I was eleven years old in 1951 when this story happened. My mother, Lum So Wah, was a small-framed woman, five feet three, 105 pounds, with greying black hair and …
Category:
Fiction
Trigger warning: eating-disorder behaviours When I was eleven, my mother would often feed me sinigang. It was my favourite food — the puffy rice; the mounds of soft spinach; the …
I am the only boy in the neighbourhood to have a wooden duckie. This yellow duckie quacks and rolls when I pull it along on a long string. Boys and …
Nobody Chinese—well, hardly anyone Cantonese—says “bak yren” to identify a Caucasian. “White person” is too descriptive, obvious, and bland. In Cantonese, the idiomatic expression “fan gwei lo” is given to …
“The future will be fine,” my next-door neighbour said through her mask as we ended our brief conversation at two-arms-length distance on a garbage collection day in April. “Stay safe!” …
“Vimla, quick! Bring the tray here!” Ashi madam screeched from across the dining room as Vimla ran helter-skelter all over the unvarnished kitchen floor trying to fix breakfast. It was …
There are times I am convinced Anna’s mere presence activates my gout. Other times I wish to hug her. She is taking over my kitchen – my Indian restaurant. She …
April is nascent and the air is thick with morning dew. Ears agonizing, like you’ve just removed headphones that were wrapped around your head for too long. Legs aching as …
Holding The Holy Bible in his hands, Hardy Ko feels overwhelmingly flattered. All afternoon, he could not help but read again and again the inscription: To Hardy Ko May this …
When I was young and living above the Panama Cafe, I yearned to go to the Canadian National Exhibition on Labour Day weekend. The CNE was a fabled place of …