*Chopsticks Not Included

Risk and benefit

2012-01-21T13:49:00.002-05:00

A friend and fellow adoptee recently sent me the link to Voice of Love, a project to encourage the elimination of Korea’s international adoption quota in order for more children to be adopted overseas. The project is seeking Korean adoptees and their families to record a video of themselves discussing how their lives have been ‘blessed’ by international adoption. It is hoped that these videos will influence Koreans to change policy once they see how lives have been positively impacted by adoption.

I understand what this campaign wants to accomplish. And I understand why. The reality is that Korean society has not embraced the notion of domestic adoption. Yes, domestic adoption does happen. Organizations such as Eastern Social Welfare Society promote domestic adoption, but it’s largely a topic still stained by stigma. It is my understanding that many Koreans who adopt domestically try to adopt an infant as young as possible and may not even tell the child that they were adopted. Bloodlines are paramount. Korea, to this day, is one of the most homogenous nations. Single parenthood is looked down upon because it disrupts that patriarchal lineage which society works so hard to preserve. I think it is a culmination of these societal beliefs that leaves many Korean children in an orphanage or foster care. I can understand why Voices of Love wants to help them because their circumstances are certainly sad.

And yet, I hesitate at the thought of participating in the campaign. Voices of Love is one perspective and one potential solution to a social issue. It is not the only one or, necessarily, the right one. Then again, I have no clue what the ‘right’ one is. Does anyone? It’s complicated. I’m not sure that I would be comfortable turning my life into a PSA and, especially, such a one-sided one. The campaign is asking for 30 second videos. What can be said in half a minute? I love my family. They are, without a doubt, my family. In so many ways, I have had a good life so far. I have had opportunities to thrive and I have been loved deeply. I suspect these words are the kind of words Voices of Love is hoping an adoptee will offer to their effort. They’re all true words, too. The truth is that my life has been good.

But the truth is also that my life has been with struggle. It continues to be. This past year has been one of the hardest for me as an adoptee filled with hurt, frustration and questions. So many questions. There is both risk and benefit to being an adoptee. And maybe the hardest thing of all to accept is that we don’t get to choose to be an adoptee. It is something we inherit through the decisions of others. Of course, the extent of our struggles varies greatly. Some may never ask the questions that others grapple with their entire lives. Some adoptees have experienced terrible abuse and isolation at the hands of their adoptive families. What reason do they have to participate in something like Voices of Love? International adoption is not the only answer and it is not without errors.

There are no easy answers. And the questions I come back to in this moment are these: what do those children in Korea need? What decision will benefit them most? To be able to grow up in their birth country without a family in the traditional sense? To grow up across the ocean missing out on their birth country, but with a family? No matter what path is taken, there is always risk and always benefit.

Hiatus

2011-12-11T15:51:00.002-05:00

This probably won't seem like much of a hiatus seeing as my posting has been patchy anyhow, but I've decided that I need a break from adoption stuff. Between the holiday season and starting a new job recently, my mind is being pulled in other directions. I still read adoption blogs and articles on occasion. To be honest, though, the news regarding my birth mother kind of took the wind out of my sails. The job I accepted is not in the adoption field and I'm actually grateful for that. I believe it will always be an interest of mine. I know I will come around again. Right now, I just need time to let all the hurt out so that I can get to a place of healing. Nothing brings the tears quite like Joni Mitchell's "Little Green". And I need to cry. I feel like I haven't really cried enough over this. Maybe I've just been too busy.

All I need right now is time. Time to process. Time to get used to my revised life story. Did I mention that I have a half sibling? That is definitely an odd piece of info for an only child to absorb. Maybe that sibling will want to meet me one day if he/she even knows that I exist. Maybe my omoni will one day change her mind and decide that she wants to have contact. Or maybe she won't. There are so many unknowns. So many questions that might never have answers which means that I must create my own sense of resolution. I don't know yet how I will accomplish that, but it will happen with time.

At any rate, I will be back here sometime after the new year. I hope everyone feels safe and loved this holiday season, whether you celebrate or not. As always, you can reach me at chopsticksoo (at) yahoo (dot) com.

Singing the blues

2011-11-20T10:58:00.003-05:00

I’m afraid I have nothing thematic to offer here today. It’s been nearly a month since my last entry and, even though I have a little queue of post ideas collecting in my mind, right now any attempt to write about them feels halfhearted. Life hasn’t been the greatest for this blogger as of late. If you want to hear the dismal details, by all means, read on. If not, though, I don’t blame you. Today I just need to vent.

The month started with an emergency call from home to come see my grandma. She has Alzheimer’s and her condition has been declining rapidly. I went home for four days to see her. Even my cousin and his family down in Georgia traveled up to see her. The situation was not as acute as my aunt thought when she called us, but Grandma is moving into the end stages of the disease. We don’t have much time left with her. It’s just a sad and stressful time for our family, especially with the holidays approaching on top of it all.

And, speaking of holidays, I have zero desire to partake in them this year. It’s partly because of Grandma’s condition and partly because I still haven’t secured a full-time job. The search has been a nightmare. I’ve even been rejected from positions I’m technically overqualified for. It’s been discouraging to say the least and I know I’m not the only one hurting. What a disappointment for all of us youngsters coming out of undergrad or grad school bright-eyed and ready to change the world! I don’t even want to change the world, but I know I have the skills, passion and motivation to at least find a corner of it to make better. If someone would just give me a chance.

Incidentally, this past week, it seemed that life might be looking up. After getting rejected from yet another job on Monday, I had a little meltdown. On Tuesday I got called for an interview with another agency. On Wednesday I had said interview and it went well! It restored some hope in me that I’d lost somewhere over these past few months of searching. Now I’m in the waiting game, but I have a good feeling about this opportunity and thank goodness. I needed that. And after Friday, I really, really needed that, plus a bottle of wine and lots of chocolate.

Because on Friday I finally got some news about my birth family search. My birth mother was located and does not want any contact with me. I’m still processing this. How long will I be processing this? I have no idea. What I do know is that I feel hurt. Disappointed. Even angry. My emotions have been flung in so many different directions over the last few weeks. I’m just tired and need something to smile about. It kind of feels like so much of my life has been splitting at the seams and every time I sew one part up, another spills open.

Like any other rough patch, this one will eventually be smoothed over, but for now, I’ve just got a bad case of the blues. Thank goodness for tea, writing, The Decemberists and my support system of fam/friends. Anything to make the hurt a little less is a good thing right now.

Death and abandonment issues

2011-10-25T20:56:00.004-04:00

Do adoptees potentially experience the death of their adoptive parents differently because of their adoption? This is the latest question rolling around in my head. We've all got baggage and adoptees in particular get strapped with 'abandonment issues'. Not every adoptee will identify as feeling abandoned. For most of my life, I did not. But somewhere in the recesses of my mind this thread lingers. Does the death of adoptive parents represent, in its own way, a second abandonment to adoptees?

The first time this thought occurred to me was after watching the documentary Adopted. Jennifer Fero, an adult Korean adoptee featured, was dealing not only with issues related to being transracially adopted, but also the scary situation of her mother being diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. Towards the end of the documentary, it was revealed that her father had a late stage form of cancer as well. I wish I could remember if Jennifer had said anything specifically about losing both of her parents. I can't remember now, but I wondered what was going through her head being so young (only in her thirties I think) with the prospect of both parents leaving her. The whole situation was haunting to me.

There are two times in my life that there was a distinct possibility my mom could die. And both times were hell. The nightmares of my life. My dad died unexpectedly when I was one and I'm an only child. The thought of losing my mom was too much to bear. How could I possibly afford to lose another set of parents? What was so incredibly wrong with the universe that my fate was to be left alone again? Abandoned again? There is no worse feeling. The dominant culture says that we all need a permanent, loving, immediate family. They're your world, your lens through which you learn and navigate life. What becomes of you when you lose that context?

I think the death of a parent for anyone can be unspeakably painful. It's a tremendous loss. It changes your world. And if you're an adoptee, it may compound on top of an existing loss of your first family and first culture. I'm not sure what it all means, but it's a fascinating albeit heavy topic to think about. I've tried to look up articles, books, anything on adoptees and the death of adoptive parents, but I haven't come up with much at all. If anyone reading this knows of any resources, please let me know. And thanks for sticking with me through a morbid subject. I know that talking about death makes many if not most people uncomfortable. I recently found out that a fellow KAD's parent is terminally ill with possibly only weeks left to live. What a heartbreaking experience. It's something I've had just a small taste of, but, wow, is it ever hard to get that taste out of your mouth.

The forgotten mother

2011-10-11T17:58:00.003-04:00

When it comes to search and reunion, the first people we tend to think about are birth family. It’s almost a given, right? A blood relation is the first logical connection for an adoptee to seek out. For a while now, I have been so focused on birth family only. On a mother who relinquished me the day I was born. On a father who might, to this day, not even know that I exist. People who, other than the obvious biological connection, have never actually played a role in my life; who never got to know anything about me. I forgot about the one key person who did know me as a Korean baby and cared for me as her own for five months: my foster mother.

I actually did meet my foster mother at age 10 during my first trip back to Korea. I remember being struck by the emotion of the meeting. She cried upon seeing me and the whole time we were together, she kept smoothing my hair or touching my face. Korean poured out of her mouth in rivers. At 10, I was a little lost and, in retrospect, possibly experiencing a little culture shock. But her affection was moving. I felt that she genuinely cared. She recalled what a non-picky eater I was as an infant (still true today). She called me ‘beautiful’, even gesturing at my glasses and braces which I had been so self-conscious of. A lot of the details of our meeting are blurred now, but what stays with me the most is her love. In spite of the language barrier and the years and miles between us, I could sense that she still had love in her heart for me and it was an extraordinary thing to realize.

When I went back to Korea this past summer, I had the chance to look for her again. We did not maintain contact—at the time it seemed that our one meeting was enough closure for everyone. She found out that I was healthy and doing well. My mom and I finally got to see her and thank her for caring for me. It felt like enough. Still, I pursued the opportunity to find her again, but I was also considering my birth family more than ever. When the agency told me they were unable to find her, I shrugged it off pretty easily. I had overlooked her. At the time, she was not my focus. We had already met. I considered myself thankful that we got to reunite once and simply moved on.

Today, only a handful of months later, I’m viewing things differently. Maybe this is just a delayed response, but in this moment I do feel sad that we could not meet again. She would be up in age now; it could be that she is no longer living. Wherever she is, I feel as though I finally understand my connection to her. She was maybe the only person to really know me as Soo Hyeon before that name was erased and I became someone else’s child in a new country. She filled in those puzzle piece months of my life that no one else in my life can speak of. Some people wrongly view an adoptee’s life as starting the day they come to their adoptive families. My aunt who had my parents over often to help them navigate the adoption paperwork likes to say I was “conceived on her kitchen table”. This belief is a misconception to say the least (no pun intended!). I had a life before my family, before the word 'adoptee' even became a part of my identity. They might not have known me then, but someone else obviously did.

It amazes me how much this journey continues to unfold. Took me my whole life up until this point to realize the significance of my foster mother in my life. I strongly believe that she loved me as her own for those five months, even though I can’t remember them. A lot can happen in five months! They should not be counted as less than any other months in my life. I had been a very sick infant from the start, so my foster mother had a lot of caring to do and I have no doubt that she did it with a sincere heart. And, speaking of hearts, she finally has a rightful place in mine. I don't want to forget her again.

Angry Asian girl

2011-10-06T08:11:00.001-04:00

Ever hear of culture-bound syndromes? They’re exactly what they sound like—a type of affliction specific to a cultural group. They can help to provide a context for why an individual experiences certain behaviors or symptoms. The first culture-bound syndrome that I ever learned about was hwabyung, a Korean syndrome generally associated with a suppression of anger. I don’t even remember how I came across it, but ever since the discovery, I have wondered if it’s even possible for me, a Korean American adoptee, to experience a Korean culture-bound syndrome. Us transracial and transnational adoptees are such a nature vs. nurture experiment. I don’t know if having Korean blood in your veins is enough to be considered part of that cultural group.

What I do know is that, lately, I am angry. A few days ago I had my first ever panic attack, one reported symptom of hwabyung. I should also mention that hwabyung is linked to han. Han is a kind of amorphous Korean concept encompassing anger, vengeance, sadness, despair.. Some say han is an ingrained part of all Koreans due to Korea’s lengthy history of oppression. The resulting emotion is convoluted—angry at being oppressed, yet also saddened by the inevitability of it. I am sure someone else could add more to my description of han. For me, it’s still not the easiest of ideas to pin down, perhaps because there is no literal English translation of the word. And yet, something about it clicks. The lingering sadness of it is familiar.

I had the panic attack following a phone conversation with my mom. She mentioned that one of my aunts thought I was angry with her. I had no idea what they were talking about. This aunt and I had chatted recently online, but I thought it was amiable. I told my mom I was fine and that I had nothing to be angry about. Then I got off the phone and knew that wasn’t true at all. In combing back through that talk with my aunt, she made a comment about wishing I was back home to find a job there. Like maybe I made a mistake by leaving. And that touched on a very sensitive spot. Between her and my mom, I made the sinking realization that they don’t understand the real reason why I left home.

My family thinks I’m choosing to live away from them simply because of job availability. And now that there are openings in my field there, my aunt wishes I would come back home. As if it’s that simple. As if my employment is all that matters right now. Don’t get me wrong—the job search is stressful and of course I want to have a career. But you know what the truth is? I would rather be unemployed and struggling here than living comfortably back in that sheltered little white suburb. To my relatives, that place is home. Do they even realize how small that world is? And how profoundly lonely it is for me? I don’t think they see any fault in my upbringing. Summer culture camp and adoption group parties at major holidays were deemed adequate. Bottom line: it wasn’t enough. But they weren’t taught this. And I, as a child, didn’t know any better. And it all infuriates me. It infuriates me that, deep down, I feel as though I have to choose between my family and affirming the Korean part of my identity. Both are important, but it seems I cannot have both in the same place.

