Arrival Day

**Those of you who follow, family rooted in love's blog, this will be a repeat. I just couldn't help sharing this semi-revised version today**

“Gotcha Day”: an adoptive community slang for the day in which a family brought home their new family member. According to Kristi Brian, author of Reframing Transracial Adoption, a woman named Margaret Schwarts claims September 15 to be International “Gotcha” day. Though it’s so-called cute and catchy, the term has weighted meaning.

Some people believe those who take issue with the terminology are over thinking the term. However, this so-called “Gotcha Day” carries baggage which weighs so much, I cannot begin to explain it, but I will try. Imagine saying this to an adopted child: Gotcha! Yeah, we gotcha at another person’s expense (perhaps even you, the adopted person’s expense)… Gotcha, as in pulled you away from your culture… Gotcha, as in pulled the wool over your biological family’s eyes in order to get you over to the United States. After a while, it starts to sound like the cruel pranks played at school, were afterwards, the victim is surrounded by jeers, pointed fingers, and that dreaded phrase: “HAHAHA! Gotcha!”

As an adoptee, I’m appalled. Apparently, this is a phrase used throughout adoptive families. To me, ‘gotcha’ smacks of ownership and trickery. I wasn’t even aware of this term until I saw someone post of Facebook his/her nephews’ “Gotcha Day” celebration…complete with a Chinese meal at “Golden Dragon.” I wince. I burn. I twinge. Sure, the family is probably working with what they have, but I know they have the Internet. Surely someone in the Chinese adoptive community has shared that Chinese American food is not truly authentic Chinese food! (If you didn’t know until now; now you know.) If an adoptive family wants to introduce their child to the food of his/her heritage, great; however, please don’t falsify their biological culture. Do your research. Adopting parents/families should know better by now.

In today’s United States, I expect more of adoptive families. We have the Internet. We have virtual communities to learn from the past mistakes of others so we can make our own new mistakes. Please don’t mistake my words, I am all for celebrating the day in which a person joins a family.

In my family, it’s called Arrival Day. It’s the day I literally arrived to my family. The day is complete with a meal at a restaurant of my choice. During my childhood, there wasn’t too much diversity in my area and the only “Asian” cuisine available was a Golden Dragon-like venue. I would eat white rice, egg drop soup, and an egg roll. We didn’t have the Internet to inform us the so-called Chinese restaurant we were at was about as authentic as McDonald’s is an everyday meal for most American families. If there had been a Korean restaurant, I know my parents would have brought me there. In the present, I admit I still celebrate my Arrival Day. As a matter of fact, I am preparing for my outing now.

Today, I will eat at an authentic Korean restaurant. I will sit there, dressed in my hanbok*, with my husband and and friends, celebrating my life here: my family and friends. This day will also be bittersweet I also remember the mother I was taken from, the culture I involuntarily left. As I put on the earrings my biological aunt sent me, her written words will resonate in my head: "I can say to you only with my heart. I don't know how to say. Please be happy my niece."

Yes, I did “arrive” but when I did, I departed somewhere else.

As an adoptee, I highly encourage adopting families to celebrate the day their children entered the family. At the same time, please respect the fact when your children became your family, they were lost by another family. Respect your children. Respect their loss. Don’t trivialize it. Remember, when you gained them, your children lost something. Adoption is gain, but also loss.

*hanbok: traditional Korean dress.

Anger

I don't deal with anger too well. When anger hits me, I attempt to choke it down into my stomach...yes, it burns and I end up taking medication for it. The real issue is that I suppress my anger, turning it inward.

When I was little, I was taught that I could control my anger. However, for some reason, I misinterpreted this and turned it into a warped ideology of anger to be a horrible thing that should not be experienced. In all honesty, as a child, I experienced a lot of things which made me angry. However, rather than face the anger and hurt, I kept it inside. (FYI: Not something I would advise) On the outside, I was a happy, smiling girl who tried her hardest to show that nothing was wrong and that I was a great person...a person who wasn't bad or ugly on the inside. I was grateful, polite, sweet, and obedient, striving to make everyone who mattered to me happy.

