In the theme of Mother's Day (NOT my Mother's Day post)

Summer 2001

Dear Cho, Kye Rim,

You may know who I am and probably you think of me as often as I think of you. My blood and your blood are connected in a very special way. I am your birth daughter, Cha, Young Sin.

I am writing this to thank you for choosing to give me life and giving me up so that my life might be better. It must have been hard for you to give me up. I thank God for you and I pray that you are doing well.

Sometimes, I look at myself in the mirror and wonder if I look like you. I wonder if I have your temperament or smile. I promise you that I will not disturb the life you have made for yourself now. I have no intentions of doing so because I know how hard it is to go on with life. I only wish to thank you for giving me life. I also am hoping that this letter will allow you some closure. I am doing just fine. My parents are loving and wonderful. They have told me time and again that if I chose to look for you, that they would help me in any way possible. They have instilled within me the difference between right and wrong as well as respect. They gave me a new name. My name now is R***** *******, but they call me Cha-chi as a nickname.

I hope that you would be proud of me. I am now attending a private university in the state of North Carolina. I am in the honors program and received a scholarship to help pay for my college tuition. I am hard on myself, so I personally could not tell you my good qualities. I do hope that I am making my family proud, and that if you were to see me today, you too would be proud.

Are you a musician? If you are, then that is where I get all my musical talent from. I sing and play the cello. I have been singing for as long as I can remember and have been playing the cello since I was twelve years old. My last year in high school, I would have been principle (first chair) in my high school’s orchestra, but we moved before I was able to obtain the honor. In college, I do not have much time for the cello, but have begun voice lessons.

Again words cannot describe how grateful I am to you for allowing me life. I hope that I have used this gift wisely and well; not to mention continue to use this gift of life well and wisely. Thank you for giving me life and a chance to live better.

Sincerely, R***** (Young Sin)

"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.

Sometimes, you don't have to find the words...

...amazingly enough, someone already said them. What I've just said may seem like an easy way out, especially if you're an academic. There's always something to be said that hasn't, and you have to find it, right?

At the beginning of Fall semester, my director had me compile an extensive bibliography of Korean adoptee works: written by and written about adoptees, documentaries, movies, etc. At the end of the semester, she then looked at me and simply stated: "Have 90% of the bibliography read and/or viewed by the end of winter break." Wow....um, okay? What did I do? I did what I was told. I'm currently reading and viewing documents, articles, documentaries, and movies. Yes, it's been exhausting... yes, I have had a mental/emotional breakdown at one point in time...after all, this is a topic close to my heart and often times I do not speak of things I feel or experience. Pieces will resonate with me, and I am in a world of my own for days as I attempt to comprehend meaning.

I am not alone. There are others like me who understand me without ever meeting me. How do I know they understand? I read their words, and it's like they are describing me whilst they describe themselves and their attitudes, thoughts, feelings, about who they are.

I have struggled much of my life to understand the complexities of my identity. At one point I believed I was white. Soon however, racist comments destroyed that misconception, and I grew to loathe the mirror's reflection and it's seeming contradiction. After I grew to identify as Korean, I traveled to South Korea where I was promptly informed that I was actually American. In the end, I finally returned to the United States and became Korean-American...After such a complex path to self-discovery, I have now dedicated my life to helping redefined what it means to be "American."---Jennifer Ardnt 2001, qtd in Hubinette's chapter, "Asian Bodies Out of Control: Examining the Adopted Korean Existence" within Asian Diasporas: New Formations, New Conceptions

For years I was told "Your nationality is Korean." This is what I'd say when I was asked, "Where are you from?" or "What nationality are you?" I am now realizing that this "nationality" question was just a polite way of saying, "I know you're Asian, but what Asian are you?" Though I always winced at the question, it was always better than the person assuming I was Chinese.

When I was in Korea, I was asked, "What nationality are you?" And when I said "Korean" I was promptly told I wasn't Korean.... I couldn't speak Korean, so how could I be Korean. Logistically speaking, this totally makes sense. Just because someone looks the part, doesn't mean they are the part. If someone "looked" like a doctor, yet had no medical knowledge, would you want that person diagnosing you because he/she looked like a doctor? (If you answered "Yes," I seriously question your common sense right now =p)  I, of course, took to telling people I was an American, or just a foreigner if I didn't feel like fully explaining things. After my tenure in Korea, I came back to the US. One day, a woman asked me, "What is your nationality" I habitually told her "American." She looked at me as if I were a smart ass. I had to quickly explain why I had answered correctly!  It was then I realized that the American public does not fully understand the melting pot concept it upholds, reducing nationality to race. My work does question the idea of Nationality...I really do hope that one day, I won't have to explain my answer to "What is your nationality?" lest I be thought of as an ass.