It is what it is. No one can go back in time and infuse more of Korea into my history or my hometown. Or rewrite the adoption education my parents were given before bringing me home. There is no one specific person or source to blame. So, what I’m left with is anger and a lasting bruise that still hurts when pressed. It aches for all those forces beyond your control; for all that never happened, but should have.

Spicy ramen

2011-09-18T21:37:00.003-04:00

Over the past month or so, I’ve been making a concentrated effort to lead a healthier lifestyle. I’ve been working out regularly, cooking balanced meals and even taking a multivitamin. It feels good to know I’m actively pursuing my own wellness. I’ve noticed a difference in my overall mood and the positive feelings are motivation enough to stay disciplined. However, I’m only human and there’s one craving that I don’t think I will ever be able to shake for the life of me. As the title of this post would suggest, I’m talking about a tasty little snack called spicy ramen. Cheap and chock-full of MSG. Yum.

You might assume I developed this affair in college seeing as ramen is a poor undergrad staple, but no. If anything, college actually turned me off to ramen, particularly the chicken and beef Cup Noodles which I now feel nauseated by. I won’t eat any kind of ramen anymore except for the spicy variety. On rainy days I especially crave it, more than soup or a hot cup of tea. I just want a bowl of those fiery noodles with my name on it.

My body has a number of sensory memories stored in it, but the one associated with spicy ramen is maybe the strongest I have so far in my 25 years of life. It takes me back to Buan, my birthplace. In my entire life, I have spent less than 24 hours there. I was born in the evening and shuttled straight to Seoul, my omma relinquishing me immediately. It wasn’t until this past June that I finally went back to see the city for myself. A cheerful young guide accompanied me on a three hour bus ride and it was cloudy when we arrived. We only spent around four hours there and didn’t do anything too extravagant. It is not an extravagant place to be honest, but it was my entry point into the world. An imperative piece of my life. To simply be there with all my senses snapped on was enough. There was no joy or even deep sorrow for that matter, but some amorphous mix of emotion that I still fail to find a name for. I had initially hoped to purchase an item there to remind me of the experience, but as we passed stores on the street, the notion began to feel cheap. No single item could ever capture what it felt like to be there.

So, the souvenir I ended up bringing back with me is a love for spicy ramen. We missed our intended bus back to Seoul and ended up having a hurried lunch before catching the next available trip. By then the cloudy sky had burst with heavy rain, so we ducked into this small restaurant where a woman made us fresh kimbap and brought us large bowls of spicy ramen. I had never had spicy ramen before and my mouth was on fire after a few bites, but we didn’t have time to eat it slowly, so I kept shoving it into my mouth even as my nose started running. We were sitting at a wooden bar and I had my wet umbrella balanced between my knees. I realized that my time in Buan would be ending very soon and the only thing I had left to do there was eat well, so I did. When we were finished, we literally ran to the bus station and climbed onto the heavily air-conditioned bus all soggy and shivering. And just like that, Buan became a known part of my past.

I hope that I can go back again one day. Maybe stay for a more extended period and get to know the place better. Talk to people (or at least try to). I couldn’t resist the temptation to carefully observe the people, especially those who might look to be near my omma or appa’s ages. Maybe I could walk into a shop and the owner would exclaim my striking resemblance to someone they know. If only, right? For now, I am settling for a bowl of spicy ramen on a rainy day because it brings me back to Buan. I eat it quickly, too, even if I have the time to go slow. I set my mouth on fire because I don’t want to forget what it feels like. What I felt like finally back in the context of where everything began.

Our hidden biases

2011-09-09T17:28:00.005-04:00

I recently visited home for a few days and my mom asked if we could go see The Help together. She had already seen it once, but loved it so much she wanted to go again. I agreed to go, although I honestly had no gripping desire to see the movie. It ultimately was a more than decent film and I even got emotional a few times. Through my peripheral vision, I could see my mom getting choked up quite a bit. She has a tendency to get drowsy in movie theaters, but she sat through the entire film spellbound. I found myself wondering why this movie resonated so much with her, particularly as a white woman. What value did it have?

Over dinner following the movie, I decided to ask her how The Help made her feel. She said both sad and happy: sad because people of color had to endure such unfair treatment but happy because society has become more accepting since that time. It suddenly clicked in my head that my mom was alive during the time period portrayed in the movie. She was a teenager then and living in the south, even. It is so easy to take your family for granted, but they can give you the kind of history lessons you don’t get in school. My mom has seen decades of things that I was not around to witness. I realized that I don’t know my mom’s full history and experiences with race. So, I decided to ask her about what she saw back in the sixties and this is what she shared.

Fresh out of high school in Florida, my mom took a job at a Laundromat. One of her co-workers was a young black man whose name she can’t recall now. She said he had a family and that he was a nice person whom she liked working with. She said that the Laundromat was located right near a Burger King where workers would often get lunch, but the establishment refused to serve people of color, so my mom would routinely get the man’s food and bring it back to him. She also recalled a time when her father was late picking her up from a shift. This man wanted to give her a ride home, but ended up not doing it out of fear. He was scared that white men would see them together and beat him up for it or worse. My mom expressed sadness at the ways in which he was so limited and I could see that her emotion was genuine.

I know it’s not some grand social activist story, but I was still touched by my mom’s actions and by her capacity to care about someone whom society said not to. However, it also raises more confusion for me. This simple story rewrote some of my understanding of my mom’s views regarding race. Throughout my life, my mom never had a nonwhite friend. Our community is predominantly white. My mom’s social circles consist of other white people. It really is white suburbia. Crossing color lines doesn’t happen by chance. If you’re going to cross those lines, you do it deliberately. And my mom never really did that. Heck, I never really did that. It’s so easy not to do that, no matter where you live. The city I’m in now is diverse, but glaringly segregated. There are plenty of kindhearted people living in complacent existence. Movies like The Help come along to remind us of the history and the struggles, but then we slip back into our everyday lives which aren’t quite so multicolored. The movie screen is one thing and reality is another one entirely. Have I mentioned that my mom has 'banned' me from ever dating a black guy? And that she has never been able to provide a reason why?

As a woman of color, it is difficult for me to comprehend how my mom chose to bring me into the family, yet can still turn her back on other people of color. She has said she wouldn’t mind me marrying an Asian guy at all. She enjoys my Korean cooking and supports my exploration of Korean culture. She is willing to share me with my birth family should we ever reunite and wants to know them, too. Asian is okay to love. But black isn’t? It’s okay to work with a black man, but not to bring him home. I do believe that she genuinely liked her co-worker at the Laundromat. And that she genuinely felt sympathy for the women in The Help. But those feelings have never translated into cultivating a close personal relationship with a black person. How do all these thoughts and emotions coexist in one person’s mind? How can you simultaneously care about and reject someone?

This is all so convoluted. Is my mom some horrible raging white supremacist? No! But has she in her heart truly embraced all people of color? No. The dating restriction she has given me speaks most clearly to that. As a public matter, race is a no-brainer for my mom. She believes that people of color should be treated no differently than whites, that everyone should be respected and have access to the same resources. But as a private matter, race is not that simple. Out in society, everyone is valued the same, but in our home, a white or Asian husband for me is more valuable over any other. Is race the same for you as both a public and private matter? I’m not even sure what my own answer is right now. At times I have considered one day becoming a foster parent or adopting an older child domestically. Most youth in the child welfare system are not the same race as me and you know what? I do heavily question my ability to provide for a black child what they need when I myself do not even have a close black friend. I’m so imperfect in all of this, too. I don't believe people who say "I don't see color" because we ALL have our biases. Are your beliefs still the same when you’re in your house and when you walk out the door? It’s something for everyone to think about as uncomfortable as it may be.

Blurred lines

2011-08-24T11:35:00.003-04:00

When you’re a single twentysomething and most of your friends start slowly but surely moving towards long-term relationships/marriage/babies, it’s all but impossible to not think about your own relationship status and what your future holds. A lot of people get married in their twenties and just make it look so darn natural. And it really is quite natural for a lot of people, but I think I might be an exception. Now more than ever I am considering this reality. I think about this stage of life which Erikson refers to as Intimacy vs. Isolation. Share your life with someone else or do your own thing flying solo. Which side of that vs. do I want to be on? And how do I negotiate that with my identity formation that continues to happen as a transracial adoptee?

I was in Barnes & Noble the other day and got caught up in this book by American actress Diane Farr called Kissing Outside the Lines which is all about interracial relationships. Farr, a white woman, married Chung Seung Yong, a Korean man. She talks about the struggles they have experienced and also interviews other interracial couples. I was skeptical when I realized an actress was the author, but it’s actually a fascinating read. Maybe what was most refreshing about it was someone tackling the issue of race head-on and making it clear how much race truly still matters, despite the colorblind perspective trying to take over. Isn’t it ironic how some people can preach equal treatment for everyone, but then flip out when one of their own crosses those color lines to find love?

To be honest, now I’m just confused. As a transracial adoptee, those color lines get blurred. For all the progress I’ve made trying to learn more about my Korean heritage and connect with other Asians, I still find myself most often drawn to white suburbanite guys. Given my upbringing, those guys are more familiar to me than guys of my own ethnicity. Even though me being with a white guy would represent an interracial relationship, culturally, I might still have more in common with him. We might not necessarily have the same kind of barriers other interracial couples might have because I grew up so whitewashed. I just have to watch out that I don’t pick someone trying to fulfill an Asian fetish. I know who I am (well, for the most part), but you can’t control how everyone sees you and I know there are men out there who see Asian women as exotic little mail-order brides. I think I’ve been fortunate to avoid such men thus far. However, that doesn’t mean I don’t have a vigilant eye out.

It seems like no matter whom I choose to be with, there may be some kind of cultural misunderstanding, at least initially. It all comes down to people looking at my Asian face and forming expectations based on that. One man might look at me and think subservient China doll. Another might look at me and think we share a cultural upbringing when we don’t. I do think about the possibility of marrying into an Asian family, a Korean family, even. If I never reunite with my birth family, marriage might be my only chance to experience what it’s like being part of a Korean family. My own family has already expressed how happy they’d be if I married an Asian guy which I find..kind of weird. I don’t think they fully realize how significant that union would be. If they’re using me as their standard for what other Asians are like (which I think some of them are), they will be in for a surprise! I am the only Asian in my family. There are no other Asians through adoption, marriage or otherwise. Maybe it would be nice to not be the only one, but there are still other challenges that would come with that. What if I fell in love with a Korean guy and then his family did not accept me as Korean enough? I don’t even need to be put into that situation to know it would be devastating.

At this point in time, I admit I am taking the path of least resistance. For me, to pursue a relationship with a Korean guy raised in a Korean family is maybe the scariest possibility of all. It means risking another rejection. So, I’m not doing that. Not that I’ve had the opportunity to recently anyways. Instead, I’ve started seeing a guy with dirty blonde hair and green eyes. He has rather beautiful eyes. They’re nothing like mine. Will I go my whole life never being with a Korean guy? Does it matter in the end? I really don’t know anymore. At the end of the day, I just want to find someone who sees me as enough. Someone whom I don’t have to worry about being white enough for or Asian enough for. I’m still so young with so much left to learn about relationships. I hope I’m brave enough to fight for love no matter what color it comes in.

Article time!

2011-08-13T14:39:00.003-04:00

No post today, just an article to share over at the Awl written by KAD journalist Sarah Idzik: Return to the Motherland. The article discusses the KAD experience upon returning to Korea from multiple adoptee perspectives (including yours truly). Check it out if you get the chance! Happy weekend!

Gratitude (but not the kind you might be thinking of)

2011-08-07T13:41:00.003-04:00

I am one notarized document away from sending in all my paperwork to start the search for my birth family. And I feel weirdly peaceful about it. I’m about to embark on a life-changing process that has no predictability, that may reveal new, more complex emotions, that could hurt me, even. I know the risks involved and yet I’m walking deliberately in this direction. It feels right to do this now as the person I am now, if that makes sense. And as I reflect on everything, I realize one of the biggest feelings I’m experiencing in this moment is gratitude. Towards my mom.

I have listened around the adoption sphere enough to know that gratitude doesn’t have the best reputation. You know, gratitude: the concept of adoptees being indebted/grateful to their parents for being adopted or as some might even put it ‘saved’ from (insert some example of a decreased quality of life here). Just so we’re clear, this sentiment makes me cringe. Remember, I am the anti-pity girl who doesn’t need or want anyone’s charity! My mom didn’t save me from a third world country in the name of God or anything like that. And thank goodness. I honestly think I would be different today if I knew my mom adopted me as part of some grand humanitarian project. Heck. no. So, we’re clear on that, yes? I don’t feel as though I owe that kind of gratitude to my mom nor has she demanded it of me.

But I am feeling a different kind of gratitude and I wasn’t even thinking about it so much until yesterday. Mom and I were having a casual phone conversation when I brought up that I had finished filling out most of my birth search paperwork. She expressed how happy she was for me that I was doing this. And that’s all it took. I started crying and going on about happy I was that she was supporting me through it all. How thankful I was. I don’t even know if she understood half of what I said! I was just overcome with gratitude for her love and, maybe more than that, her selflessness. She said she would love it if I were able to meet birth family and keep in regular contact with them as a permanent fixture in my life. She acknowledged that this is an important part of who I am and who is she to stop me from pursuing it? It meant everything to hear those words spoken out loud. Everything.

I wish my mom’s attitude were the norm with adoptive parents, but I’m not entirely sure that it is after talking to other adult adoptees. I have friends who can’t even talk to their parents about their adoption without someone getting defensive and shutting down. It seems to me that some parents see their adult child’s interest in his or her roots as a threat. That they’ll watch their child grow up and then run away to Korea and never come back. It makes me so sad to know that this is the reality for many families. If this is how my mom felt, I would be heartbroken. This search is so significant for me. I think it has been easier for me to do things like go to Korea and pursue the search because she has accepted my decisions. She understands that me exploring my heritage and looking for answers does not take away from the fact that I will always, always be her daughter. She is not clinging to me with fear, but opening her heart to the possibilities.