Inside, I was hurting. I was being nice, so why wasn't everyone else? Why were they rude? Why did they make fun of me for being different? Whats more, it didn't appear that anyone was upset that I was hurt. I was told to explain the situation. As if logic was going to work on bullies. Sure, I understand taking a "verbal resolution," but what happens if the person is just a brutal idiot?! Yes, I can say that the bullies were tenaciously complying to racial stereotypes even when confronted with the truth, but how can an elementary student have the verbal capacity to explain such things? Also, keep in mind, I'm not blaming anyone who cared about me and my well-being. How could they know I was going through such things? How could they when I lacked insight to share how bad things were?

So, here we have a helpless situation in which authority figures had no idea how bad things were, while  I could not explain how things were. I did the only thing I could do: repress it, hoping that things would just sort out if I just left it alone. Things did sort themselves out...the anger grew. There were people who saw it. The first clue should have been my foster mother's description of me "Mild, but somewhat hot tempered." My parents laughed at this description...until my first temper tantrum. During college, my sister observed and warned me, "You have a deep seated anger about you." Sometimes people outside of my immediate family saw glimpses of it when I threw temper tantrums (the time in which I got sunburnt really badly at the beach) or got frustrated and just couldn't keep the anger in any longer. However, for the most part, the grateful girl pretty much stayed in tact.

In my teens and college years, I gave up the happy girl routine. I surrounded myself with what I considered a realistic attitude...some people thought it was sarcastic and dry wit while others saw it as being a smart ass. People, I learned, could be escaped...when I didn't like living the reality, I simply switched to a new setting. It was easy enough. My family moved a lot when I was a child and every move seemed to coincide with me reaching the limit of what I could take before fully erupting. The facade was cracking...pretty soon those close to me began to understand my habits, my coping mechanisms. As I sat there explaining to my parents why I wanted to move to Korea for a year (the lame "so I could start over" excuse), my father looked me in the eye and said "Where ever you go, there you are." I rolled my eyes. Whatever. I could find a new me and let that me be accepted into the group. When I got tired of the "new" me, I would move again. As an adoptee, I was an expert chameleon. If we want to use the psychology behind this, it could be said that as an adoptee I feared being abandoned and became what I thought people wanted in order to be accepted. I told everyone I needed this trip to find out who I am. And in a lot of ways, I needed that time away from everyone else's expectations to figure out who I was. However, in the end my father was correct. I couldn't run from myself. Where ever I was, there I was.

Korea helped me in a lot of ways. As stated before, I was away from the well-intentioned expectations of those who care about me so I could understand who I was without fear of my loved ones being disappointed in me. At the same time, all those problems with me...all that sorrow and anger...it was still there. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I prayed, no matter how many very long walks around Suwon and Seoul... all my problems were there. Finally, I realized that I needed help... I had to come home. Later, I realized my issues would take more than love and family to resolve. Enter prozac and therapy. Dad didn't understand why I told people about me being medicated and seeing a therapist. I have to admit, part of me enjoyed explaining that despite what I've projected my whole life, I am broken. The other part of me began to realize that there were probably others out there who were like me...people who were broken and desperately trying to prove they weren't.

Mom thinks my depression/anger issues stem from the forced meeting with my birthmother than ended up not happening. And after typing this statement, I realize that most people are thinking "Wow, abandoned twice by her biological mother, no wonder she's this way."You. Are. Wrong. My anger and depression began before that...it began as a small child wondering why she always had to justify her existence. Wasn't love enough? Couldn't people see that she belonged with her family? See how much she loves them? See how much they love her? Why couldn't people just accept it? Why was it okay for them to intrude on my personal life? Why was it okay for me to explain myself, but I wasn't allowed to ask anything of them? It was curiosity for people to ask where I was from or if I wanted to meet my "real" mother, but rude of me to ask them if they were adopted or if they came from a different family. Why was it okay for them to ask me if I was Chinese, but I couldn't ask them what type of American they were? Why was it okay for people to intrude on my privacy, yet I couldn't invade theirs?

