Embarrassed, Father threw the portrait in the garbage. He started wearing a Dunhill belt buckle and made us watch British TV shows and movies like James Bond, The Bridge on the River Kwai, Lawrence of Arabia, and Coronation Street.

One day, my sister brought a few of Auntie Choo Neo’s magazines to the forest. A Fortune magazine had news on the sultan of Brunei, the richest man in the world. There were pictures of his parking garage filled with luxury cars and his 1,788-room palace, all acquired through oil wealth.

Hilary flipped through the magazine, gawking at the pictures like she was viewing exotic animals. “Where is this again?” she asked.

“Brunei. It’s where our parents are from,” Bea said.

“I’ve never heard of it,” Hilary said.

“Well, you wouldn’t have. It’s a small country,” I said, trying to take the magazine away from Hilary.

“I’m not done looking at it!” Hilary protested.

“It’s really boring stuff. Don’t you think Princess Diana is more interesting?” I could feel heat rush to my cheeks. I still didn’t understand why my family was from Brunei. Any link to the sultan felt like a stain on my body, an unsightly birthmark that I could not get rid of, reminding me and everyone around me that we weren’t like other Chinese people in Canada.

“It’s not boring.” Hilary wrapped her windbreaker over her head and said, “Why do they wear a scarf over their heads like that?”

“My mom says it’s because they’re Muslim,” Bea said.

“They wear it all the time?” Hilary asked.

“Yeah,” Bea said.

“Look at all the jewels on her. They must be so rich,” Hilary said, admiring a picture of the sultan’s wife.

“Well, look at how many cars they have,” Bea pointed out.

“Wow!” Hilary said.

“I know,” said Bea. “My dad hates them.”

“Why?” asked Hilary.

“It’s really complicated,” I said. “Look, Princess Diana has amazing jewels on her crown too.”

“It’s because they didn’t give him citizenship,” Bea chimed in. “That’s why we came to Canada. He tells us all the time we’re lucky we were born here because otherwise we’d be stateless.”

“Well, my parents came to Canada for school, and now we’re all here. I was born here, too,” Hilary said.

“It’s not the same. At least your parents didn’t come from Brunei,” Bea said.

“No, we came from Hong Kong. It’s British there, too,” Hilary said.

“Guys! Let’s go get a Slurpee,” I said, desperate to change the topic.

“Yes!” Hilary said. She pretended to be the queen of England, giving us orders in a dramatic British accent. Bea was on the ground holding her stomach, laughing with tears in her eyes. I quickly stowed the magazine in my backpack, relieved we didn’t have to talk about any of this anymore.

日Sun

IT WAS THAT POINT IN A SLOW SUMMER DAY when the sun had reached its zenith and Father had turned on the sprinkler to relieve my sister and me and the grass on the front lawn. The heat turned us slothlike, and the sunlight refracting from the water droplets made the backyard look like it was adorned with gems. Bea and I lounged on our lawn chairs next to our parents, snacking on the snap peas Mother had harvested from the garden.