Lately, I have had to confront a pastiche of labels: Asian, Korean, American, and adopted. A situation such as this has made me realize identity is not something that can be buried or ignored. I have too many hyphens to inter-connect what it is that supposedly constitutes my existence that I have given up attaching any kind of "label". Ultimately, there is no term that will explain entirely that which makes me. So, call me what you will, but keep it clean.--Mark Keats 2003,  qtd in Hubinette's chapter, "Asian Bodies Out of Control: Examining the Adopted Korean Existence" within Asian Diasporas: New Formations, New Conceptions

Recently, I've realized that I haven't had to explain myself at all. Fortunately, I'm in an area that carries a high Asian American population, so it is not really assumed that an Asian body is absolutely a foreigner. When moments do appear in which my identity is questioned, I bristle. My parents don't have to answer this...neither do my brother, sister, or husband, why should I? Keats has it quite right when he states: "Ultimately, there is no term that will explain entirely that which makes me..." This is true for all of us... we are not merely "American" or "adopted" or "white" or "black" there's too much history within us for that.

I am an academic scholar, Korean American, but not fully immersed in Korean culture since I do not speak the language, a Korean adoptee; a daughter/granddaughter/niece to a white family, wife to a white man, but this does not fully explain me...my wants, desires, wishes, hopes, dreams, etc. This merely scratches the surface, a mere government document as to what my identity is. As of now, and perhaps this is because I'm within the whirlwind of reading and processing...I will admit I am tired. However, I must say that Keats, again, says it best when he states: "So, call me what you will, but keep it clean."

Today's the Day: Arrival Day!

I keep thinking that today, of all days, I need to write a post. Though I admit, it is a little weird calling attention to one's special day that others may not have or even be able to understand. See, today marks the 29th anniversary of a small baby making the trip to America. She is one of many silent migrations from the East to West.

Today, December 2nd, was dreary, stressful, and at times, chaotic. Of all days, I thought this would be the easiest day. All I had to do was sit, talk to students, sit, listen to graduate students present papers. Well, I crammed too many students into a meeting time period, one student tested my limits of patience, while another seemed to be totally clueless as to where his paper was going, and basically wanted me to write the paper for him. Lunch was so rushed, I got a bagel (not toasted) with cream cheese... but things looked up because I got a free chocolate pudding!

After an extended period of office hours, I went to my graduate class, thinking I would have some form of reprieve. Instead, I was met with some frustrating peer presentation whose very existence and failure made me wonder if I could do better and how had I ended up in Binghamton. Surely my being here was a mistake... voices kept telling me that I would fail. I needed a hug. I needed to be told I was someone of worth; precious to at least one person.

I have many fears. I have many doubts. One thing in my entire life have I never doubted: my family loves and cherishes me. All my life, I have been told I am a joy, a gift. Today, I realized that without doubting times (such as today), we cannot fully appreciate the good, joyful times. Today, when my family told me they love me and that they are proud, I needed their approval, their praise. Today, I am not taking for granted the positives and knowing that someone...even a group of people believe I am capable, intelligent, and more importantly, someone worth loving.

Arrival Day: 29 years ago, I "arrived" in the US, not cognitively aware of the situations I would face, but now I realize that each Arrival day I continue to realize how far I have come, where I have been, and that some things, like my family's love remain a blessed constant.

Thankful

Thankful: the word keeps popping up this month. Obviously it has to do with Thanksgiving, and perhaps the idea that we should be thankful for the good things in life and the unsuspected happiness that arrives after a bad spell, though sometimes we don't think of these until years later.

Good things come out of bad situations. Me? I'm a product of a one night stand. My birth mother disregarded the easy way out (though she didn't know of my existence until she was 7 months along, so there were only 2 months of so-called social "shame" on her part... but from what I can tell, even 1 second of shame feels like an agonizing eternity, so what do I know?) and gave me up for a better life. She probably still wonders why she didn't know know about me until it was too late; that she could have taken better care of me while I was still developing. More than likely, her father and mother forced her to give me up...after all, my maternal grandfather's name is on the surrender sheet. It would have been her father who could have legitimized me by registering me under his family, not my birthmother. Instead, I was given away. Who knows? Maybe she did want to keep me... but without registration, I would be an outcast, if I weren't already an outcast for being brought up in a single family home. I may even be 훈헐 (houn-hyol)...of mixed blood; inferior. That would not have helped any matters for my future in Korea. What other choice was there but surrendering me in hopes for a better life?

If she had any hopes (not saying she didn't, but I cannot put words in her mouth), those did not go to waste. I have a family who loves me. There are several instances of this love, and those of you who have met my parents realize that I am loved. Those of you who know my brother and sister know that I am loved by them as well. Yes, we have all have had our moments of quarrels. In the end, when we look at the damage done, we realize we were actually communicating the same thing all along. For example: I went through this phase in which my physical insecurity had come to a head. I loathed myself, and I loathed myself for loathing myself if that's understandable. After all, my family kept telling me how proud they were of me... so in loathing myself, I was also loathing the opinions of those whom I held in high regard. When I finally voiced my self-loathing, the reaction was met with some abruptness. At first I was hurt, how could my family be so cursory towards me? Then I remembered...

