Woke up from my sleep A mosquito on my cheek Having its nightcap.

Aching loneliness Heart yearning for company Sadness in full bloom.

A handwritten note Inviting me to join them In fear I burned it. P/S The note was trying to convince me to join the communist movement in the early 1970s when I was in lower secondary school at Kai Chung Middle School in Bintangor.

My old Chinese book Finding my pinyin writing In the book’s margins.

The water lily adds colours to the dull pond A blissed out flower

Watching films for free In the town’s Eastern Theatre Childhood Bintangor.

Montreal in winter At minus thirty degrees My hair stiff with ice.

Received a caning Witnessed by the entire school My whole world crumbled.

Life in the boys’ hostels Enforced camaraderie College memories.

Born in a small town With mostly Foochow people I became a Ling.