I don’t want to leave this on some surreal, picture perfect note. Let me also be clear that we are not the sublime mother-daughter duo. We don’t do or say all the right things to each other every day. There are adoption things I bring up sometimes that I know she doesn’t ‘get’. But today I just needed to express my gratitude for the relationship we have. I realized that not all parents are like her. She has made the distinction that I am her daughter; not her possession. She was my soft place to land as a child, but I’m an adult now and she is learning the art of letting go while still supporting me. I asked her why she didn’t force me into doing the birth family search when I was a kid and she said, “I just knew you would do things in your own time. It was your choice.” Even when I was young, she was respecting my decisions and gave me enough room to let me become who I need to be. This is possibly the greatest thing my mom has ever given me and that is something to be thankful for, whether you are adopted or not.

KAAN!

2011-07-26T14:07:00.004-04:00

If I had been more organized, I would have spread the word on this earlier, but alas.. I'm so excited to say that I will be attending this year's KAAN Conference! KAAN stands for Korean American Adoptee Adoptive Family Network. This volunteer-run organization holds a conference every year in a different location. This year's destination is Atlanta, Georgia. I've never been to a KAAN conference or Georgia for that matter, so I'm thrilled! There will be movie screenings, activities and many sessions to attend during the event. I truly am sorry I didn't share about this earlier since the conference is this coming weekend. It seems like a marvelous opportunity and, best of all, seems like it will be representative of diverse perspectives within the community. A friend and I ended up registering very last-minute and I'm just so glad to be going. If you would like to know more, please visit their website: http://www.kaanet.com

And if you're reading this and happen to be attending, drop me an email (chopsticksoo(at)yahoo.com--sorry for no hyperlink, but I'm trying to avoid spam)! I'm looking forward to meeting new people and making the most of this experience.

Location, location, location

2011-07-22T16:14:00.002-04:00

Well, I took the plunge. I am now living, officially, away from home for the first time. The lease is signed. I opened a bank account, changed my address on my license and all those good things. I am a little nervous, mostly because I have yet to secure employment, but it’s exciting to be here, too. A number of months ago, I wasn’t sure I’d have the guts to make this move. After a lot of tears, sleepless nights and discussions with my mom, here I am. They sure call them growing pains for a reason, don’t they?

There are a number of reasons why I chose to make the move and I will freely admit that one of them is to connect more closely with Korean culture and other adoptees. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how difficult it can be connecting with Korean adoptees when you don’t live in a big city. The area I’m in isn’t huge, but it is definitely a step up from my tiny suburban hometown which has no significant Korean community or adoptee organization to speak of. Where I grew up is not a bad place to live by any means. It just doesn’t provide what I need anymore. My Korean heritage has become so important to me and the thought of living anywhere that stifles my ability to explore it..hurts. It’s isolating. I needed to break out of those confines.

And I know I’m not the first one to feel this way. Based solely on my own observations, I have noticed something about the Korean adult adoptees I know. Those who are more interested in their heritage tend to live in bigger cities where there is greater diversity and opportunity. Those who are not as interested tend to live in smaller communities where there are fewer opportunities to explore their birth culture. It kind of makes sense. I don’t want to be one hour away from the nearest place that serves soondubu jigae, but someone who never acquired a taste for it wouldn’t miss it!

I don’t know that I can say I regret growing up a Korean child in such a non-Korean place. Can you regret decisions you didn’t make? I don’t really hold a lot of resentment, but sometimes it makes me sad to reflect on the ways in which I was isolated as a girl. Aside from the fellow adoptees I knew through adoption group, I had no Asian friends. I couldn’t use chopsticks or speak a lick of Korean. I didn’t have any Asian adults as role models growing up, either. And now, at 25, it seems I’m trying to make up for lost time. Now I think about the youngest generation of Korean adoptees. Some of them are probably growing up in small, non-diverse areas just as I did. Are they getting what they need? Is it different today than when I was young? I hope so, but I don’t know enough to be sure.

Deep down, I know I won’t settle in my hometown again unless/until my mom ages to the point of needing me there. She’s my mom. I’ll always come back for her. But when I think to the long-term of where I want to spend my life, I want to live someplace that I love where I can be the person I want to be. If I ever have children one day, I want us to live somewhere that I can adequately share my roots with them..because my roots will become their roots as well. And even if they end up not being interested, they at least deserve to know that their heritage is always there for them, ready for them to embrace it at any moment.

I don’t have a choice, but I’d still choose you

2011-07-05T17:17:00.001-04:00

I want to talk openly about one of the most emotional parts of my trip to Korea. Although I have already discussed it with my mom, I feel compelled to share it here as well. It occurs to me how stoic I might come across on this blog at times and, truthfully, that has been intentional. I have always been guarded (if not overly so) with my emotions. However, I literally reached a breaking point on my trip which involved me crying in front of a group of people. I wasn’t an exception since everyone was crying, but for me it was a rare moment of vulnerability and has led me to face a difficult aspect of being adopted.

The context of all this emotion was at a maternity home where unmarried women reside during their pregnancy. Our group met with a handful of young women, most of whom were pregnant, and one who had recently placed her child for adoption. Also joining us were two older women (maybe in their 50s), both of whom placed their children for overseas adoption years ago. One had reunited with her child and the other had not. We were to have a discussion with the help of a translator and eyes were glassy before it even started. The girl sitting opposite me was 17—the same age as my omoni was when she gave birth to me and that hit hard. She was so much a child, speaking softly with averted eyes. To see her breathing, talking, crying right in front of me brought that which has always been so far away into startling focus. One of the older women could barely speak and simply held her face in her hands. She was the woman who had not reunited with her child, but desired to and her anguish spoke to the reality of adoption: one family has to come apart in order for another one to come together. The room was so heavy with sadness from everyone. We continued to cry throughout the discussion as people shared their stories of fear, rejection and uncertainty. It was both intense and surreal to be there. We were so drained that most of us slept afterwards on our bus ride to Busan.

I think we knew that this experience was destined to be a highly emotional one, but I don’t know if we were all crying for the same reasons and I realized that my tears were coming from a very specific place. It was actually another adoptee’s words that got me thinking. She commented on how, in a way, it was comforting to see the women crying over their decision. And I instantly understood what she meant. We saw it with our own eyes; their struggle that came with parting from their children or the thought of parting from their children. The choice of adoption for these women was not one easily or painlessly chosen. For the older women, their decisions still had a strong emotional impact so many years later.

Perhaps you think it cruel for someone to find comfort in their pain, but I don’t want you to misunderstand. I am not sitting here with a vengeful heart sticking pins in a voodoo doll. I am saying that some adoptees (or maybe more than some) would like to know that, on some level, we were wanted by the woman who gave birth to us. That she fought internally over us and cried over us. That she desired to be our mother even just a little bit. That she cared. Simply that she cared. The women we spoke to were having a hard time and it was almost a relief to see that. I don’t wish them a lifetime of regret and sorrow, but to see someone not hurt at all over letting her child go would be even more heartbreaking to witness. Because it begs questions you don’t want answers to, but do. Was I that easy to give up? Was I that easy to get over?

One of the women at the maternity home told us that we must know our birth mothers all hold a place for us in their hearts and love us. I understand that she was coming from a truly compassionate place in telling us this and I appreciate her kindness, but I don’t really know if that is how my own omoni felt/feels. It was not her voice saying those words. She did not even know she was pregnant with me. She went to the doctor complaining of stomach pain, found out she was pregnant and gave birth to me three days later. I was relinquished for adoption and brought to Eastern Social Welfare almost immediately. Did she ever want me? Did she have enough time to process even a thread of desire? She only had three days and she was probably extremely traumatized by the realization. Barely any time to bond with me, to cry and deliberate over what to do as the young women in the maternity home were doing. What was she thinking and feeling at that time? There are so many questions which may never have answers.. I am a person who has a place in this world and who is loved beyond description, but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to experience some hurt in all of this.

Even if she knew she didn’t have a choice, I hope some part of her wanted to choose me anyway.

My biological clock is NOT ticking, but..

2011-06-30T11:18:00.002-04:00

I’m back in the states and finally un-jet lagged enough to write! However, trying to figure out what to say in my first post-Korea entry has been surprisingly daunting. Over the past few days I have attempted to sort out the memories and emotions to no avail. So, instead of summarizing the trip, my various thoughts and experiences will probably unfold throughout numerous entries.

Today I am thinking about a baby. On my final day in Korea, I spent the morning at Eastern Social Welfare’s baby home which is where a number of babies are cared for prior to entering a foster home (and then eventually an adoptive home). I played with and soothed babies for over an hour. Many of them were preemies. They were so delicate and vulnerable. I wanted to hug all of them close, but I fell in love especially with one baby boy who looked at me with these big curious eyes. He had been crying in his cradle and became instantly contented once I picked him up. I realized possibly for the first time how intoxicating it can be to care for an infant. The way they look up at you and need you fills your heart in the most indescribable way. I probably only held him for around 20 minutes, but it was enough to reduce me to mush. To say it was hard for me to leave that room would be an understatement. Looking at the number of workers compared to babies, I don't know how much individual attention they really get.. All that baby wanted was someone to pay him attention.

Now I am miles away and wondering if that boy’s mother ever got to hold him before he was brought to Eastern. And if she did, how on earth did she manage to let him go? Is she thinking about him right now? Because I can’t stop thinking about those sweet eyes. He is not yet a Korean adoptee, but perhaps he will be soon and, in some weird sense, I feel connected to him for that. I wonder what kind of life he will have growing up and what kind of feelings he will have towards being adopted. He will grow up in a different age than I did. Maybe he will get to avoid some of the frustrations and sadness that I experienced, or maybe he will simply experience them in smaller amounts. Or, worse, bigger amounts. But I so deeply hope that wherever he ends up, he finds home and some sense of peace.

As corny as this sounds, holding him inspired me. I know I want to contribute to the adoption field in some capacity. It’s one reason why I blog at all—because adult adoptee voices are needed and should inform adoption. Telling our stories, I hope, is one way of improving quality of life for the newest generations of adoptees. I still don’t really know where my niche will be in all of this, but I somehow feel one step closer to it.

An American in Seoul

2011-05-31T22:00:00.003-04:00

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m only about two weeks away from departing for Korea! I know I haven’t really discussed this on the blog in many months. Too many things have been on my mind, but right now I am absolutely focused on my trip. After much debate, I chose to do an adult adoptee tour which will be for ten days. Coming to that decision was incredibly difficult for me and I may have to dedicate a different post to this later. I felt very conflicted for a while which is another reason why I failed to blog anything about it. At this moment, however, I am mostly excited to be going and busying myself trying to prepare.

I’m preparing in some pretty standard ways, like finding travel-sized containers for toiletries and getting a converter plug, but the biggest thing for me has been preparing to adapt to Korea. There is so much I don’t know. I am a foreigner to my birth culture. However, I won’t look like a foreigner in Korea at all. My mentee even told me that I am the average height of a Korean woman. People will expect me to be like them when I’m just not in so many ways. It’s already happened to me multiple times in the US, so in Korea I can only imagine it will happen tenfold. And Korea really does have such a homogenous population. How can I blame them for assuming? To come across an ibyang (Korean word for adoptee) is probably not a typical experience.

So, really, preparation for me has been about learning to be ‘more Korean’. I’m not going to lie: a big part of me wants to fit in. Maybe that is a juvenile thing to say, but it’s honestly how I feel. I do not want to be stumbling through every day in Korea as this glaringly American foreigner having no idea about language or cultural norms, especially when I am Korean myself! I’ve been cramming Korean language lessons into my head, learning about manners and even put my ears on a strict diet of Korean music only. If this sounds a little ridiculous, it probably is. I kind of feel like this is middle school all over again when I had to have gel pens, wear flared jeans and watch South Park just so I could discuss it with other kids at school.

The thing is, TV shows and fashion are just trends that fade away, but Korea will always be a part of me. Maybe all this determination to learn about the culture is a phase. Or maybe it’s something more than that. Maybe it’s a path leading to a better sense of who I am. Some KADs seem so confident and grounded in their sense of self while others seem to be in a perpetual identity crisis. I’m….somewhere in that fray. Learning Korean is getting a little frustrating, but I have always loved learning languages. And k-pop over the past year has slowly made its way into my regular music rotation. There is definitely a pleasure that comes from having these pieces of Korea in my life. I don’t pursue these things solely out of obligation, but because they bring an extra level of joy to my life. They might not necessarily make me ‘more Korean’, though, whatever that even means. And, at the end of the day, what’s wrong with me being American? I am American and that’s not something I can simply erase when I arrive in Seoul. Like Korea, America will always be a part of me, too. It’s always been my dominant culture and, while it’s certainly not perfect, there are things about being American that I love.

I am a Korean American adoptee. It’s only taken me up to this point to really stand back, look at each word and think ‘what the heck does that mean, anyway?’. I have a feeling it’s a question I will spend my whole life answering.

Qs & As

2011-05-25T12:18:00.003-04:00

I think we’re all a bunch of control freaks. Well, to some extent at least. What I really mean to say is that we like having answers. Answers create a safety blanket. Having those answers allows us to feel like we are in control of our lives. We can hold those answers close and turn our backs on the endless, intimidating unknown. Sometimes it doesn’t even matter how valid those answers are. Just anything, anything to not have to look the unknown in the face. Anything is better than not knowing. Because not knowing can be hell. We’ve all had those sleepless nights with unanswered questions rolling around in our head. It doesn’t feel good at all.

My mom is one such person who really can’t stand not knowing and she dealt with it recently by going to a Tarot card reading at a friend’s house. She did it on a whim and almost didn’t tell me about it for two reasons: 1.) I don’t really believe in Tarot and 2.) She asked questions about me. She had the 30 minute session recorded on an audio CD which we listened to together. Most of what she asked I expected to hear. She asked about my dad, other relatives, her health and if I will ever get married (of course). No surprises there. But then she threw both me and the Tarot reader by asking about my birth family. The reader, up until that point, clearly had no idea that I was adopted. However, she answered my mom’s questions. The answers? She does not see me ever meeting my birth family, but “not for lack of trying”. She also got the sense that my omma is no longer living (which is kind of striking considering she would only be 41 years old today). In sum, discouraging news. It was weird to even hear someone saying these things out loud, regardless of whether or not they were true.