Years, decades later, I would finally discover the truth. It. Was. Not. Okay. It was not okay for them to ask me if I spoke English. It was not okay for them to push their eyes into a slant, point and laugh at me. It was not okay for them to question my nationality, or intrude on my privacy when they would balk at reciprocation. It was not okay for them to ask such personal questions about my birth mother, her name, or if I wanted to find her again. It was not okay for the preacher to tell me I was ungrateful for expressing curiosity at my adoption or asking my Sunday School to pray for her (A story for another time, or perhaps I've mentioned it in previous posts. Basically, my Sunday school teacher didn't know what to think of me bringing up my adoption and went to the pastor instead of my parents.) I had a right to be angry, hurt, and intruded upon as if something was forcefully taken from me without my permission. I didn't have to be passive. I could use my voice I could say no. I could choose not to engage in dialogue I didn't want to have.

Yet, for some reason...even though I had a right to be angry and use my voice, I still didn't know what to do with the anger. When I attempted to use it for something, I was demeaned. I was told I was resentful, that I was a smart ass. Even "better" I was told people are naturally curious and that it was my job to educate people since I am transracially and transnationally adopted. After all, isn't that what I chose to work on for the rest of my life with this PhD? As I sat paralyzed by my frustration, I recalled this Ani Difranco song:

"i am not an angry girl

                                                                but it seems like i've got everyone fooled

every time i say something they find hard to hear

they chalk it up to my angerand never to their own fear

and imagine you're a girljust trying to finally come clean

knowing full well they'd prefer youwere dirty and smiling"

--Ani Difranco, "Not a Pretty Girl"

Thing is...I am an angry girl. I didn't decide to study Korean adoptees in order that I may lay myself bare, bleeding for anyone who decided to take a peek at what was inside. No. I decided to study this so that my situation wouldn't be another Asian adoptee's. I cannot go back and hug my younger self, telling her it is okay for her to be angry...that it is okay for her not to answer people. I cannot go back and advocate for my younger self to those who care about her so that they understand her. What I can do is advocate for the ones who are now where I was. That is why I am doing this; not to be a side show act or a corner side speaker who people take note of, satisfy their own selfish curiosity and then continue living their lives. Sure, this may mean educating non-adoptees, but not people who tenaciously cling to their ignorance...if I have learned anything in this world, I have learned that willfully ignorant people should be left alone (but that is another post for another time). And, yes, I have to admit that I went into this particular field for my own selfish reasons. Again, I quote my father, "Where ever you are, there you are." I am finally facing myself... everything about me. This includes the anger.

I am not saying that this isn't hard. Studying something so personal has come at a cost. Yes, I am behind my cohorts...yes, I am running out of funding. Who knows? I may not even complete the requirements for the PhD. One a separate note: yes, I will be disappointed in that. I have never failed to complete something I set out to do. However, I am getting away from my point.

I am trying to face my anger. My anger isn't good. It isn't bad. If I try to run from it, it will be where I am. However, no one, including me should dismiss my voice because I am angry. After all, I am angry for a reason.

November...Adoption Month

So apparently November is the "official" month for adoption. As an adoptee, I feel sheepish for not knowing this fact until stumbling across my church's bulletin announcement concerning a speaker's testimony concerning adoption. From there, I began to see commercials on television announcing the need of families and homes for children. This is where I'm starting to see a grey area.

I understand the need for great homes for waiting children. I believe adoption is a great gift for both parent and child. At the same time, my adult adoptee cynicism is coming out, claws not retracted. My biggest problem with the commercial? The commercial discusses states, "Did you know that many adopted children went on to become entrepreneurs, actors, even president of the United States?" Yes, this is true. However, this approach is extremely degrading in that it tries to argue the "usefulness" of adopted children... almost as if to say, "Hey! Adopt a kid... he's useful...he has as much potential as the next kid." The adoptee, as with any other individual has as much promise as any other human...the idea of promoting a subject as useful means rendering it useless at one point in time. The problem isn't the promotion of productivity of an adoptee body, but that it would be a subject of contention in the first place...as if the orphan child was a burden in the mind of the audience at the beginning. This reveals the adoptee body as a second class citizen who must prove his worthiness within society. Why should an adoptee be lesser than any other person? Does this mean an adoptee must achieve a higher greatness than the average person to become a productive member of society? Perhaps I am reading too much into this, but at the same time, I believe I have a point.

