Uncle Lam officially retired last week.

He thought life would be enjoyable for a retiree, and it did feel enjoyable for the last few days. However, now he’s bored of staying indoors with only himself at home.

All his children had left the house, except his youngest daughter, Mun Na. She had recently graduated from medical school and will soon become a nurse. She’d be back in the evening before dinner. His wife was supposed to be at home, babysitting relatives’ or friends’ children or grandkids. However, she went on a country visiting trip with her sisters today, so she took a day off. The house feels a bit lonely without those baby cries, and he never thought he would miss those baby cries.

Well, he’s got to do something. He rose and looked at the calendar; it’s almost Mid-Autumn Festival. And soon, Chinese New Year will be around the corner. So it’s cleaning time!

Uncle Lam was happy with his brilliant idea and started working on cleaning and organizing his stuff. He separated things that he could keep, things he could give away to people, and things that should be thrown away. His hand halted when he found a cookie tin.

A traditional navy blue cookie tin which could be found in most families.

If this were Auntie Mei Fong’s cookie tin, it would, of course, be filled with strings and needles or various tiny items. But this tin, Uncle Lam recalled, used to contain some important documents. He had forgotten it in piles of old stuff.

He opened it, and as he expected, a few documents and a newspaper clipping lay inside. He sighed, closed the tin, and finishing his cleaning job. Finally, he managed to throw a bunch of items into the garbage site near the front door, where he would later separate into recyclable and non-recyclable items. He would also contact whoever he needed to in order to get rid of them in exchange of cash, of course – sometimes scrap items are valuable.

“Pa, what are you doing?” An energetic voice arrived home, right after the jingle of keys and the closing door.

It was Mun Na, her long hair braided in a bun, looking at Uncle Lam with concern. “Pa, I thought your back was hurting? You should have just called me if you needed help with heavy stuff.”

Uncle Lam waved away her worries, “Nah, It’s not heavy at all. I know what I’m doing. Don’t you worry.”

Mun Na looked at him sceptically and started rolling up her sleeves, “Okay, I’ll take it from here. What do you need to do next?”

“Nothing, I’ve finished everything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Now come, sit here, let’s have a talk.” Uncle Lam settled into his favourite armchair and patted the small stool beside him.

Mun Na felt both confused and nervous. The last time they had “a talk”, she had decided to study medicine and become a nurse, a choice that Uncle Lam and Auntie Mei Fong’s didn’t initially support due to the long hours and dealing with difficult patients. She had fought for her decision, and they had eventually agreed during their last talk.

“Has something happened?” Mun Na asked as she sat down, worried that today’s conversation might be about his health. However, to her surprise, Uncle Lam handed her a cookie tin. She opened it as he gestured and saw the documents within.

Her eyes widened, “Are these...”

“Yes, your adoption documents. But that’s not the main point.” Uncle Lam pointed at the newspaper clipping, “Have a look, read it carefully.”

Mun Na held the newspaper clipping in her hands.

It was a local news story from 25 years ago. A 30-year-old Indian women, a mother of nine children, had been brutally abused by her husband, an alcoholic and addicted gambler. She had committed suicide in a poorly built wooden house after passing her children to volunteers and orphanage’s staffs. The date of the news was just a few days after her birthday.

Mun Na was puzzled at first, but when her eyes fell upon the adoption documents, she realized the truth behind this news.

“Yeah, she’s your birth mother.” Uncle Lam patted her back, “We didn’t tell you about that when you asked us about your identity during secondary school. You were too young back then, and we were afraid you couldn’t handle the truth, so we kept it a secret until now. I think you’re more prepared to know more about your birth mother now.”

“You knew her?” Mun Na was surprised, “I mean, Pa, you know her in person?”

Uncle Lam nodded but then shook his head, “Not much, I just saw her a few times. It’s a very long story…”

*****

Before attending secondary school, Mun Na had never thought that she was the adopted child in the Lam family. Although she did notice her darker skin colour compared to her siblings, she thought it resembled him, Uncle Lam, who had a darker skin tone. Her mother, Auntie Mei Fong, always teasing her, calling her the “chocolate angel”, born with a sweet and endearing flavour that warmed their heart.