Days later I’m still thinking about this. I am an adoptee which saddles me with an extra set of unknowns by default. We are no strangers to knowing what it's like to not be in control, to have questions hanging out there all loose and messy with no quick fixes. But how many of these questions do I really want answers to? Even if I did believe in Tarot, I’m not sure that I would have done what my mom did. If given the choice, would you want to just know everything straight up all at once like that? The unknowns torture me, too, but I have to wonder if having all the answers is really the answer. For all our chasing after answers, sometimes answers only lead to more questions and more chasing. So, when does it end? I’m starting to think it ends with accepting that our lives will always be characterized by some level of unknown. Honestly, I don’t want to spend my entire life fighting for control, fighting for knowledge and knowledge and knowledge. Where will it get me?

I asked my mom if she believed everything the Tarot reader said. She said, “Some of it, but I hope you still search for your birth family anyway.” And I will. I’m no different than anyone else in wanting to eliminate some of this unknown. I just don’t want to be so busy always looking for answers that I lose sight of the good things already in front of me. At the end of the day, I don't think having the answers is everything. Not for me, anyway.

Survey opportunity

2011-05-18T21:27:00.004-04:00

If you are an adult transational adoptee (18 years or older) adopted by an American family or an adoptive parent of said adult adoptee(s), please take a moment to complete one of the below surveys. This is an approved research project entitled Stories of Adult Transnational Adoptees and their American Parents. The researchers themselves are an adoptive parent and adoptee. I think what they are doing is fantastic and hope that you can participate or spread the word! The bigger the sample size the better! We need more research in this area of the adoption field.

Surveys (projected to take about 30 min. and I found that to be accurate for me):

For Adoptees
For Adoptive Parents

The researchers will also be conducting in-depth interviews individually with adoptees and adoptive parents in some major cities across the US. If you want to know more, check out their webpage: Stories of Adult Transnational Adoptees and their American Parents

Also, the researchers plan to post the results on their website as well as write a book on their findings! So, bookmark them if you're interested. I'm definitely looking forward to seeing what we can learn from their study.

Chapter 2

2011-05-16T11:41:00.003-04:00

Hi.

...

So, it's been a while and I am hard-pressed as to how I even start this entry. I initially decided to take a hiatus so I could focus on finishing my degree. And then I realized how much fun I was having spending time with friends and living life away from the computer (when school allowed it), so I decided to extend the hiatus a bit. And then, a few weeks ago, when I was finally feeling the itch to sit down and write something again, I found out some chunks of my birth history that left my world tipped sideways. I'm still processing it all. It's amazing how a handful of words on a page can unlock so many emotions. I think I walked through life in a complete daze for days on end. The only thing that really shook me out of it was graduation a few days ago. Graduation? Graduation! A lot can happen in a month..to say the least.

So. Here I finally sit. I feel like I've burned through every feeling in the dictionary over the past few weeks. I've said goodbye to so many dear people and to this phase of my life. I'm tired, but I'm still here and it's time for a new beginning. A new chapter, not only in my personal life, but maybe for this blog, too. I started writing here about one year ago and, looking back, I'm amazed at how much has changed for me since then. Last year I was standing in a different place understanding things in a different way. I know I've grown and I know that the struggle has started in earnest. There have been a number of times recently that I've just wanted to run away from it all, but something brings me back. The bottom line is that I want to keep writing. I want to keep learning from my experiences and from all of you whose words have taught me so much even if you didn't realize it. If you're still with me, welcome to chapter 2.

Stuck behind glass

2011-04-10T17:47:00.003-04:00

Learning how to live with loss is an ongoing process and those rocks that I trip on crop up at the most unexpected times. I think I mentioned in passing that I am mentoring two international students from Korea this semester. It has been such an interesting, fulfilling experience, but things took a scary turn a few weeks ago when one of the girls had trouble breathing. She was hospitalized for pneumonia and is still there as I write this. Fortunately, her parents came here about a week ago and have been visiting her daily. My other mentee and I have gone to visit her a few times as well. Everyone has been concerned, though I am glad to say that she is gradually on her way back to good health.

Our most recent visit was a few days ago and happened to be the first time we ran into her parents. To be honest, meeting them made me slightly anxious. My mentee taught me how to properly greet them and explained to them that I don’t speak Korean. They don’t speak English, so our interaction largely consisted of exchanging smiles. There was an inherent kindness in their faces and I really just wanted to talk to them, to better know the minds behind those faces, but I couldn’t. Among my mentees and the parents, I felt distinctly like the ‘other’. I mean, they were all great and no one was trying to make me feel like an outsider, but the reality is that I am. Maybe I should have an ‘A’ like Hester Prynne, except that it stands for ‘Adopted’. Any stranger passing by would likely assume that we all share a language and culture.

And then there it is, that pang of loss. It’s like being stuck behind glass. I can see them, hear them, but my skin keeps hitting that hard barrier and I am not equipped to break cleanly through. I’m one of them, but I’m not. And then I think of my own Korean parents. Do they know any English? Maybe they know about as much as I know of Korean and that is not nearly enough. If we ever meet, how can we have a conversation? How can a translator possibly process the years lost between us? The emotions? Omoni, the woman who gave birth to me, whose face mine might be modeled off of, and I could not speak freely and easily to each other. There is something unjust about it.

Somewhere inside, I had a feeling ‘stuff’ would come up during my mentoring experience once I realized I had two Korean students. And I even had the foresight to remind myself that if it happens, it’s okay as long as I figure out how to handle it so that I can continue to meet my mentees’ needs. I just didn’t expect it to come up like this and never thought I would be meeting one of my mentees’ parents. We are so utterly foreign to each other. I don’t want to feel foreign to my own flesh and blood, but I am. We are. I still want to start my search this summer. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared about it. Even if we reunite, there will still be barriers to overcome. There is both a sadness and fear in me as to what could get lost in translation.

Boiling point

2011-04-03T13:07:00.003-04:00

Oh, I am livid. I had no plans to make a post today, but now I am just angry and need to vent. Writing while angry might not be the best idea as it typically leads to one saying things they may later regret. Oh well. Here we go.

I was browsing my hometown news channel’s Facebook page this morning and came across a story they featured about an adult adoptee searching for her birth family. I was so excited! Until I made the dumb decision to read the user comments below. Life lesson #8493: Reading user comments on almost any online publication will inevitably lead to frustration/despair. Because if there’s any place people can completely strip themselves of decorum, it’s the internet. I suppose I should look at the positive and make note that the majority of the comments were supportive and kind. However, I need to be a Debbie Downer for five minutes and share my two favorite comments:

“I hope the birth mother's rights and wishes are being respected.”

“Unless you are searching for your birth mother because of EXTREME HEALTH problems-- I would consider this a SLAP in the FACE to the family that adopted you and raised you all these years.”

Let’s start with the birth mothers comment. I am not saying that birth mothers should be disrespected, but what about the adoptee’s rights and wishes? I feel as though I am repeating myself from my last entry when I say that we appear to be the least powerful of the adoption triad. As infants and children, we did not have any autonomy regarding these decisions. It was professionals and other adults who were tasked to decide our futures. Not us. So, when we become adult adoptees who can think for ourselves, it is frustrating to see people still indicating to us that we do not have control. That we should not be able to pursue reunion with birth family because years ago someone else said no. I still intend on initiating a search and I’m not going to apologize for it because I strongly feel that it is my right. My rights and wishes deserve to be just as respected as my birth family’s and my adoptive family’s.

And now for the SLAP in the FACE comment (you have to love the caps lock emphasis). So many times I have seen adult adoptees have to defend themselves over this ridiculous opinion. Apparently wanting to search for birth family makes us ungrateful traitors. I never understood why some people look at adoptees from such a one-dimensional standpoint. We’re either the ‘good’ adoptees who love our families and love being adopted or the ‘angry’ adoptees who hate our families and the adoption system, right? Adoption, to me, is all gray matter. But, for the record, it is possible for an adoptee to deeply love their family while also wanting to pursue a birth family search and/or look at adoption critically. It is entirely possible. I know I am not the only living example of this.

Maybe it is easier for me to say these things because I have a parent who is so supportive of me pursuing a search. I know other adoptees whose parents have shown strong insecurity at them looking for birth family. Even in discussing my desire to search with some friends, I have noticed them transferring their own insecurity into the conversation with comments like, “Won’t your mom be hurt?”. Did it ever occur to them to look at the other side of the coin? That perhaps I may feel hurt if I never search? I am tired of living under the expectation that I must bend myself, fit myself into all the right corners and angles so as to accommodate the feelings of everyone else but my own.

Post adoption services: Where are they?

2011-03-29T21:19:00.003-04:00

I want to start by linking an honest, well-written article I read this morning by an adult Korean adoptee who discusses his past experiences working in the adoption field: http://www.slanteyefortheroundeye.com/2011/03/guest-post-business-of-adoption_29.html

The article especially resonated with me as my last month of grad school fast approaches. I am studying to be a social worker and the idea of getting into the adoption field has crossed my mind countless times. I always figured that being an adoptee could add a valuable layer of perspective to my work, but last year I started feeling uncertain about it. And I realized that the ideas I had in my head about what kind of work I could do in adoption do not match with reality.

Last February I had to start looking for a 2010-2011 internship and the first place I interviewed at was an adoption agency. The whole interview turned into a huge disappointment. I was told my work would largely consist of communicating with prospective parents over the phone. I also realized that they had very few post adoption services. Oh, and to top it all off? I told the interviewer that part of my interest in the adoption field stemmed from being an adopted person myself, to which she just responded with this awkward smile, said “Oh, okay” and moved on. Her nonverbals indicated that I had said something inappropriate. I get that you should use discretion in disclosing details about yourself, but what on earth is wrong with identifying as an adoptee at an adoption agency of all places? I didn’t need a congressional medal of honor or anything. I had just hoped for a more..welcome response. Needless to say, I felt uncomfortable and ended up declining the agency. I knew deep down that it wasn’t what I really wanted to do.

What did I really want? To work with adoptees in some capacity, but I exhausted the list of internship opportunities and no one truly had what I wanted. Every adoption internship was the same—providing services to parents. I consulted with one of my professors who has a background in child welfare. He looked at me with a sigh and said, “Post adoption services just aren’t considered billable services. I’m not saying it’s right, but it’s how things are right now.” Well..dang. I guess I really want to live in a cardboard box one day (prior to settling on social work, I was considering an MFA in poetry).

But back to the bigger issue at hand: where ARE the post adoption services? After reading that article, I am both enlightened and slightly dismayed. Minnesota is practically KAD country. If they cannot secure funding for post adoption services, the area I’m in certainly won’t. You don’t get money if you can’t demonstrate a need for it, but I do believe that adoptees have needs that could potentially benefit from services (counseling, support groups, linkage to community resources, help with search and reunion, even social events just to get together..). Where are the services specifically for adoptees? How did this lack become the norm? Well, not everyone would perceive a lack even existing in the first place I suppose.

One thing I have realized is that the adoption field largely serves birth parents and adoptive parents. Not sure what happened to that so-called triad, but my fear has become that adoptees do not have equal footing compared to the other two. So many people speak of adoption as a one-time event when child is united with adoptive family, but it’s a lifelong process. One day that child will grow into an adult and through it all he or she will always be an adoptee. I think I may very well be renegotiating this identity my entire life. And as much as my mom can support me, as much as we are together an adoptive family, I feel like I need to walk some parts of this journey alone. To discover what being an adoptee means for me as an individual. My mom is not adopted and cannot fully share in this, but I don’t love her any less for it. I’m just wondering where is that place that adoptees can call ours. Where are those services with us in mind as we continue to grow and new questions emerge? How can the adoption field overlook us? Someone is in a state of delusion if they thought the day I was placed into my mom's arms for the first time was the end of the story.

Still work to be done

2011-03-15T20:35:00.004-04:00

Sigh. I have recently learned of two instances of racism directed towards Asians. One has made national coverage and the other hit much closer to home. Both have left me offended and frustrated. It doesn’t matter who the target is; racism is never okay. It especially worries me that these incidents have come right now when Japan is working through a horrific crisis. When people should be responding with compassion. With sensitivity. How are these things too much to ask?

The first instance I am referring to is this video of Alexandra Wallace, a UCLA student making blatantly racist comments about her Asian classmates. Wallace reportedly apologized and said, “I cannot explain what possessed me to approach the subject as I did.” Her delivery of the commentary seemed rather biting and deliberate to me, but I am swimming in a sea of angry bias at the moment. I thought her words were extremely hurtful and judgmental. I have to question her judgment in even posting such a video without expecting to get in some degree of trouble. What really gets me (well, the whole thing gets me) is her quick comment at the beginning of the video that her rant is not directed towards her friends. ‘Friends’ AKA her Asian friends who are clearly not like the other ‘hordes of Asian students’ at the college? A friend once made a similar side note to me when complaining about international students at our school (who are mostly Asian). “Not you,” she added, as though that made the rest of what she said okay. It didn’t. It doesn’t.

The second instance was relayed to me by a friend who teaches preschool. She told me she recently had to stop her 3 and 4 year olds from pulling their eyes into slants. To hear this just made me sad. I had classmates do that to me in grade school, too. Who continues to teach this ignorance? Who continues to allow it? We are all responsible for ending these unacceptable behaviors. We cannot just rely on someone else to do the job. There might not always be someone else. I asked my friend if there were any Asian students in the class and she said yes, one. A little boy who also happens to be adopted from Korea. My heart ached a little.

