breeze from the valley where the tea plantations stood made me shiver. I pictured Mother on the edge of a bridge, taking her last breath. Was she ashamed? Afraid? Would I follow her wayward path in the dark, too?

I shuddered. Standing alone in the cool mountain air, I twisted Mother’s jade bracelet around my wrist. I let fall the stream of tears held captive in my eyes all day, releasing them freely, without brushing them away. My search for Mother had been long and hard. I had wanted so badly to find her. I realized I had.

飛Fly

ON THE PLANE RIDE ACROSS THE WORLD back home to Canada, I decided to tell Auntie Choo Neo what I had discovered. I expected her to bat away any talk of Mother, cut me off, or tell me I was foolish, but she listened without interrupting, waiting out the pauses as I tried to fight back my tears. I was grateful the overhead lights had dimmed, and everyone around me was sleeping or watching a movie.