She grew up in a very typical family - neither wealthy nor poor. They could never afford trips to the theme parks because these places were too expensive for them. Dining out at restaurants was a rare treat, but Auntie Mei Fong made sure they had hearty home-cooked meals. Her older brother, Wai Hong, had grown taller than Uncle Lam when he reached puberty, which was a big news for them, as no one else in their family had ever grown that tall.

New clothes were once-a-year luxury during Chinese New Year. They received many hand-me-downs from relatives, which often felt as good as new. With eight aunts and uncles on mother’s side and eleven on her father’s side, each with their own children, she ended up with a multitude of cousins who were much older than her. Later, many nieces and nephews came along, just a few years younger than her. Her mom would babysit them at a discount price as long as she was able to.

Fast food was a rare indulgence, usually reserved for birthdays or when one of the siblings received prizes or trophies in competitions. Tuition classes weren’t an option, unless they struggled with particular subject. Mun Na became one of the few pupils in her class who didn’t attend any tuition courses. This left her with plenty of spare time compared to her classmates, which she enjoyed during primary school.

However, this didn’t mean she idled away her time at home. She helped Ma clean the house, prepare meals, and occasionally look after her nieces and nephews. Even after completing these chores, she still had spare time! She would read random materials her Pa bought from the old newspaper guy; people often sent him things for paper recycling, including magazines and books. Although these materials were old-fashioned, they provided her with great entertainment during her pre-internet age.

Overall, Mun Na had a very happy childhood. She had loving parents, caring siblings, kind classmate, and perform well in her studies. Nothing worried her at all.

However, things started to change when she entered secondary school.

The first week of school was all about settling into the routine, getting to know new teachers and classmates, and dealing with various documents. Some of these documents required a copy of her birth certificate to be attached.

It was during this time that Mun Na realized her birth certificate was different from others. It contained words like “adopted” that she didn’t quite understand at the moment. She worried that she had brought the wrong document, but the teacher assured her that it was no problem after reviewing the document copy and placed it in her folder just like everyone else’s.

After dinner that evening, she decided to ask Ma and Pa about it. It was the first time Pa patted her back and said, “Come, let’s have a talk.”

They retreated to their room, away from her siblings. She felt very nervous, and they held her in their arms as they looked into the large mirror attached to Ma’s dressing table - a part of Ma’s dowry. In those days, girls followed the tradition of getting married with a set of dowry, and a well-carved dressing table and a Singer sewing machine were popular items. These items had remained in good shape even after their children had grown up, just like Ma.

The mirror on that precious dressing table reflected three faces: one with a yellowish tone, one with a light brown tone, and one with a brown tone.

Pa touches their faces in the mirror, “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but look closely. You actually look nothing like us. You have large and pretty eyes, with double eyelids too. Your lips are thicker, and your chin is a bit sharper than ours. You see, we both have very round chins, just like your siblings.”

Ma rested her chin on little Mun Na’s head and meet her youngest daughter’s eyes in the mirror. “Yes, you’re not really our birth daughter. Your birth parents were Indian, and we’re Chinese. That’s why we look very different. But, remember, you are my daughter, and you will always be my daughter.”

Mun Na felt tightly embraced by her adopted parents.

They weren’t skilled in sugar-coating their words; old Chinese people tend to be brutally honest in a very straightforward way. Mun Na had grown used to this since childhood, hanging around with a bunch of relatives during festivals or holidays. Words like “Hey, you look fat lately!”, and “You looked worried, why? Your boss fired you?” were common greetings among old Chinese.

She blinked her eyes and pondered for a moment, then gave her parents a warm hug, “Don’t worry, Ma, Pa, I’m okay. I know what you mean, and I will always be your daughter too. But why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“You’re just a kid; there’s no need for you to know.” Pa waved away her questions, “It’s not like you could have understood what it meant.”