There was a time when I didn’t care about race and I thought those who did were making a big stink over something already largely resolved. How wrong I was! I remember just a few years back when the picture of Miley Cyrus pulling her eyes into slants was released. I told myself, “She’s young and just messing around. She didn’t mean to offend anyone.” Even if she didn’t mean to hurt someone, she clearly did. Maybe people keep pulling stunts like this because they think they can get away with them. I guess, in a sense, they do get away with them. What more has been asked of Miley Cyrus or Alexandra Wallace than to make a public apology? They get a slap on the hand and say they’re sorry, then the world moves on to the next controversy. What is an appropriate, natural consequence for racist behavior anyways? Yeah, I don’t have a sure answer, either.

I used to worry about sounding like a whiner for bringing these things up. Being viewed as whiney is just never good. But this isn’t whining. This is demonstrating that I am not some static stereotype. I am a human being who feels justifiably hurt when racism is directed at me or others who share my background. No one deserves that kind of treatment. This is me responding honestly to a reality and an injustice. I think about that little preschool boy and I want to be a part of creating something better. There is so much left to do.

Small town girl blues

2011-03-10T18:27:00.003-05:00

Well, it’s time for those famous two words that every college student craves to hear: spring break. One of my professors optimistically wished us a week of ‘sunning and funning’. She has a sense of humor. I say that since most of us will be spending said week in cold, rainy New York. I’m heading back to the hometown for some quality time with family, high school friends and my favorite local Greek restaurant. And I will get to snuggle my sheltie and celebrate her second birthday with her. All of these things are good things. Great things, even.

But. (And you knew a ‘but’ was coming.) In my heart of hearts I am not excited about it. In fact, I seem to be heading towards something closer to depression than elation. This sinking feeling has slowly, quietly crept its way in and I can’t deny it any longer. This is only a taste of things to come..of a future that I’ve realized I really, really don’t want.

After I graduate this May, I will be moving back home. Temporarily, at least. I made this decision a long time ago and, for a while, actually looked forward to that decision. I did not warm up to the city I currently reside in for school right away. I missed home, missed my mom who was ill at the time and missed the kisses from my dog. I chose to move back home post-graduation because, frankly, my mom is aging. She’s 68 and lives alone. Without getting into too many details, her physical and mental health have not been well over the past number of years. I first stepped into caregiver shoes at 19 and it really does come down to me. I am her proxy, her advocate, the one responsible over all others for her. I can’t stray too far. And, for a while, I was okay with that.

But it’s been almost two years since I moved out here for graduate school and suddenly two years doesn’t seem long enough. I’m not ready to leave. This is the first place I’ve lived in my young adult life that I’ve felt so free and able to be me. I have had many fulfilling experiences since being here that have contributed beautifully to my growing sense of identity. I started mentoring a few international students from Korea which has been incredible. They are such sweet people and we have learned so much from each other. I also started meeting up with other Korean adoptees around my age in the area. To find company where you can candidly talk about homeland tours, birth family searches and awkward racial experiences is a gift. A complete gift. Here, there are Korean restaurants, markets, churches..even a noraebang house (which I have not yet embarrassed myself at, but maybe soon). Here is a place I’ve found myself belonging and content in. It’s so much more than I ever had before.

In comparison, my hometown is much smaller and much less diverse. There is no opportunity for me to embrace my KAD identity there. There is nothing Korean there! And maybe I didn’t notice so much as a child, but today I resent it a little. It makes me feel hurt and sad that my heritage does not exist there, that I had to grow up in a neighborhood which I singlehandedly diversified. My mom doesn’t even know any Asians other than me and a handful of KADs from our adoption group. I need to live someplace where I can actually feel culturally relevant and validated. I love my mom more than I’ve ever loved any other human being on this earth. It's been just the two of us against the world for as long as I can remember. Why isn’t that love enough to make me want to stay? I talk of moving back as if I have no other choice which is not entirely true. We always have choices. It's just that being in the throes of a 'life sucks' moment makes them a little hard to see. Sometimes being a transracial adoptee feels like trying to walk in two different directons at once.

Note to self: You’re not white!

2011-02-23T09:48:00.002-05:00

It turns out that this whole ‘identifying as a minority woman’ deal is easier said than done. There is no switch that suddenly clicks on and you’re all set just like that. No, of course it has to be a process. I’m a social worker—I’m supposed to like this process stuff. And yet. Life has been pretty decent as of late, so I guess I’m due for some internal conflict.

Last week I got an email from my university which, upon first glance, just perplexed me. This spring I am graduating (!) and fully intend on attending the social work ceremony. What I did not count on was an email inviting me to a pre-graduation ceremony honoring the academic achievements of minority students. I had no idea such an event even existed. And then to get invited to said event? Even more unexpected! Why? How? Oh, wait. I’m Asian and last time I checked, that qualifies me as a minority. Fancy that.

I know I’m not alone when I say that, as an adoptee, I did not feel very Korean growing up. Sure, the blood that runs through my veins is Korean, but otherwise, I was culturally not Korean. I identified with my family and friends who were virtually all white. Honestly, I even remember looking at my face in the mirror some days and justifying that I didn’t look ‘that’ Asian, especially once I put my glasses on. In retrospect, my self image was quite distorted. I am undoubtedly Asian, but I grew up in white suburbia legitimately believing myself to have white privilege, even though I didn’t know to call it that at the time. It was easy to forget myself and worse? To not even be bothered by it. For so long, I have only been Korean in theory. Definitely, definitely not in practice.

I’d like to think I’ve changed since those days, but sometimes I’m still that high school girl studying her face in the mirror, needing a reminder of who I am. It is weird coming to identify as a minority when you were raised under the umbrella of white privilege. To an extent, I feel that I was somehow protected from oppression which is the narrative of most if not all racial minority groups. Have I even earned the right to call myself a minority? Maybe it’s not something to be earned. I might not ever know fully what it is to be Asian or white, but I feel like pieces of each are a part of me. Some days having both feels like a strength. Other days I quietly wish I was one or the other. Right now, I don’t know whether or not I will summon the courage to attend that ceremony. If I do, they will present me with a stole to wear for my commencement. Can I wear that stole with pride and confidence? Because that is the only way I will want to wear it. The only way I should wear it.

A meaningful experience

2011-02-15T20:45:00.006-05:00

Do you think a transnational adoptee needs to acknowledge their birth culture?

Maybe this sounds like a ‘duh’ question, but I like thinking about these types of questions because they can be so easily taken for granted. I pose this question because, through the blogosphere and various media, I have noticed many APs or future APs eager to integrate their child’s birth culture into the child’s life as much as possible. I’m neither agreeing nor disagreeing. I’m simply curious. What informs us that this is the ‘right’ thing to do? What is a parent’s best hope for their child in making that decision?

My mom started integrating Korea into my life seemingly from the start. We were attending a local adoption group before I was out of diapers. The group was open to any family with adopted children, but ended up largely composed of KADs. We had parties at holidays, celebrated the Lunar New Year and many of us went to culture camp together during the summers. For us kids, it was really just time to have fun with friends. Or, if I’m being very honest, it was time for us to all feel awkward together trying say words in Korean and do a fan dance. By the time I was in middle school, most of my ‘generation’ had dropped out of the group and I didn’t want to go anymore, but my mom kept dragging me until I was about 15. I think she had a harder time letting go of it than me. I really didn’t care anymore. A parent might see this adoption group as a positive thing, but from the adolescent’s perspective, I didn’t see the point (and I really didn’t enjoy how wearing hanboks further flattened my nonexistent chest). If my mom had shoved Korean culture down my throat every day, I think I would have become highly resentful.

Today I am very interested in my heritage, but when I look back, I have to wonder if my mom’s choices to keep me involved in the adoption community affected where I stand now. I’m not really sure that it does. I don’t think that integrating a child’s birth culture into their life is necessarily a predictor for how they will feel about that culture as an adult. And for those who don’t recognize their heritage, are they any worse off than someone like me? Does it matter? I know one other KAD who stayed in the adoption group as long as me and today she’s rather indifferent. She’s married with a family, teaching and comfortably settled in suburbia. She has a good life. Never been to Korea, no plans to go or search for birth family. Does she need some more Korea in her life? I know other KADs just doing their thing and I don’t see anything wrong with it. Maybe one day they will feel differently. Maybe they won’t. I think we have just as much a right to pursue our birth culture as we have a right not to.

At the end of the day, I think we’re all just trying to find some measure of acceptance. Of belonging. The activities I did in adoption group didn’t mean nearly as much as simply being with other Asian kids with white parents. As for playing yut, making mandu, knowing how to write my name in hangul.. Some KADs just don’t give a damn about those things and I say it’s okay! Exploring my Korean heritage is turning out to be meaningful for me, but I’m only speaking for me. Adoptees, like anyone else, all find their own paths to fulfillment.

Prices we pay

2011-02-11T11:38:00.003-05:00

Moment of truth: being a transnational adoptee who wants to explore your roots costs money. The culture camps I attended growing up cost money. The events my adoption group held cost money. Going back to Korea costs money. Searching for your birth family costs money. Money, money, money. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t stress about money. Does being an adoptee cost more? Maybe not for those who aren’t interested in their heritage, but for those of us wanting that connection, it’s time to pay up.

I would save a lot of money if I didn’t go to Korea this summer, but I’m still choosing to go. One could argue that we have the freedom to spend our finances however we want and I would agree with that. No one is forcing me to go to Korea. I made the decision 100% on my own. I decided of the many things in this world I could spend my money on, visiting Korea is the most worthwhile option for me. I have one aunt who is disgusted with me and thinks I’m wasting my finances on some frivolous adventure. She can think whatever she wants. I’m just done explaining myself where no explanations are owed.

Right now, I am fortunate enough to be in a position where investing in a trip to Korea is feasible, but I don’t know so much about the future. I chose a profession which is significantly underpaid. As in not the kind of salary you can travel the world on! I also chose a profession which, at least in some cases like a counselor, can require great consistency and no lengthy vacation times. Although I have deferred my birth family search for now, I do want to search and I would love to go back to Korea multiple times. Especially if reunion works out for me. I’m beginning to worry that my lifestyle choices won’t leave enough room for Korea and that is highly frustrating. Is there a way to have both? I am so thrilled to be going to Korea this summer, but also thrilled to launch my social work career! I want to be the self actualized KAD and the successful, even if poor, career woman. No matter what choices I make, it feels like I am paying the price in some way.

Reality

2011-01-23T14:44:00.001-05:00

This search and reunion stuff is becoming increasingly hard for me to get a grasp on. I still intend to go back to Korea this summer, but now I’m thinking of putting off my birth family search, especially because I will travel without family or friends. The odds are not entirely predictable. It could be that my relatives are never found. Or it could be that they are which could make meeting one or some of them this summer a full-blown reality. And that scares me! How peculiar that must sound..that I’m intimidated by the idea of meeting someone who looks like me and shares my blood. But there you have it. Of the many possibilities, am I ready in the case that this one comes true? I’ve always felt more prepared for the possibility of never reuniting with birth family. They’ve never really been a tangible part of my life. Living without them is the only way I have known how to live. But I also know that a person can miss what they never had. Feeling like an outsider to my birth culture most of my life paired with the sudden death of my dad as an infant make me no stranger to ambiguous loss. You do not have to thoroughly know something or someone to long for their presence in your life. If I never at least try to search for birth family, I know I will regret it. Maybe for me the search process, regardless of outcome, is about closure. About knowing that I did everything I could.

I just don’t know if I can do it right now. Part of me thinks, well, if there is reunion and we maintain contact, wouldn’t I want to have as much time as possible knowing them? Being a part of their lives and me a part of theirs? I don’t think I could face meeting any birth family this summer by myself. The experience would be nothing short of surreal. Can a person even prepare for it? I cannot begin to fathom standing in the same room with my omma, studying her face, hearing her voice, embracing her.. It doesn’t seem real, but it could be. It’s something so completely powerful and beyond words. Something that would change me forever. I don’t feel ready to put myself through those emotions..or at the very least I cannot imagine doing it alone. If I ever go to Korea and meet my birth family, I don’t want to be alone. After that experience, I would want to be talked to and held by someone who loves me. Maybe that’s just me. I even sense myself feeling emotional as I write this. I don’t think I would be able to experience a reunion without the company of someone I know intimately with whom I can process and cry. At this point in time, any people I would wish to accompany me this summer cannot do so. I don’t want to do this by myself. The reality of it all is heavier on me than I thought it would be and I have not even officially initiated my search! It’s possible that even if I started the search now, no one would be found by time I travel to Korea, but there’s still that small chance, isn’t there? Maybe the best thing I can do for me right now is wait. And keep breathing.

The mythical sesame paste

2011-01-21T15:38:00.005-05:00

I just got back from a Korean grocery store where I confused the heck out of its owners. Today being my actual Airplane Day, I was feeling a sense of occasion and decided to invite one of my close friends over for some nice home cooked Korean food. I picked my personal favorite dish--japchae (stir fried noodles with beef and veggies). Now bear in mind that I'm crazy. I've never made japchae before. The only Korean food I've made to date was some mandu dumplings in Korean culture camp when I was a kid and then one semi-experimental grilled beef kebab and kimchi dinner with (a lot of) help from my aunt Jan. So, not a lot of experience there. I don't even cook that much in general (hate to admit it, but it's true). The recipe calls for blanching spinach? What? Hopefully I don't burn the apartment complex down tonight. That would be swell.

Anywho. I stopped at this grocery store which I've been to a handful of times, but always felt kind of shy in. Today I was the only customer in there and one of the owners immediately greeted me in Korean. Although I understood what she said and knew how to reply, I just said "Hi" back not wanting to draw attention to my undoubtedly awkward accent. I browsed the store with my little list and found most of what I needed for the recipe. The one thing I couldn't find? Sesame paste. I went up to the man behind the counter and asked if they carried said item. He had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. We perused through the aisle with sesame seeds, sesame oil and various pastes, but no sesame paste. He went and asked his wife who also was unfamiliar with sesame paste. I told him I was making japchae for the first time and simply following my recipe book. He shrugged and said that he didn't know about cooking with the paste. I figured if he and his wife didn't use it, then my japchae should be fine without it. Now I am questioning the authenticity of my cookbook! I went to Wegmans for a few more items and they also did not carry sesame paste. I googled 'sesame paste' when I came home and it apparently is used in some East Asian cooking. Go figure. Sounds like I'm not missing out on much, though.. I need to go to that grocery more often. The man was nice and wished me luck with the meal. I found myself wanting to explain to him--being an adoptee and all, hence having to use a cookbook and not a Korean omoni's or halmoni's wisdom. But that could have been potentially awkward. It occurred to me that I don't really know what any Koreans or Korean Americans think about KADs..if anything at all.