I've met many adoptees who have discussed a childhood in which they believed they had to act a certain way and achieve certain things for fear of "being returned." The idea is that their belonging, for some reason, did not feel entirely genuine. Though the family may have done everything in its power to show the adoptee belonged, the outside culture revealed a sense of outsider, a void of kinship that would allow for the adoptee to be "returned" to his original place of rejection and alienation. Though I have not felt this within family, I have certainly felt this in other areas of my life. Recently, I realize that I have been driven to overachieve for fear of being "found out" and being "put back" rather than be taken seriously. This fear-driven action caused me much suffering. I can only imagine the pain my fellow adoptees endured while trying to be the perfect child for fear of being "returned" since by cultural/blood standards did not fully belong to the family.

Though the commercial attempts to show the positive aspects of adoption by revealing how many families have been established through this type of kinship, it does irreparable damage as well. The implication of adoptees going on to successful lives also invokes the "shared understanding" of the viewers/audience, and dare I say writers of the commercial, is that of adoptees being useless members of society.

I do understand that adoption something most people forget or do not realize how amazing an option of family building it can be; however, there is something to be said for the way we attempt to relate this idea to the general populace. Why not let the adoptees speak for themselves? I am amazed to see how few organizations utilize the adoptee voice when promoting adoption. Is this because we still view the once orphan as a forever child? Why are our voices as adoptees not being heard?

Children

Babies...Offspring...Children...Little Ones...Kids...The concept of having one is so daunting that I want to scream. I fell more in love with my husband the day he said, "If you don't want children, I'm fine with that. I'd rather have you and no children rather than kids and a wife who wasn't you." My reply to him, "Of course I want children!"Back then, I thought that it was the least I could do. After all, didn't my parents want grandchildren? Didn't I want children?

Though I'm thirty years old, I still look at the concept of "having children" as a grown-up thing...something that is not necessarily I would do because, quite frankly, I don't necessarily see myself as an adult; except in moments of clarity in which I realize that I am, and there is no turning back (like the day my husband and I went to go get our marriage license). My time as a student keep me sheltered from daily life: the 9 to 5 job, and more importantly, the concept or social convention that after being married and at my age, I should have children.

By social standards, I should have children. My husband and I are in a good place, we've been married for a year, and I'm "not getting any younger," so my "biological clock" is ticking down (though I don't believe in such a clock, except the one that ticks the tedious hours towards menopause). Reason stands, we should be trying to have children. However, my aforementioned status as a student definitely keeps me shielded in a separate place. For example, with some women Koreans, the "standard" conversation with fellow women Koreans they don't know well goes something like this:
1. They ask if you are married.
     *If married, they ask you if you have children. If no children, they ask when you will have children.
2. If you are not married, they ask if you have a boyfriend.
     *If you do have a boyfriend, you are asked when you will get married.
     *If you don't have a boyfriend, they ask (my personal favorite question): "Why not?" then proceed to try to find someone for you.
All this to explain the reason why, during a visit to the Oriental Market, the owner asks me, "Do you have children?" When I told her, "No," I also interjected "I'm still in school." After this explanation, I was given the social "pass," as she said, "Oh. I see. Yes, a student is very busy. You'll have children when you're done?" To which I said, "Yes." It was such a simple answer to such a loaded question.