Ma gently stroked her hair and added, “We had planned to tell you the truth when you got older, probably after SPM. By then, you would have been more able to understand the whole situation. But since you asked, it’s good to let you know now.”

Question solved. When she returned to the living room, her siblings looked at her with concern. It was only then that she realized she might be the last person in this family to find out that she was adopted.

“No, I didn’t know about that.” her second elder brother, Wai Keong shrugged. “I was just guessing that there’s something behind your true identity.”

“He’s too young to remember anything.” Wai Hong waved away Wai Keong’s words. “I was 7 years old when you came here, and Mun Yee was 5 years old, so she had some impression of that time, right?”

The elder sister, Mun Yee, nodded, “It’s a bit blurry, but I do remember that suddenly one day, Ma held a very tiny baby in her arms. I recall nothing about her having a huge belly.”

“Tiny?” Mun Na was curious about her siblings’ perspective from a time she had no memories.

“Yeah, very tiny, just like a...” Wai Hong tried gesture a ball shape, but frowned when he couldn’t think of a suitable example. Then he saw a pregnant cat walking pass their front door and pointed at the cat excitedly, “just like the belly of that cat!”

The pregnant cat seemed to be carrying 4 or 5 kittens, given her a huge belly, creating a strange size ratio when compared to her smaller head.

Mun Na tried to gesture a ball size similar to Wai Hong’s description and amazed, “Not even the size of a watermelon? How could that be possible?”

Ma overheard their discussion and joined in with smile, “New-born babies are indeed very tiny! They eventually grow larger after a few days.”

Mun Na was in awe, and that was one of the few things she remembered until she grew into an adult.

From that point on, she began to notice some differences at school.

Mun Na attended the same primary school as her siblings, a Chinese language public school near their home. In these schools, teachers and pupils taught and learned in Chinese language. As a result, the majority of people within the school were of Chinese ethnicity.

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While it might sound stereotype, Chinese parents indeed placed a significant emphasis on their children’s education. Teachers praised pupils with high scores, and pupils sought private tuition classes to improve their academic results. In such environment, it was only natural that pupils strived to achieve good grades to fit in. Gossip was relatively rare in these schools, particularly in the elite classes where only pupils who consistently scoring A grades were enrolled. Therefore, pupils had a substantial amount of homework assigned by teachers, and those who attended tuition classes had even more homework from their tutors.

However, the situation changed in secondary school.

There were no longer public schools teaching in different language. Teachers and students were required to communicate solely in the Malay language for academic subjects, and Chinese language classes had become elective classes for those who were interested. Chinese and Indian students had become the minority in these schools.

Stereotypically, schools led by Malay administrators didn’t exert as much academic pressure on students. Those who wished to excel academically needed to be self-disciplined to achieve high grades. This was not an environment that most Chinese parent preferred, so they continued to push their children by enrolling them in private tuition classes.

At first, Mun Na struggled to adapt to this new environment. She worried about her ability to grasp the material with the limited homework assigned. However, she soon adjusted and decided to purchase reference books to reinforce her knowledge. But she soon discovered that her academic challenges were not her only concern; she was also facing friendship issues.

Some of her primary schools friends were in the same class, and she spent most of their time with them. Occasionally, she would engage in conversations with Malay and Indian students. During these interactions, she noticed that they gave her strange looks when she mentioned that she was Chinese.

Mageswary, a slender Indian girl, looked at her with confusion and asked something in Tamil. Mun Na replied in confusion as well, “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Tamil. Could you use English or Malay instead?”

Mageswary studied her for a moment, and said, “You’re an Indian, right?”

“No, I’m a Chinese.” Mun Na pointed to the book cover of her notebooks where she had written her name, “See, Lam Mun Na.”

“Okay…” although still somewhat puzzled, Mageswary nodded and accepted her words, then continue their conversations on other topics.

This encounter happened before Uncle Lam and Auntie Mei Fong told her about her adoption.

Now that she knew she was adopted, and her birth mother was indeed Indian, she was confused about her identity. She could never confidently give Mageswary the same answer when asked after they had been hanging out together for a few months.