Well, guess it's time for me to start on my cooking endeavor. Oh boy. I'm going to use Maangchi's recipe since she doesn't use any cooking terms that leave me completely nonplussed! Hopefully my japchae turns out edible, but we have a frozen pizza and alcohol if my efforts go south.

Decisions, decisions

2011-01-16T14:23:00.002-05:00

I want to preface this post by apologizing for its lack of organization as I have about five hundred thoughts running through my head. That's what happens when you make a life-changing decision, although it's not yet entirely made.

The decision? To go back to Korea this summer. At first it was just a little thought that casually drifted into my head and back out again. But then it came back again. And again. I don't know when I drank a glass of carpe diem, but here I am now and I want to--no--need to do this! In May I will graduate with my master's degree. I will then be expected to take my professional licensing exam and gain full-time employment. And then I will be a newbie with no vacation time accrued to even consider traveling..well..anywhere. No. This is not an excuse to defer my enrollment into the adult world. This is a chance to live out my life as an adoptee, to wrap myself in a culture which I never really had, yet somehow miss. Man, I really just need to do this. I haven't put any deposits down or anything, but internally I am already fully committed to this idea.

Unfortunately, it's already mid-January and I need to get my act together. I've been stressing myself out combing through the options, trying to decide what on earth I'm going to do. There are many different ways back. I'm incredibly torn. My first trip back was with a tour. While I was satisfied with that experience, I had hoped that I could do it differently this time. The problem is that I don't know enough Korean to feel safe getting around. My plan is to travel alone. No one else in my life has the interest/time/financial means to go with me, but I'm okay with that. At present, I'm considering trying to get a spot on an adult adoptee tour. My life is hectic enough right now as I have committed to mentoring international students this semester aside from taking my full course load, interning and of course making time for my friends. Realistically, I will not be able to learn enough Korean language and culture to feel confident going solo this summer. A place like KoRoot seems like an excellent option, but I am admittedly scared to take that kind of plunge.

Right now, I see three possible options for going back: a tour, independent travel or school. The tour seems like the safest possibility for me right now and the most realistic. At least an adult adoptee tour, I would be with peers and we could participate in activities that family groups wouldn't necessarily get into (ie noraebang, soju..haha). I wish I were more versed to travel independently. I really do. And while the idea of studying at a university for a semester sounds like a dream, the pressure to get a job is always there..the expectations from others. Maybe part of being an adoptee is sacrifice. I feel like I can't have it all. There is no way to have one foot planted firmly in Korea and one in the United States. In sum...I am frustrated. If anyone reading this has any experience/thoughts on travel possibilities, please contact me either through leaving a comment or email! My head is spinning a little.

Airplane Day

2011-01-13T18:58:00.001-05:00

I guess there really is no one official name for the anniversary date of adoptees being united with their adoptive families, is there? A few people I know call it ‘Gotcha Day’ which is cute. My mom decided to be quite literal and call it Airplane Day (because I came over on a plane..haha). So, that is how I know it. My Airplane Day is January 21st. This year, as in other years that I’ve been in college, we will be unable to celebrate it together, so we did an early celebration a few days ago while I’m still on break. We typically do something pretty low-key. This year we went to one of my favorite local restaurants for hibachi. I would have picked Korean cuisine, except that there are sadly no Korean restaurants near us. My mom also insisted on getting me a gift of some sort as she always does, so I received a pair of dainty teardrop earrings which are my birthstone. I’ve realized at any rate that all my favorite and most-worn pieces of jewelry are from my mom because they were given with great sincerity and affection. She always wants me to be happy on Airplane Day. I don’t expect anything, so I just appreciate what she does.

As an adult, Airplane Day is honestly not too exciting anymore, but as a kid it was something special. I have to say that my favorite Airplane Day was when I was in first grade. For most of my childhood, my mom always tried to get me a gift related to Korean culture. That particular year we celebrated with my grandma (yes, the cute grandma who STILL insists on setting me up with the married worker at the nursing home). It was a joint celebration since Grandma’s birthday falls one day before my Airplane Day. My mom and I gave Grandma a necklace with an amethyst stone which is her favorite gem. She and my mom gave me my first hanbok—a pale pink number with multi-colored accents and printed with delicate gold foil designs. It was love at first sight. I felt as though I had never seen a more beautiful garment in my entire (6 years) of life! It sounds corny to say, but receiving that hanbok made me swell with pride at being Korean and knowing that I came from a country that produced something so elegant. I tried it on almost immediately and felt like a princess in it. Probably would have slept in the dang thing except that it really was not that comfortable. I no longer own a hanbok that fits me, so I look back on this memory as an especially precious one. The thing I’m learning now is that embracing my heritage extends far beyond Airplane Day. Any and every day is a good day to celebrate where I came from and be proud of it. I’m still figuring it out..

Race matters (well, to some of us at least)

2011-01-07T13:11:00.003-05:00

I’ll be the first to tell you that I haven’t had to fight for a whole lot in my life. I’m 24 and I’ve been a student for the majority of those years. Academia is territory where I’ve always thrived and I’m soon to be a master’s level social worker. I’ve always had food to eat, clothes to wear, a roof over my head and a loving family. I have my own car and the means to entertain myself at restaurants, movies etc. And all of these things are a hell of a lot. They’re more than many people have or will ever have. You could say that given the life I’ve led so far, I’ve had the luxury of being able to choose my battles. For most of my life, I’ve been a quiet, reflective person who preferred to be unobtrusive, to not make waves or argue. Heck, I don’t even really enjoy debating for fun. If you keep your mouth shut, no one can tell you you’re wrong or stupid because they’ve yet to have any evidence.

But when it comes to race, I’ve realized that I don’t want to keep my mouth shut and I feel as though I’m beginning to face the consequences. Ever since I started this blog, I’ve taken myself on an exploration I never dared to pursue before. I came to reject the colorblind perspective and recognize that issues raised by transracial adoptees are incredibly important. I came to value my identity more and more, to be proud to be a minority woman. From my perspective, I am growing into the person I want to be and it means the world. What I hadn’t planned on was the reaction of others around me regarding this change. I keenly feel that a few friends have distanced themselves from me and I suspect that they are not comfortable with my interest in race issues. It’s probably different when you’re white. One thing I’ve learned over time is that many (not all) white people are much more comfortable adopting the colorblind perspective and are self conscious about being viewed as racist (can't blame them given history). I’m not here to point fingers. My belief that race matters is just that: a belief. It is not a universal truth and probably never will be. I guess I just never expected some of my own friends to pull away over this. I’ve tried to be sensitive and I never, ever push my beliefs onto others. Maybe I didn't try hard enough. I feel hurt because I read their distancing as a rejection of this part of me which I am finally embracing. It makes me step back and question myself. Am I wrong for believing this way? Is it worth losing friendships over? I value my relationships so much, but I also value being true to myself.

I’m starting to think that this is only the beginning of my struggle. Standing up for race issues feels like an uphill battle. The reality is that a whole lot of people just don’t care and don’t see the point. But to me, there will always be a point. We may have a black president in the US now, but that does not make up for the overrepresentation of black children in the child welfare system or black individuals in prison. That does not make up for the blatant racial profiling in Arizona. That does not make up for the uncertainty I have felt at numerous times in my life when someone else targeted me/mistreated me and I never knew if it was because I was Asian, but always wondered. If you read my last post, then you should know that this is definitely not a request for pity. It’s a request for people to open their eyes, see each other for who we are and love anyway. No, we are not all the same! We are beautifully different and why can’t we just celebrate those differences? I’ll get off my soapbox now.

Anti-pity party

2010-12-30T21:26:00.001-05:00

So. I was recently skimming through a Christian ‘guide to life’ that a cousin gave me for Christmas and it has me a little less than enlightened. One section of the book discusses infertility and brings up adoption as a possibility for couples which is fine by me except that the book takes the stance of referring to adoptees collectively as orphans. A few lines in particular struck me: “We know that God is very concerned for the orphans. Whether a Christian couple decides to pursue adoption or not, it is clear we have a biblical mandate to care for those without family.” Hmm. Last time I checked, many adoptees have living biological relatives. It’s not like we were just dropped from the sky. We came from somewhere, from someone. I know the term ‘orphan’ does not mean the same thing to everyone, but it seems to have a largely negative connotation to me. For me, it’s a very vulnerable and pitiful-seeming word. Thank goodness no one, to my knowledge, has ever called me an orphan. My reaction would NOT be pretty.

I refuse to be viewed as a charity case simply because I am adopted. Unfortunately, I know that there are others out there who believe differently. I will never forget telling a girl in middle school that I was adopted and watching her face contort in sadness. She said, “Omigosh, I’m so sorry!” You’d think I just told her my dog got run over by a car. Really? Even if her reaction was genuine, it irritated the heck out of me. Being an adoptee is NOT a deficit! It’s simply a part of who we are. Owning up to this identity comes with challenges and baggage, but who doesn’t have challenges and baggage? The thing about pity is that it blinds us. If we pity others, we focus on weakness and fail to see the inherent strengths which all individuals possess. If I pity myself, what kind of person do I see when I look in the mirror? I have always had a strong adverse reaction to pity and nowadays I suspect that being an adoptee plays at least some part in that.

I love my mom

2010-12-20T15:02:00.003-05:00

I am sappier than a Hallmark greeting card these days. I blame it on a combination of the holiday season and my mom's complete selflessness. She is a Christmas elf! She baked no less than 50 dozen cookies and has been giving them out to everyone from family to the girls at our local bank. She said, "It's a lot of work, but I want to do good for all the people that have been good to me." She's playing Christmas music and wearing a jingle bell necklace she got from the dollar store. I get bitchy in the holidy traffic and she just keeps singing along with the radio. My mom is a trooper. Last Christmas she had recently finished chemotherapy, still had many rounds of radiation to go through and felt downright miserable. Christmas is her favorite holiday, so it crushed her not being able to do all she typically does during the season. This year I think she's just thankful for her health and happy to be alive. Being her daughter is such a privilege. There is always so much I can learn from her amazing spirit.

We've talked a lot lately about the idea of me starting a birth family search. I feel 100% comfortable talking to her about it which is a gift in itself. Last week an acquaintance asked me, "Do you think your mom will be hurt if you search?". Absolutely not. My mom knows how much I've recently began to embrace my KAD identity and respects that. She knows that I contacted the adoption agency about my files. They actually sent a rather lengthy email back with some details about my past that I never knew! My brain is still swimming a little in the new knowledge, but I'm so glad I have it. I called my mom after receiving the email and read it to her. The writer closed the message by telling me a little about how to start the search process should I choose it and advised me to make sure I have a good support system by my side on that journey. My mom is excited for me and has expressed her honest hope that I do search, but also acknowledged that only I can make that choice. It feels good to know she is not sad or hurt by my desire to search. She understands that I am an adoptee and this is my right to explore. I do think I would feel differently about initiating a search if I did not have her blessing, but fortunately I do and it means the world. With her blessing, I'm going to take the plunge and see what happens. It just feels right to do this now. I have the strength and support to get through this experience no matter what the outcome.

And on that optimisitic note, I want to wish happy holidays to anyone celebrating this week! I probably will not write again until after Christmas at the very least. Lots of living to do in the meantime!

To search or not to search

2010-12-13T13:43:00.002-05:00

Last week I rather impulsively sent an email to the agency through which my parents adopted me inquiring about access to my records. I have yet to receive a response. I think my next move will be to call the agency after the holiday season has settled down if I don’t hear from them. Plus I need time to go home to discuss records with my mom and dig up whatever’s in the house. The email didn’t seem like a big deal at the time, but it really was my first tentative step towards the idea of search and reunion. Which is simultaneously exciting and terrifying.

I was first presented with a clear opportunity to search for my birth family when I was 10 and I turned it down. My mom and I had recently committed to going on a homeland tour which fostered search and reunion for adoptees. It all made me uneasy. My sense of reality was intact, but my birth parents were so remote, practically a figment of my imagination. The thought of suddenly going to Korea and meeting them, touching them, finding out they were tangible people was a lot to process. I was living my life as a child. To bring in this new facet felt like an intrusion somehow and I was scared of it. A number of adoptees on our tour met birth family, including younger kids around my age. I did not even for a second envy them. I was not ready to introduce that kind of change into my life.

Actually, at 24, I am still not sure. Not really. Who can say? There is absolutely no foolproof way of preparing to do a birth family search. No way to predict what developments will arise out of the process. And no way to undo what you start. On one hand, it seems almost easier to keep this part of my life shrouded in mystery and accept that there will always be unknowns. Staying perfectly still like that, well, it’s self-preservation. What you don’t know might actually hurt less than what you end up finding out. To open up the door and go on that search is a big deal! A risk! And those things are just never easy no matter how you slice them. My aunt Jan once told me that with every decision we are tasked to make, there is always risk and benefit. I thought that was an interesting way to phrase things. Risk and benefit. We have the ability to both help and hurt ourselves. But don’t we owe it to ourselves to believe, in spite of any negatives, that something good can happen to us?

Even with the uncertainty that I continue to feel, my scale is tipped in favor of benefit. I could wear myself out compiling a list of possible outcomes from initiating a search, but then I think of that simple phrase: “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Why exhaust myself mulling over the possibilities, including and especially the negative ones when they are not yet reality? Of those possibilities, most of them will never even be born into reality. It makes no sense to stress myself out over that which does not exist. It makes much more sense to have faith that no matter what happens, I will have the strength to meet it and the world will keep spinning. I have to believe that the risk has a chance of leading to benefit or else why go through all the effort? The possibility of meeting the people who brought me into this world is a beautiful possibility. If my search turns up no one, at least I will be able to say that I took that risk. I don’t want to spend my whole life wondering and living in regret for the choices I didn’t make.