When I was a little girl, my mom and I were in line at K-Mart. The lady at the register kept looking at me and then at my mom attempting to get it through her tiny pea-brain head that she was actually seeing a mother with her daughter. After a few moments, curiosity got the better of her and the cashier says to my mother, "What a beautiful child! She must look like her father!" as if mom's and my looks were the judge of our relationship rather than the emotional bond. My mother, very bluntly states: "Well, I wouldn't know." and walks off. 

My family is very loyal. We love each other and hold each other fiercely and want to protect each other. What happens when the person we try to protect the other from is the self? My family wasn't being harsh to me... they were insulted for me...that I could not see my own belonging within their circle even after all this time. Even now, I am reminded everyday, even through arguments how my family does fight to be together; help each other... even when we, the individual, don't want the help. I know how loved I am... I hope my siblings and parents know how loved they are. That even in our disagreements, our silences, and in our periods of absence we still love and support other.

Sometimes, I wish 차계림had a mirror to which she could see how happy I am... how supported I am... how her hope for me came true. 

나는 행복하다, 어머니! 

나는잘있다,어머니! 

어머님,당신은 불 수 있는?

Birthmother: clarification apparently needed

Well, I think my last blog caused quite a splash... apparently, I'm whining or something... I guess I need to make the purpose of this blog clear....

Yes, I am adopted, no, I don't think of it as any hinderance... I think of it as something that happened as if someone were born into a family... I was brought into a family. I'm not begrudging of this fact or happenstance...it's something that happened, and if you want my personal opinion and not academic opinion, this was a gift given to me by God since He knew my birthmother could not take care of me (there are multiple reasons why she could not, if you want the full list, please feel free to email me).

As of now, I'm studying the idea/concept of adoption through the lens of adoptees...specifically Korean American Adoptees... and the way I do this is through literature: first-hand accounts of the adoptee him or herself. See, when I was younger, I wanted to know about other people like me...who were adopted...and could not help but notice they were different thought of their situation. Perhaps this is a little narcissistic of me... all I know is that I wanted to see what other people in my particular situation thought of their situation as well. While growing up, I was told I was special, chosen since I was adopted, now that I discuss my experience, I am shocked to hear people telling me to quit whining and that I should cease discussing aspects of the international adoption phenomena since it's something that just "Happens" and my pointing it out would do something to defeat the purpose of "norming" the situation of international adoption.

Personally, I believe that if the Native American and African American community can protest the idea of interracial adoption on the basis that it's "Cultural Genocide"* or that some of fellow International Adoptees can protest the idea of International Adoption on the basis of "International Kidnapping" or "Western Imperialism,"* surely I can put in my own ideas of Interracial and International adoption with a positive attitude, light, and reveal how I personally feel about my own situation, which is not bad at all... actually, if you ask me personally, I say that I have a very good life and am very blessed.
     *(This has actually happened... I have textual proof of both of these)

With this said, I will now clarify some of the things I was trying to say in my last post. First I will list them and then if you need further information, you're more than welcome to ask for it:

1) Never did I say that the Birthmother would impose herself on the child she gave up. What I said is that there are well-meaning people surrounding both the birthmother and adoptee, who may unintentionally force something, a relationship or "reunion," that one or both parties may not want at that particular point in time in their lives.

2) When I said "real," I meant the mother relationship as identified by the adoptee. If I were to meet my birthmother, I would call her Mother, but to me, she would not be my "Mommy." In other words, due to my situation, my birthmother never had a chance to give any parenting to me, and therefore, she does not hold title of mother... perhaps this would change over time if I were to meet her, but I since I have not experienced her as a mother figure, I cannot say that she is a tangible mothering type to me...other than the fact she gave birth to me. This may sound harsh, but I'm putting this in as simplistic terms as possible.

3) Never did I say that this is every adoptee's perspective. This is my perspective, my lens, and how I am processing information that I have recieved. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. I just happen to post mine on a blog, that I thought some would be interested to read since people keep asking me what I think. I am posting MY thoughts... MY feelings... not everyone's view. If you all would like to see how other adoptees feel about their situation, I'd be more than happy to give you their works, and see how their particular views compare to mine.

4) I do not judge my birthmother; I highly respect her, despite my seemingly curt summaries/explanations of my relationship with her is now. What I am judging are people who believe they are acting in the best interest of the birthmother and adoptee, and forcing or contriving a reunion with the two. What I am judging are people who tell the birthmother or adoptee how to feel or what they are feeling. I've had this happen to me, and the result was not pretty... it ended in 3 years of therapy... which I admit, could have been worse, but I digress.

I love my family. I love my friends. I love my life. This blog is meant to process my own thoughts as an adoptee, not to judge. As with most blogs, what you can read is my opinion, not absolute fact. You're more than welcome to disagree with me, but I ask that you refrain from telling me how to feel; it's something I've been combating since the preacher told me to stop inquiring about my birthmother because it was hurting my parents' feelings and revealing the fact I was not a grateful child.  Thank you.