In secondary school, students began to form groups. Most Chinese students formed one group, typically excelling in class exams. Indians formed another group, chatting animatedly in Tamil. Malays, being the majority, usually split into several groups by gender - one main male group, and two or three female groups, each with their own interest.

Mun Na was like a lost lamb searching for her herd. The Chinese group would welcome her as they were open to anyone with good grades, but she felt uncomfortable in their company ever since she learned about her true heritage. However, she didn’t fit into the Indian groups as she couldn’t speak Tamil and had limited knowledge of Indian culture beyond what was taught in textbooks.

It wasn’t that her classmates deliberately isolated her; it was more like she felt uneasy and lost. Although it didn’t affect her academic performance, it did impact her in every other aspect outside of class. She often zoned out during break hours, lost in thought about something or nothing.

But this situation didn’t last long. Some of her friends began to spend more time with her.

“They study too hard; I prefer to go at my own pace.” Wen Huay said as she opened her thick book that had nothing to do with academic subjects, “I’m interested in learning about historic fashion. Your corner is quiet and calm, I prefer to stay with you in this corner too.”

To her surprise, Mageswary started spending more time hanging around with her as well.

“I need a space to practice English, and you are the only one who would speak English with me in this class.” Mageswary wrinkled her nose playfully and teased, “They are too used to speaking in their familiar language, none of them are willing to practice English with me. Would you mind practicing English speaking with me?”

Mun Na and her friends welcomed her suggestions with open arms. Somehow, this small English-speaking group had become a popular student group in their class, and even in their entire year intake. Students and even some teachers would switch to English when communicating with them.

“Do you plan to participate in the English speech competition?” Mageswary asked. Her voice snapped Mun Na out of her reverie. She looked at Mun Na in with concern, “Is something bothering you? Can we help?”

After a moment of silent, Mun Na spoke, “I…I just found out that I’m an adopted child. My birth mother was Indian.”

“Okay…So?”

“But I was raised by a Chinese family, so…who am I? Indian or Chinese?” Mun Na nervously twisted her fingers.

Mageswary replied firmly, “Well, you were raised by Chinese, you live like a Chinese, you think like a Chinese, so of course you’re a Chinese!”

“But my skin colour…”

“You’re just Chinese, but tanned because of sunburn.” Mageswary said confidently.

Wen Huay happened to pass by and overheard the conversation about sunburn. She joined in and commented, “No, I think you look more like a burnt cheesecake. You know, that famous Japanese cheesecake.”

Mageswary turned to Wen Huay and pointed at herself, “How about me?”

“Chocolate cheesecake.”

“And you?”

“Matcha cheesecake!”

Margeswary teased Wen Huay, “You’re just craving cheesecake, aren’t you? Why don’t we go and have some cheesecakes this weekend? What say you, Mun Na?”

Mageswary’s word brightened her mood. She had found her place among her friends. With a radiant smile, she replied, “Sure!”

These were the positive aspects of her secondary school life, but there was, of course, a negative side to it.

As mentioned earlier, schools led by Malay administrators tended to place less stress on students and did not focus on achieving excellent academic results. This gave students more time to explore their hobbies, join co-curricular activities, overhear many puppy love stories, and engage in gossip.

At first, Mun Na didn’t pay much attention to this as she was busy with her own business. However, one day, while she was waiting at the bus stop for the bus to take her to a large bookstore, a group of teenagers who appeared to be troublemakers, wearing their school uniforms with the school’s badges the same as hers on their chest pocket, stared at her with a peculiar look, as if they were observing a rarely seen creature.

They whispered among themselves, and although it was hushed, Mun Na could hear their conversation.

“She’s the English girl from class 1A, right?”

“I heard she claimed to be Chinese…but isn’t she an Indian?”

“But she doesn’t know Tamil!”

“She could be speaking Hindi; you know, they have dialects just like us, with Hokkien, Cantonese and Hakka.”