Quick update!

2010-12-10T20:26:00.005-05:00

Yeah, I don't have a substantial post tonight, but I wanted to give a few shoutouts to some KADs because they've got some neat stuff to say! First, there's Megan's blog Korean Wannabe which you can also find under my blog list. She's going to Korea soon! I am trying not to be jealous, but might or might not live vicariously through her experience. Yup. And then there are three wonderful articles on the Awl by Sarah Idzik. There are so many interesting individuals out there giving voice to our shared experience. Please check out these links if you get the chance!

Also, I just realized that there's a girl on Glee who is a KAD! Grad school has sadly left me a little out of the pop culture loop, but even I know that Glee is the hottest thing since sliced bread. (For those of you who are unfamiliar, Glee is undoubtedly one of the most popular television shows in the US following the lives of teenagers in their high school's show choir.) The actress I'm speaking of is Jenna Ushkowitz. If you watch a Youtube video of her, you'll inevitably see comments from viewers along the lines of "She has a weird last name for an Asian". Gotta love it. At any rate, I think she's quite talented and I'm excited to see her having such success. I always perk up when I see KADs/TRAs making it as public figures in some capacity. If only to remind people that we exist. In the societies we live in, we will never be considered the dominant or majority group. By our mere existence, we create confusion in some people and challenge them to re-think what it is to be of a certain background. We challenge expectations and stereotypes. When thought of in those words, who we are is pretty amazing.

Are you...?

2010-11-27T21:36:00.003-05:00

As fate would have it, today presented me with the perfect introduction for this post. I’m currently back in the hometown for a 5-second Thanksgiving break. Because I have not eaten excessively enough this week (read: I have and I’m now wearing sweatpants, thank you very much), my mom and I decided that consuming a large quantity of spaghetti for lunch would be a good idea. We went to a local Italian place where we were immediately waited on by a girl of Asian descent. The moment she said her name, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was a KAD. It wasn’t just the name, but the context and local demographic factors that got me wondering. The only Asian American youth I knew growing up were other KADs. Well, lo and behold, after she took our drink orders she said, “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but were you in an adoption group? I think I remember you two. My parents are [insert names here].” Really! I don’t honestly remember her or her family, but my mom did and it was just pleasantly surprising to run into a fellow KAD. I can’t plan these things, people! Come to think of it, this might be the first time something like this ever happened to me.

In my experience finding other KADs, aside from the ones I grew up with, is hard. It’s not like we go around wearing a sign identifying ourselves as such. There don’t seem to be any surefire signs that would lead you to make those assumptions. With the girl today, I wondered, but I don’t have some TRA sixth sense! My guess is as good as anyone else’s. I’m regularly on a campus with an enormous population of Asian students. There’s no way to quickly distinguish who’s an adoptee, who’s not, who’s an international student, who’s not. There could be a ton of KADs/TRAs at my school for all I know. In fact, I think it’s safe to say there have to be some floating around because my university is just that huge and the surrounding area diverse enough. If there are a handful of us kicking around the less diverse suburban community I grew up in, there surely have to be more in this bigger college city. Which is awesome..if I ever meet any of them!

Because that’s the challenge: connecting with others, at least in-person, and especially as an adult living in an area that does not have a known adoptee group. Of the few KADs that I do know personally, we don’t see each other often and none of them appear to have much of an interest in this aspect of their identity. There is absolutely no right or wrong way for an adoptee to feel. And I’m so thankful for the presence of these KAD friends in my life since childhood, even if we don’t talk adoptee stuff. The fact that I know them and that others are out there normalizes the experience so much. I feel as though being a KAD automatically makes me part of a large, if somewhat unspoken, community. I’m learning that I’m an adoptee who not only wants to, but needs to feel connected to that community.

Dear Ki-hong

2010-11-16T12:45:00.004-05:00

Today for no particular reason I’m thinking of Ki-hong. He’d be about 30 years old now. Ki-hong was a pen pal of mine whom I met on my trip back to Korea. As a part of our homeland tour, we visited his high school. We all put on a big talent show which was quite fun. The boys actually showed off viable talent skills like tae kwan do and samulnori music while our tour group had to think of impromptu acts that were more amusing than..well..talented. I’m pretty sure my ‘talent’ was singing Old McDonald Had a Farm with a group of people holding paper bag puppets. Eh.

At the end of the show, we had a chance to mingle with the students and kind of paired off. We brought gifts for the students and they brought gifts for us. I still have the sun pendant that Ki-hong gave me. He was 16, a skinny kid with short hair and silver glasses. He was very interested in American culture and we agreed to write each other when I returned to the states. Looking back, I wish I had been more grateful for him and the experience because at the time, frankly, I wasn’t. Why? Because I was young and stupid. I think I’ve mentioned previously that I didn’t have a strong interest in my Korean heritage during adolescence. For me, writing to Ki-hong was interesting to a degree, but I also felt weirded out by the six year age gap between us. I guess I just wasn’t sure how to address him or if I should consider him a peer. And his curiosity about America was not matched by me in return about Korea. Needless to say, I am the one who stopped writing. I think he wrote me once or twice more after I stopped responding before his letters stopped, too. The crappy truth is that I just didn’t care enough.

Today I wish I had cared more, that I had kept writing. I know it's not uncommon to take aspects of your life for granted as a child. And that we all make mistakes because we're just a bunch of imperfect humans. I still have a few letters from Ki-hong written on stationary with an image of a cartoon baseball player. For a number of years, those letters were lost. I uncovered them a few years back and considered trying to write to the address on the envelope, but this was over a decade later. I don’t know where Ki-hong lives now, what he does for a living, if he has married and had a family. He seemed like a shy, yet very earnest person. When I really think about it, trying to write him after all these years would only be to my benefit as I am the regretful one.

Ki-hong, wherever you are, you'll probably never read this or even remember me. I just wish to say I’m sorry for being young and stupid. I couldn’t help it, but I hope you’re out there having an amazing life. I’d also like to apologize for sending you a Hanson cassette tape, but my mom wouldn’t let me buy you a Metallica one at the time (she saw the word 'bitch' in one of the track listings, so that was the end of that.) You sent me the goodbye album by Seo Taiji and Boys which I actually still enjoy when I can find a tape player. If you ended up tossing the Hanson, though, I don’t blame you.

My own Jenny and Juno

2010-11-12T11:08:00.002-05:00

The amount of information I know about my birth parents is small enough to take up half a postcard. Maybe less, actually. All I have is a handful of numbers and generic descriptors to go by. She was described as ‘outgoing’ and he as ‘shy’ as well as ‘a lover of music’. And as far as numbers are concerned, she was 5’3”, 100 pounds, and he was 5’7”. (Despite growing up on a different diet and not being athletic at all, I’m quite close to my omma’s size now.) Of this modest pile of trivia, however, I always come back to age. At the time of my birth, she was 16 and he was 17. They were kids. I always knew the ages of my birth parents, but as a child, naturally, teenagers seemed old to me. It wasn’t until I became a teenager myself that I realized just how young and inexperienced teenagers still are. When I turned 16, my first thoughts weren’t on my driver’s license, but on my lack of readiness to bring a child into the world. And I realized that that is exactly what my omma did. Perspective sure is an interesting thing, isn’t it?

I recently watched a 2005 Korean movie called Jenny, Juno. The protagonists are 15 year old classmates Jenny and Juno who are dating and soon find themselves dealing with pregnancy. It’s not a very serious movie at all. In fact, I’d say it falls more into the vein of sugarcoated romantic comedy. Which is..interesting given the subject matter and cultural context. From what I understand, South Korea has some of the world’s lowest teenage pregnancy rates. It kind of makes me wonder, if the rates are low now, what were they like in 1985-1986 when my omma was carrying me? What was the experience like for her and my appa? Jenny, Juno just made it all look too easy. Granted it IS a fictional movie taking place in a much more recent time period. I didn’t go into this expecting a factual documentary. That would be like watching The Princess Diaries to understand how a monarchy works.

Jenny, Juno may not have been a life-changing masterpiece, but it still made me think. It made a million different questions trigger in my head which I may never know the answers to. I found myself wondering about the context in which my birth parents lived during the pregnancy. Did they discuss what to do? Did my appa even know? Did their families offer any support? I even found myself lingering on minute things. What kind of foods did my omma crave while she was pregnant? What music did she listen to? What current events was she hearing about on the news or in the paper? I have an imagination that can run like a cheetah. Creative writing is one of my life’s great loves. I could paint a whole picture of what my omma, appa and their environment were like the year I was born. It would probably be far from accurate, but it’s something. My aunt once told me her own conjecture about my birth parents: that they were just two teenagers who fell in love or at least thought they were in love. That’s the kind of story that speaks to the optimist in you, that you want to believe. Maybe they had a love that was as innocent as Jenny and Juno’s. If I never know the answer, I will at least always hope they did.

Dressing the part

2010-10-31T11:16:00.003-04:00

There is something to be said for being able to identify media figures who look like you. I still remember once overhearing a fellow KAD’s mom say, “Caitlin just started asking me why she didn’t have more yellow clothes. I couldn’t figure out why until she said she liked the yellow Power Ranger.” Caitlin and I were in third grade at the time and Power Rangers were all the rage. I purposely woke up half an hour early every school morning just to watch it. It was campy, action-packed without being scary and it had an Asian in it. Yes. Trini, the yellow ranger. (Did someone have a sense of humor or what?) I know this is a very random anecdote to remember, but it goes to show that children do pay attention to their representation in the world around them. I remember watching Captain Planet and wanting to be like Gi who was an Asian character in the cartoon. Her element was water, so you can bet I eventually procured a Planeteer water ring and wore it proudly. These little things meant something. Why else would I remember them, right?

I guess what really got me thinking about this is the onset of Halloween today. The costume options out there are full of stereotypes galore. Do you ever consider the race of a character when choosing what to dress up as? Surprisingly, I did not choose to be Trini or Gi for Halloween in third grade. I dressed up as a Native American girl. Classmates never compared me to Trini or Gi, but they did comment that I looked ‘kind of’ like Pocahontas. Hey, I took what I could get. Better that you slightly resemble someone than no one at all. Another year I considered being a lady from the colonial era, but then I thought, “Wait, were there Asians in the US at that time? Probably not.” Yes, this is me and my random, race-involved thought process. Apparently I had no problem being a Native American for Halloween, but being an anachronism was clearly out of the question.

Anyways, I just wanted to post a little food for thought. I’m so nostalgic now! I’m not dressing up this year, but I’m suddenly liking the concept of a Gi Planeteer costume. The yellow ranger would be way too hard to pull off (not to mention most Power Ranger costumes are made for children). Oh heck, I think it would just be fun to be a zombie. Zombies surely represent all racial and ethnic backgrounds. I mean, when the zombie apocalypse comes, no one is safe.

A good day for purple

2010-10-20T09:44:00.005-04:00

So, who else is in love with the It Gets Better Project?? For those who do not know, this project was started in the wake of a number of suicides committed by gay teens in the United States. Today has been designated as a day to wear purple in honor of those teens and of LGBT youth who continue to be senselessly attacked. My heart goes out to them. I may still be quite young, but I do believe that adults are in a position to step up for these kids and send the message that it is OKAY for them to be who they are.

I once read an essay by Mark Hagland about his experience as both an adult Korean adoptee and a gay man. He made some connections which I found rather interesting. A quote: "Gay men and lesbians face the same conundrum: like transracial adoptees, they find themselves compelled to consciously construct an identity, often struggling through isolation and confusion to reach clarity and peace." I only speak for myself when I say that I think he has a point. There are times when I feel keenly aware of my adoptee identity. I certainly don't have it all figured out and still go through periods of feeling confused/alone. The whole deal about having to explain myself gets old. In a way, TRAs continually 'come out' to new people in their lives. I don't tell every new person I meet or date that, "Hey, just so you know, I was adopted by white people, so I hope you don't expect me to be culturally Asian." But, really, how do you tell people that? Do you need to tell them? I ran into a similar issue growing up in a single parent household and having to explain to teachers/friends as a small child that my dad was deceased. Heck, that's one I'm still working on, too! Life would just be easier if people stopped making assumptions so much. As for me, I'm still learning how to live in truth and how to react to the world around me in ways that preserve my sense of peace.

Oh! If you're interested, the Mark Hagland quote is from an essay he had published in the book Outsiders Within: Writing on Transracial Adoption. I HIGHLY recommend it! I hope to discuss that book more in-depth at a later time.

The gift of spoken word

2010-10-16T11:52:00.001-04:00

The piece is entitled "Love Poem To Myself". The performer is Ishle Yi Park. I'm basically speechless. I stumbled upon the clip this morning and now I'm brushing tears away from my eyes as I sip a cup of tea which I completely forgot about and let steep too long. This was just too damn beautiful not to share.

Going back

2010-10-13T09:58:00.003-04:00

It’s something I haven’t thought about in a while, but a phone call from my mom the other day reminded me again. She received a brochure in the mail from Children’s Home Society & Family Services announcing their 2011 trips to Korea. CHSFS is an organization based out of Minnesota (Twin Cities area—large KAD population there from what I understand). Among their many services and events offered, they organize group trips to Korea for KADs and their families. There are numerous programs like theirs and I’m not quite sure how my mom and I linked in with them, but we did go on one of those trips when I was ten years old (1997). That was the first time I went back to Korea. I think I could best summarize that experience as positive and eye-opening. Frankly, I could dedicate a countless number of posts to those two weeks of my life or write a novel right now, but I’ll refrain myself and unpack those memories as I see fit on the blog!

