"One of us"

I've always wondered about that phrase. The idea or concept that people of a certain grouping belonging together... that an individual can correctly assume they are with a crowd or family...some type of kinship. Even now,  in my head, I'm starting to draw lines that can only be described as strings tying to certain objects, zig-zagging--like the "spider web" that I made out of quilting thread and my family's basement when I was 4 or younger. Just like the spider web, people are tied to each other; connected by some of the oddest coincidences or even accidents that create a bond between them. Some eagerly seek out their connections, while others, like myself, often run from them.

This summer I have the chance of going to a Korean Adoptee conference. For me, it's a win-win situation: 1) Get to go to the South (family, sweet tea, Chick-fil-A, warmth, humidity, and central A/C) and 2) I can mingle with some of the people who are very renowned in my field of study: Deanne Borshay Liem, Dr. Sook Wilkinson, and many others. Of course, there is the other thing, and I began to slowly understand that as I read through the conference activities when my eyes fell upon one event: Mixer, "especially for first-time attendees and others wishing to make connections."

At first I thought "Alcohol is social lubricant, of course they have a mixer...Oh good! Maybe I can rub elbows with Ms. Borshay Liem or Jennifer Fero, who participated in the documentary Adopted." I read the description again, "especially for first-time attendees... wishing to make connections"--CONNECTIONS--not just friendly and career-oriented connections, but actual connections in the way that people have a common bond. What do these people have in common? Adoption, Korean adoptees to be exact. Panic seized my backbone; I have now willingly entered a place I intentionally avoided as a child and in Korea.

I've read adoptee literature. I've written my own experience. I've watched it unfold on documentaries, crying along with the adoptee. Good grief, I'm even making a career out of this! Why would actually meeting another adoptee be so unappealing to me?

When I was way younger and smaller (yes, it's possible for me to be both), my parents would take me to these adoption "support groups," where all the children would play with other adoptees and the parents would make small talk, probably leading to bigger adoptee issues. All I remember is that it was awkward at first and then I would make friends, only to have time fly by and my parents tell me it was time to go. Other encounters with Korean adoptees have been less than expected.

After I got back from Korea, I wanted to talk about adoption, the loss of one culture that had just been revealed to me. I tried to talk to the one person I thought would understand: a fellow Korean adoptee. The results were less than satisfactory. I don't blame my friend, she had no idea what I wanted out of the conversation. And knowing both of our upbringings, our adoptions were something kept very close; a secret that only came out to real friends or accidentally "sprung" on to acquaintances at public events where parents show up. After all, one usually has to "explain" why one is of a certain race while her parents/family are of another. This isn't to say that I was ashamed of my family. I was proud of them. I love them. What pained me is that I had to apologize, or explain our connection*. When I explained the connection, it was like a flood gate opened and I had apparently acquiesced to an informal inquisition which led me down psychological paths I did not wish to express to close friends, let alone near strangers. So needless to say, she more than likely did not wish to discuss "differences" with me as we were not as close as we once were.

My next attempt at finding another adoptee to share my thoughts with was the internet. I found it lonely and, in all honesty like, we were a chat room full of whiners. No one likes a whiner, nor does a whiner want to see themselves reflected in other whiners. If this was what Korean adoptee socialization was about, you could count me out. Then I accidentally located another adoptee when I went to grad school at UA, and was really happy that I could have someone to relate to in the trans-racial adoption area. We met on a few occasions, and I enjoyed running things by him that I was going through and thought another adoptee would be able to understand. By now, I'm sure you're putting two and two together to realize why this friendship didn't work out. Apparently he was wanting more than friendship: Strike three. I was done attempting to find other adoptees unless they were on paper or documentaries. Yes, I realize this was a rather naive idea; however, when I read the politics behind Korean adoptees as a group, my head began to spin, and I wondered if I had taken on too much. I'm not a political person. To me, it's all a technicality that is loosely based on theories and ideologies, that when put into practice within the real world becomes completely imperfect. Let me hide amongst my books and theories as theories.

I slowly began to realize as with any good academic, I would have to learn to socialize with those in my field. More often than not, these people were Korean adoptees. When I heard about this conference, my first thought was of networking, finding out when the next documentary or memoir would be published. My inner academic was so happy to go mingle with other academics that I forgot the emotional side. The part where human beings want to belong. They look for others with similar lives, backgrounds, or past experiences to know they are not alone; that they too are part of an "us."

As I read the description of the Mixer again, my mind was filled with images of my past with Korean adoptee chat rooms, only this time, the room was filled with people who had mommy or daddy issues, who yearned to find the birth mother to fill the empty void left behind by a neglectful adopter; the angry adoptee who wanted all adoptions to stop, arguing with another adoptee who believed international adoption was a good thing and wanted it to continue. I then saw the issues of Nationality, negotiating race and identity mixed in with dual citizenship: all the things I wanted to deal with theoretically but not politically. I was terrified while simultaneously morbidly curious if the alcohol at the mixer was to get people to talk or shut them up by passing out while drowning their sorrows.

Stopping myself from hitting the "cancel" button on the reservations, I scanned the books and videos around me: Language of Blood: a memoir, First Person Plural, Birthplace: Unknown. These adoptees had spoken out to me when I felt alone. They showed me that I was part of an "us" and that my day dreams and theories weren't unfounded and crazy. When I watched Searching for Go-hyang, I cried with them, wanting to be there with the women and their family. Why had I pursued this field in the first place? I wanted to know I wasn't alone: my awkward feelings of sharing with interlopers, the discomfort I felt being the only minority in a room, explaining/defending my US citizenship. I shifted the arrow away from "cancel" to "confirm."

For better or for worse, I've chosen a field very close and personal. This means stretching out of my comfort zone in order to obtain answers. Yes, I may run into the "mommy and daddy issues" or "angry" adoptee but I will also encounter the adoptee I wish to be. The adoptee who had made peace with her identity and seeks out others who feel alone.


*I would like to point out at this time that there is a difference between the trans-racial/national adoptee and the adoptee of the same race as their parents. The trans-racial adoptee, being of different race, reveals herself to others as different. The adoptee of same race as parents does not reveal the difference, allowing a degree of privacy. I envy that privacy. Apparently my trans-racial adoptee situation lends itself to some sort of societal allowed for curiosity that apparently can be voiced, no matter how kind or harsh. However, this is not to say that the privacy allows for more comfort, it's just a note.

How?

I want to show you how lovely you are

How would you believe me, if you don't believe in yourself?
I want the world to see how smart you are
How do I show them if you don't know it?

I want to fight your fights 

How would you realize your strength?
I want to hurt those who hurt you
How would I be any different from them?
So I scream, I cry, I pray, and in the end I know the hard, bitter truth.
You must be tested to show you how lovely, intelligent, strong, and resilient you really are.
In the end, you must prove yourself to you and you alone.
I painfully watch by sidelines, wanting to pick you up, carry you, fight it out for you...
And what would you gain by my doing it for you?
How would you gain by my doing?
Nothing.