I can only imagine looking at a tiny bundle of a human being with the shocking realization that I am responsible for this life. The closest I've ever come to that is owning a dog, which may not be the same at all*. People with children keep trying to tell me that it's such a wonderful, amazing gift. That children are such a joy and make your bad days go away with a sweet smile and hug. Is it cynical of me to think that they want me to join the "Mommy club" so that I too can talk diaper changing, late-night feedings, and whiny, never-ceasing crying and  the like? Not that I don't not trust them when they say their children are a joy, and that it's different when the kids are yours. I've seen babies, cooed at them, and thought them the most adorable things on the planet. Children continue to amaze me with the things they say and do. However, if you know me, you know that I am terrified of commitment. It took almost a year before I would admit my husband and I were dating! A baby is 18 years of commitment; especially to something you don't know a whole lot about. With my husband, I knew his likes, dislikes; what would soothe him when he got stressed. I know nothing about this potential living being. Sure, I'll learn what she will like, but what if I don't? What if I don't like her?

By now, I have a feeling you as the reader are thinking or yelling, "But you will be okay with them! You will love that baby more than yourself!" Then there's the unspoken: "You're adopted. You have abandonment issues." Yes, I'm adopted. Sure, I probably do have some abandonment issues. Doesn't everyone? But that's not the issue at hand.

During the KAAN Conference, I was able to connect with a lot of adoptees. Though I had reservations, these were quickly swept away as I spoke with many people who had similar experiences. The comfort of not having to "explain" myself was wonderful! It was during this time I was again reminded I am an adult. The younger adoptees and I had barely anything in common, the older adoptees and I got along famously. The subject of motherhood kept finding its way into conversation. There were a number of adoptees who decided to have their own children rather than adopt. This wasn't because they had something against adoption. Instead, the women kept repeating what the previous woman had said: "I wanted to look at someone and see myself in them." I don't think I have ever heard this explanation before then...not even after all the documentaries, essays, and articles; not one mentions this revelation.

Personally, I had never thought of it. I never gave thought that in order to see someone who looked like me, I would have to give birth to the individual. Instead, I just thought if I could see other Koreans, I would see parts of myself in watching them. This chance came when I went to Korea for the first time. I watched the children with great interest...watching to see if any of them looked how I did. For the first time in my life, I had an abundance of people to mirror. I realized I wasn't ethnically odd: there were paler complexioned Koreans out there, Koreans who had my hair texture, eye color, face shape... I saw myself everywhere. So I was surprised when the general consensus of Korean Adoptees who are mothers wanted to a biological child to see themselves. I'm sure a study could be made of this (if it hasn't already); Freud could be used to explain the adoptee psyche and sense of self. Today, I'd rather not look into that...personally, I think this is something very private and not to be discussed. So why am I? Because I cannot get this out of my head. No matter how hard I try, I cannot get this particular reason out of my head.

"I wanted a baby because I wanted to have someone who looked like me." I mentioned this reason and my fears of motherhood to someone. I told her that I couldn't be a parent right now because I was too selfish. She told me that I felt society's pressure, but that I could do things on my own time. Luckily for me, I have an excuse. As a student, I am in special limbo, but I can't keep from thinking about all the people my age who have kids or expecting kids, and looking at my own life. I can't stand crying, whining, or even loud speech in public places. What kind of mother would I be? I mean, I already know I can't duct tape my child's mouth shut when he's in Target, nor can I simply leave her in a kennel as I can my dog. My reactions to children have varied from the shocked and jolts that end in throwing things, to the heart-melting "oohs" and "ahs." One of my reactions resulted in people warning me before the next time the kids came over to their place of business: as in they owned the business, their kids were coming over, and I was warned as well as asked if it was okay...and I'm the employee!

But I digress. After hearing my fellow adoptees, I realized something. What if I looked at that little bundle, and for some reason didn't like what I saw? Or worse, what if I saw that small, tiny human, and fell in love, spending the rest of my life so caught up in him that I lost myself? Motherhood, changes you. I don't want to dislike myself, nor do I want to lose myself. I've seen women give their entire lives to their children. This isn't to say that motherhood isn't noble... I have great respect for good mothers. But I've seen what "good" mothering takes, the sacrifices it asks of you, and quite frankly, I don't know if in society's eyes, my family's eyes, if I would be a "good" mother. I am not a martyr, nor am I a saint. I don't know if I can make the necessary sacrifice to be the "Mother" I believe society wants.

*I don't know, I've never been a parent. The closest I've become to being a parent are my pets.

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.