This is the best summary I could come up with:

There is a shameful anecdote about my great-great-uncle, who came to Gold Mountain — a nickname that refers to parts of North America as a land of opportunity and riches — to work on the Canadian Pacific Railroad from 1880-85.

These were the questions that I pondered, when I flew alone to Winnipeg to search for an apartment — and to my surprise and frustration, met some building managers who would not show me a place to call home.

As I settled into Winnipeg, I found that the employees guarding the Costco doors and security at Shoppers Drug Mart routinely asked me to show them the contents of my bag when I left the store.

As a Chinese woman in Winnipeg, I am subjected to racism on a daily basis — treated like a naughty child in a country I was born in, where I know the rules and customs.

At a friend’s book launch at the Manitoba Museum, I thought of my ancestors when my sneaker caught in a wood crevice and I fell off a platform, into a gallery that featured sections of the original Canadian Pacific Railroad.

The atmosphere in this section of the museum was terrifying, especially when I thought of my great-great-uncle and others from our village, toiling across Canada in horrendous working conditions, one labourer dying for every mile of track.

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