“Doesn’t she feel embarrassed? She’s Indian, and she doesn’t speak a word of Tamil! Imagine a Chinese person who doesn’t speak Mandarin, just a ‘Banana’.”

“What do we call an Indian who doesn’t speak Tamil?”

“Um…Chocolate Banana?”

“Sounds delicious…Let’s grab a bite?”

“Sure!”

Mun Na was left bewildered by their discussion of “Chocolate Banana”. Later, she had mixed feelings about being the main topic of other people’s gossip. She felt angry, confused, sad, shocked, and gloomy – all of these emotions mixed with a hint of amusement …How could they call her a “Chocolate Banana”?

“That sounds a bit like my burnt cheesecake.” Wen Huay said as she joined her at the bus stop and commented after hearing Mun Na explain the strange gossip, “Just ignore them. They’re probably just jealous that our English group is getting attention from the teachers.”

“They’re jealous? Are you sure?” Mun Na wasn’t convinced.

Wen Huay shrugged, “I’m just guessing. They don’t seem very creative then they argue. I’ve heard worse.”

When the bus arrived, Wen Huay patted Mun Na’s shoulder, “Ignore them, live your life. Most people just have a sharp mouth, they can’t harm you when you’re strong enough.”

Wen Huay’s words somehow foreshadowed Mun Na’s future, which would occasionally be marred by stereotypes, racism, and biases. These issues followed Mun Na throughout her secondary school days and even into her college years. Although they didn’t harm Mun Na in any way or cause any problems for her, they would occasionally bother her when she encountered such incidents.

She was grateful that these incidents didn’t happen often. Overall, Malaysian people were nice, like her old Chinese relatives, they could sometimes be brutally honest in their own way. However, she knew they meant no harm and were simply not very sensitive to these politically correct issues.

Mun Na managed to achieve outstanding results in medical school, received great reviews from her superiors during her internship, and patients even preferred to talk to her because she could speak multiple languages. She had learned a bit of Tamil in the hope of better assisting her patients.

She was very grateful for her life, but Pa’s “talk” had revealed an ugly truth that she had never considered: the tragedy of her birth mother.

“I didn’t actually know your birth mother in person; we just occasionally crossed paths around the factory area. Back then, I was a lorry driver working for a factory, and not far from our place, there was a community of foreign workers…in a very poor condition.” Uncle Lam recounted the details, “You see, we had issues with illegal foreign workers for many years. Some of them managed to rent small houses to accommodate up to ten people, while others just gathered scraps of wood and boards and built themselves makeshift huts in random spaces…Rani, your birth mom, was an exception in that area.”

A legally rightful citizen, yet she lived in an illegal foreign workers’ community that was poorly constructed.

“She was…very thin. When I first met her, she was carrying one child in her arms, and another on her back, followed by two more children. I thought that was it, but my colleagues told me she had another four children…It was not a suitable place for kids, I can’t imagine how she could have felt comfortable there. I began to wonder about the reasons behind all this. Then, I saw what happened.”

It was late night. Uncle Lam was waiting for his night shift and preparing for a long-distance trip to deliver stocks at 2 am. Suddenly, he heard some noise coming from the chaotic wooden huts where many dried shirts were hung on strings.

Although he couldn’t understand the words, he recognized the tone - it sounded like Tamil. Then other sounds emerged, and he discerned that it was a mix of Indonesian Malay and perhaps some Bangladeshi Malay. It seemed like they were involved in an argument.

Uncle Lam left the factory canteen to have a look, and he saw the skinny Indian lady with her hair being grabbed by an Indian man who held a bottle of alcohol in his other hand. Others were attempting to persuade or restrain him from his brutal action. Eventually, the aggressive man threw the poor lady onto the cement floor and left, possibly uttering curses or profanities.

The illegal foreign workers helped the injured woman clean her wounded forehead with clean water, but that was all they could do. Uncle Lam stood there for a moment, then returned to the factory canteen and retrieved a first-aid kit, and a pack of kaya-flavoured bread. They welcomed his assistance and began explaining in broken Malay with foreign accents.

