I was jarred back into the present by the violent sound of a spoon banging around in a coffee cup. Mother was knocking the spoon about in her cup of instant coffee so rapidly that it had created a whirlpool. I had never seen anyone else stir coffee like that.

“Why do you stir your coffee so quickly?” I asked.

“I like to make sure everything is mixed,” she said.

“Mrs Castelli stirs her coffee slowly,” I remarked.

“People do things differently everywhere. There is no right or wrong way.”

I eyed Mother and wondered if I would stir my coffee her way or Mrs Castelli’s way when I grew up. Would it be a slow, gentle tapping, or this rapid, frenetic vortex in a cup?

Mother sighed. “The days are so long here! Back home, the sky darkens around five every day, no matter what.”

“But summer solstice has passed. The days are getting shorter,” I insisted.

“It’s like the day is stretched out here. Back home, the darkening of the sky meant that it was time to cook, and the fasting would end. Here, people have to wait and suffer longer.”

“We don’t fast?!”

“No, but my Malay friends did.” Mother told me about the tantalizing smells of spices, curries, and long-simmering soups that would waft from the houses.

Bea turned and invited Mother to come play with us outside.

“You know, I used to love playing tennis when I was your age,” she replied. “I loved the Brunei Tennis Club. I spent so much time there that I felt like I lived there.”

“It sounds posh, Mom. Was it expensive to be part of a club like that?” I asked.

“Well, yes, but my father was a successful businessman, so he could afford to be a member.”

“Really? But weren’t you stateless, too?”

“I was born in Malaysia, so I had citizenship there. But I didn’t have citizenship in Brunei.”

“I don’t understand. They let you stay in Brunei?”

“Yes, we were permanent residents there. My father worked with a lot of important Malay people. It was easier for me than your father because of that.”

“Okay, are we going to play tennis now or what?” Bea said.

Mother hated wearing socks. She loved to feel the floor beneath her feet and said it was unnatural to keep our feet bound away, festering in what she called a mitten. Father said it was because she grew up in the jungle. Even in winter, she refused to wear socks. She wore them only if absolutely necessary, and then ripped them off as soon as she could, as if they were shackles. However, the suggestion of tennis prompted Mother to put on some socks and running shoes.

We decided to bike down to the tennis court next to Woo’s Confectionery. Mother agreed it would be nice to visit with her friend Auntie Miriam. She was one of the few other Chinese women in town, but she was very different from Mother. Auntie Miriam was born in Canada and did not speak Chinese. Her grandfather was among the first waves of Chinese people to come to Canada, those who helped build the railway in British Columbia and settled in the Interior. He paid the head tax for his son to come to Canada. Auntie Miriam married a Chinese man, Ed Woo, whose family also came before the head tax was imposed. They owned the only convenience store in downtown Sparwood.