The light red document was written partly in English, but most of it was in Malay. I recognized Mother’s name, and under Sijil Kelahiran was the translation, “Birth Certificate.” At the top of the page it stated, “Bukan warganegara.” There was no English translation of this, so I used my phone and read: “Not a citizen.”

I was stunned. I had known Mother was born in Malaysia, but she had always said she was a citizen. She had often proudly reminded us that she had this status and Father didn’t. Even as a child, it struck me as a bit cruel, making it seem as if Father came from the wild jungle while she was from a more refined place.

I held the document and stared at Mother’s name. Why had she left this behind?

貝Shell

THE EMPTINESS OF THE WEEKDAY while John was at work echoed in my head like a migraine. The drone of the silence was broken up by the unending cycle of crying, feeding, swaddling, and rocking the baby. And the countless loads of laundry. It had only been six weeks since she was born, but I was filled with dread and sorrow that my body had not yet returned to the way it was before pregnancy. I had not expected it to be the same as it was, but I thought it would have been my own again by now. I was exhausted by the constant feedings, by this little being grasping at my body so frantically all the time.

Perhaps I would feel better if I could feed her from a bottle instead. The baby took easily to the bottle, but my lactation specialist, all my friends, and everyone else told me that breast milk was best, so I tried to keep formula to a minimum, even though I secretly wished I could stop breastfeeding. I tried pumping, and then feeding her the breast milk with the bottle, but the machine gripping me felt unnatural and the time it took made me rethink the utility of the process when I still had to feed the baby when it was all over. I surrendered, abandoning the pump for good.

I was nursing the baby as usual when I heard the front door open.

“I could be naked right now!” I declared.

“But you aren’t,” Bea replied. She had texted me earlier in the week, saying she would be by for lunch.

“I gave you a key for emergencies, not so you can come and go like you own the place.”

“You’re feeding the baby right now. It wouldn’t have been much fun for you to come and answer the door. I was doing you a favour.”

An aroma tickled my nose and I perked up. “What’s in your bag?”

“Oh, I just picked up some food from Auntie Choo Neo. Something she whipped up. But seeing as you’re busy, maybe I’ll just go back to Auntie’s and eat it there.”

“Don’t be a brat. Hand it over.” I peered through the glass container. Chili crab. My favourite.