The aggressive man was her husband, a 30-year-old guy who had married a 15-year-old girl in an arranged marriage without legal certification. He was a gambler and an alcoholic, and she was a young mother who had only completed education up to Standard 6. They mentioned that the man had likely been wealthy at some point, but had somehow ended up in this situation, becoming a brutal and irresponsible father and husband. They didn’t know how to help her, and neither did Uncle Lam. He never thought he would witness the dark side of arranged and child marriages, which he had only heard about in news.

Uncle Lam was not a highly educated man; he had only completed his studies up to Standard 4. However, he knew who’s the well-educated individuals were in the factory, so he decided to approach his manager for guidance.

Back in those days, the internet was not widely available, and information was primarily acquired through newspapers, TV, and radio. Matters like these required networking and connections. Fortunately, Uncle Lam’s manager happened to have a wide network.

Mr. Yang first sought Rani’s decision, then began arranging for a suitable orphanage and authorities or NGOs that could assist. However, these things took time. In the meantime, Uncle Lam and his colleagues gathered some funds and purchased food and clothing for Rani to provide her with a more comfortable life.

However, something unexpected happened.

“Rani and that beast had a huge fight. It was a hot day, the illegal workers were all out for work; no one was in the huts. Some drivers and I were taking a nap near the canteen when we suddenly heard screams. We rushed to the huts, and that beast was assaulting Rani again. Rani appeared to be lying unconscious on the floor. He saw us and fled, leaving Rani bleeding like a river. We rushed her to the hospital, only then did we discover she was pregnant, and that incident led to your unexpected birth. It’s a miracle that you were born healthy.”

Uncle Lam and his colleagues hadn’t noticed anything amiss with Rani, and were quite surprised to learn that she had left the hospital and returned to the huts. This time, she seemed determined.

She spoke with Mr. Yang, and the next day, volunteers from a NGO and representatives from the orphanage came to Mr. Yang’s office. She signed all the documents, left her weeping children in the office, and depart in silence. Everyone was preoccupied with the crying children, and Uncle Lam held the new born baby in his arms, thinking whether he could donate some milk powder for this little one.

“And suddenly, we heard screams - someone was shouting ‘fire’.” Uncle Lam spoke in a soft voice, “It was a small hut in the corner, the one Rani lived in, was torched in flames. Fire extinguishers and water hoses were of no use by then. Fire fighters arrived within 10 minutes and brought the situation under control, but when they inspected the charred remains, they found Rani’s body. They said there were signs of petrol splashes in the hut, so she had most likely taken our reserve petrol and set herself on fire…”

The story ended with a sigh. Uncle Lam held Mun Na’s hand and patted it gently, “You, were still in my arms at that moment. Somehow, I had a feeling that you were destined to be my daughter, so I called your mom, and she agreed. I signed the adoption agreement with the orphanage representatives, and you became my daughter from that day.”

Mun Na remained silent for a moment, and asked, “So, the orphanage that you frequently visited for donations and to help them …”

“Yes, it was the orphanage where your real siblings went. Some were adopted, and others were raised in the orphanage. I still have their contact information if you’re interested.” Uncle Lam paused for a moment, “But your older brother, I mean your real older brother, asked me not to mention them in front of you.”

Mun Na was puzzled, “Why? Doesn’t he want to meet me?”

“No.” Uncle Lam shook his head, “He said he knew something like this would happen, and he hopes his adopted siblings would only have happy memories in their lives. So it’s best not to meet them anymore…My goodness, he was just 9 years old back when he knew I adopted you, and he was already thinking about these things!”

“So…how is he now?”

“A lorry driver like me, probably on a long-distance drive now.” Uncle Lam patted Mun Na’s hand again, “I just want you to know, your birth mother did her best, and we gave you our best too. It might have sounded crazy to others when they knew we adopted you. As you know, we earned just enough to feed ourselves, and another child would have meant an added burden…But I think we did a great job, eh?”

Mun Na hugged her Pa, “Yes, and I’m glad to be your daughter, and a part of the Lam family.”