Ever since the trip, I always imagined myself going back to Korea at least one more time as an adult. I’m 24 now which is, for all intents and purposes, adult enough. And I would absolutely love to go back. The questions that remain are when and in what context. As much as I desire to go back, I couldn’t just pack up and go tomorrow. Planning to go back to the country I was adopted from is not the same as planning a trip to Disney World. It’s just not. I already know full well that whenever I do go back, it will be a highly emotional experience. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s another way for me to keep collecting those pieces of myself and create a richer picture of my life. When I do go back, I want to go with an open heart and mind. I want to be completely present to the experience and absorb as much as I can. Planning for Korea will require a certain amount of mental and emotional preparation on my end. What exactly I mean by ‘mental and emotional preparation’, I still don’t know. Oh, and I barely know enough Korean to talk to a toddler, so..that is not helpful.

All these things said, I have no clue when I will go back. I asked my mom to toss the CHSFS brochure. Based on the description, the trip is still basically run in the same way. Not to mention it was composed primarily of parents and children with a few young adults. I don’t want a repeat of the same experiences and I don’t feel that such a trip meets my current needs. Fortunately, there are plenty of options to explore. Maybe I will go through KoRoot or an IKAA gathering. Part of me feels like this summer could be a good time to go, even though it would set me back financially. I’ll be graduating with my master’s degree this spring, so I’m already in debt with student loans. I watch some people grip their wallets so tightly that they stop living and it’s kind of sad. If there’s any experience worth blowing my money on, um, it’s this one! Once I enter the full-time working world, I don’t know when I’ll accrue the time to travel.. I just don’t know. Thinking, thinking, thinking. A girl can only wait so long, but I am being optimistic when I say that I WILL go back someday. Not going is simply not an option.

Smelling the flowers

2010-09-25T14:11:00.003-04:00

I have been a ball of stress lately. Getting back into the swing of the semester has been difficult for me. Being at school or internship all day and then coming home to a pile of reading, papers and projects is frankly a little depressing. I’ve been completely remiss as far as the blogosphere goes. After spending so much time in front of my laptop doing work, I really need to stare at something else when I have the liberty to do so! My mind has been consumed by a myriad of things. As such is the case, I honestly have nothing adoption-related to share today, so you might want to stop reading here! I’m in a writing mood regardless.

I had a slight epiphany the other day. It really hit me this past week when my supervisor asked me what I did over the weekend and I realized I always have the same bland reply to give him (doing schoolwork, running errands, cleaning..how adventurous). What on earth am I doing with my life? Besides being a grad student, I mean. The scary realization is that I’m not doing anything! Obtaining my degree is extremely important to me, but I don’t think I need to work for it at the expense of putting every other aspect of my young life on hold. No one can live that way. I don’t need to get a grip. Au contraire, I need to pry my fingers away and enjoy my life again. If I don't seek out those good experiences, ironically, I could end up burning out of school. There is something to be said for self preservation.

Fortunately the restoration is already in progress. I took a chance on a coffee date yesterday. Sipping on a delicious seasonal drink was just the bonus. We had a really great, genuine conversation for over an hour. On my drive home from the café, I couldn’t stop singing. I felt so relaxed and cheerful. It was the first time I had felt that way in a long time and I’m very thankful for it. It was an experience that came at the most opportune time. We live in such a fast-paced, anxiety-ridden world, but I won’t let it bring me down. I’m not going to spend my one life absorbed by worry and negativity.

It occurs to me that this may have been a selfish entry. It probably is. I really just had to write this for me. It’s so easy to acknowledge the bad in life, but the good deserves some attention, too. Some love, even.

Race in the workplace

2010-09-12T10:11:00.002-04:00

Oh boy. I had a very interesting experience at my internship last week. It makes me wonder what is really going through other peoples’ minds when they first meet me. I won’t go into details about the setting for privacy’s sake, but I was confronted by a client twice regarding my race. The conversations went something like this:

“Well, you know how to make stir-fried rice, don’t you?”
“Oh, I’ve never actually made it before.” (True story.)
“What? Oh girl, I KNOW you know how to make fried rice.”

And..

“Hey, what’s your last name?”
“[insert my dad’s very English surname].”
“Get outta here. Really?”
“Yeah. You seem surprised.”
“Yeah, well, I was expecting something like Chaw, Chang, Ching or whatever.”

I wasn’t completely blindsided by what happened, but I wasn’t expecting it, either. The experience really made me think again about how others view me. Most of my life I essentially felt like a white girl trapped in an Asian girl’s body. To be frank, it’s kind of like wearing a really padded bra: false advertising. What you see is not what you get. The vast majority of people that I meet never question my name or any other characteristics about me that might not ‘add up’. However, their silence does not necessarily mean they’re not wondering. And I honestly don’t care if people wonder. Wonder away! I really don’t even care if people want to be direct and ask me about my background. I could say, “None of your business” to inquirers, but this is who I am and I feel no need to hide it. If you don't know that children have been and continue to be adopted by families of a different race than them, well, time to start learning!

The workplace is a different story. In my professional work, there is no reason for clients to know the details of me being transracially adopted. I will only share personal information if I judge it to be beneficial for the client. In this most recent encounter, there was no perceived benefit and, really, the client was just trying to get a rise out of me. I can’t say that it worked. I wasn’t upset or hurt at all, actually. More than anything, I was surprised. One thing that can be said about my profession (social work) is that I need to expect the unexpected. This will not be the last of my experiences like this at work or otherwise. As a transracial adoptee, I cannot take for granted what I bring into the room and how I present when I am with new people. I can talk, act, dress, live my life in any number of ways that I want, but through it all I will always have my Asian features and that is one of the first things if not the first thing people will notice about me. What they think from there is anyone’s guess.

Coming out as an immigrant

2010-09-03T17:30:00.003-04:00

I’ve long identified myself as an adoptee from Korea, but only recently have I come to acknowledge my identity as an immigrant. ‘Only recently’ being about four months. I think from my education and exposure to current events growing up, I learned to associate immigrants within certain contexts that did not include me. In eighth grade, we took a trip to Ellis Island and had learned its history in class. As I grew older, I became more aware of immigrants in modern day. Even now, I notice my hometown area continue to diversify as more immigrant families move in. In spite of my growing awareness, however, I just never connected to the notion of being an immigrant myself. Even if I was born outside of the United States, I assimilated so much that some days I don’t even legitimately feel Korean. My nationality is American and it is all I’ve known. Immigrant? Me? Are you sure?

The turning point came one day during my diversity & oppression class. Somehow we landed on the topic of whether or not people should have to learn English if they are to live in the US. A heated discussion began. The girl that sparked it all identified herself as an immigrant and a refugee from West Africa. Her family came to the US when she was 11 to escape warfare. She expressed a deep frustration and sadness at being forced to assimilate into an entirely new culture. Her family had little choice: leave everything you know behind or stay and risk death. They picked life at the loss of their first, only and most loved culture. I listened to the story, completely transfixed by my classmate’s pain. She was more than sad; she was downright bitter. She resented America for imposing its new language and lifestyle on her in the wake of such a traumatic move. Many classmates had a hard time accepting her words and some felt clearly burned by them. I felt burned, too, but in a way I never expected. Emotions had been building up inside me the entire class and when we let out, my friend Liz sat beside me on a bench and let me cry.

It took me days after the fact to realize that I was grieving. I am not a refugee. I did not have 11 years of another culture to recall like my classmate did. Our lives have been drastically different, and yet her emotions felt familiar to me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how much our lives were shaped by cultural displacement. My departure from Korea was not a direct result of warfare, but I also had no say in the matter. What say does a six-month old baby have in who will care for her or where she will live? We both lost our first homes, our first cultures. And although we were both young at the time, age does not invalidate the impact of the loss. Even as adults, it is a loss we continue to live with. Because no matter how much we are forced to or even choose to assimilate, there is no denying that we were once a part of another country, born into another life. It perhaps is not the most tangible of losses to bear, but it is so very real. It is a loss that should be talked about without shame and without being minimized in gravity. I think one of the greatest cruelties a person can do another is to belittle their pain.

After that unforgettable class, I sought out my classmate and thanked her for everything she was brave enough to say. We hadn’t really spoken much before that, but I just had to break the ice. A number of classmates had been upset with her. I wanted her to know that I wasn’t. And that she had another immigrant in the class who had her back.

The final round

2010-08-26T16:40:00.004-04:00

I just wanted to drop a note on the blog since I'm not 100% sure when my next update will be. Right now I am packing like a mad woman. I've been home since May, but it is now that time again to get myself back to school. I am in the process of obtaining my master's degree in social work and this is my final year! After the craziness of round one, I can't believe I'm going back for more. If you have been a graduate student or know one personally, then you probably know that we have no lives. I guess this is my way of saying that blog updates will likely come with less frequency. However, I have NO intentions to forget the blog! I really do love writing here and connecting with others in the blogosphere. While I will have less time to write, I also know that being back in school will trigger more thoughts and reflections. Self reflection has been a pervasive part of my social work education. In fact, my diversity & oppression course is probably my earliest inspiration to start this blog. So, here's to the final round of school and another round of learning (though certainly NEVER the last)!

OH! Be sure to check out some links I added to the blog list. I went a little link crazy, but there is so much great stuff out there from adoptees and parents (and some who are all of the above!). If you would like to be linked or want to suggest something so awesome that it should be linked, please let me know either through comments or email! I would love to hear from you.

Book recommendation: The Bluest Eye

2010-08-22T21:41:00.002-04:00

I initially had to read Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye for a survey course on contemporary American literature my sophomore year of college. And now I will let you in on a little secret: I didn’t finish it. Believe what you want of my story. I was a good student who ran out of time and, frankly, did not latch onto the novel. And I had one of those awesomely lenient professors who let us pick whatever readings impacted us most to write our papers on, so it was an easy out. I know. Bad Soo.

So, here I am four years later and I finally read the entire novel. In fact I was unable to put it down. Isn’t it funny how much our tastes and perspectives can change over time? Like many people I know, I have historically been hesitant to have an open conversation about race. The topic makes people uncomfortable, hence ideas like colorblindness and ‘post-race’ societies. Because sometimes it is easier to throw a cover over that which you are ashamed of than to face the reality of the damage caused. Reading The Bluest Eye felt uncomfortable to me at first because it confronts race without apology. At the heart of the novel is the pain of internalized racism. The book follows numerous characters, but the connecting thread that always moves the narrative along is Pecola Breedlove, an adolescent black girl growing up in Ohio circa 1940. The title reflects Pecola’s greatest wish: to have blue eyes. She lives in a world where everyone, including her own mother, cater to the blonde haired, blue eyed child. Why? Because that is the face of beauty. That is the face that makes society smile. Pecola has never been smiled at like that because she is black. And not only Pecola is affected. Her peers and family members all have painful experiences which remind them that their appearance makes them secondary citizens or, worse, not even human at all. Through experience, these characters learn to look at themselves with disgust and it is nothing short of tragedy.

What I call internalized racism today Morrison referred to as racial self-loathing in her afterword to the novel written in 1993. The novel itself was published in 1970. It has been forty years since then, but internalized racism still exists. Please make no mistake of that. Yes, society has moved forward in many ways and continues to diversify. Lately I have seen a lot of interracial couples around my community, for instance. And that is wonderful. The positives should be recognized. But there is also still room for improvement. Just go into a toy store. How many dolls are blonde haired and blue eyed in proportion to dolls that aren’t? It probably depends on where you live, but coming from a girl who had to have ALL her Asian dolls ordered ‘special’ because they weren’t in stores, these observations are important to make. Look at the cosmetic selections at the drugstore. Which skin tones have more options? Which types of hair? What kind of beauty does your world sell? (And how inclusive is it really?)

I could keep writing forever, but I will end this by offering my full support to The Bluest Eye. If you are looking for a light read to bring to the beach, I would not pick this one. It is depressing. It is also disturbing. But what an important read. If you want to learn something more about internalized racism, pick this up and don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I'm with her...no, really, I am.

2010-08-15T10:25:00.003-04:00

Had a semi-awkward moment yesterday. My mom and I went to Walmart together to pick up some groceries and a few other random items. We came to the register together, but paid for our own items separately. I went last and my mom put my bag in the cart with hers while I paid. This caused the customer behind me to say in a panicked voice to the cashier, "That woman is taking her bag!". Yeah. He didn't think my mom and I were together, so he thought she was stealing my purchases. Whoops. The cashier, however, knew we were together and told him so. Good to know that some people get it! We don't have little experiences like this every day, but more often than one might think. It started around maybe my senior year of high school. I don't look like a child anymore and it throws people. Why would a young Asian woman be with an older caucasian woman (my mom's hair is white now)? People won't question a child with an adult of a different race because it is assumed the child would be accompanied by some kind of caregiver anyhow. Unless they live under a rock (and, to be fair, some people's lives do fit that metaphor), people must be aware of transracial adoption. It's not really a topic at the forefront, though. People who do not adopt, are not adoptees or do not have a close relationship with an adoptee could understandably be outsiders and careless to the reality their entire lives. Still, it doesn't change the fact that we exist..and there are a lot of us. We may be our own subgroup in a way, but we're still a part of society doing things that everyone else does. A little more recognition wouldn't hurt, simply so I could stop having to explain myself to people. I told my mom I'm just going to get a plain t-shirt and write on it "I'm with her" with a pointing arrow for emphasis. I'll throw it on every time we are in public together for the slow people who don't notice all the cues I throw out there for their convenience. Even calling my mom "Mom" very distinctly, talking to her, touching her arm, are sometimes not enough hints for the clerk at the store who still asks, "Are you together?". YES. For the 500th time, yes. Oy.

It's all Korean to me

2010-08-10T20:40:00.003-04:00

I've recently started dabbling in Korean..yet again. I wish there were some logical, cyclic pattern to this language exploration, but there isn't really. Over the past few years, I've randomly had urges to learn the language. Today I still don't know much more than I did a few years back. I always pick up in the same place and end up re-tracing old circles. Real productive, huh?

I suspect that my productivity constantly gets hindered because learning Korean has literally no practical value in my current life. I'm not travelling to Korea anytime soon (though I badly wish I were). In my daily life, I do not encounter people with whom I need to communicate in Korean. I've done previous coursework in Spanish and ASL. Unfortunately, however, I don't remember nearly as much as I would like in either. The knowledge fades with a lack of use. I feel that learning Korean could potentially amount to nothing.

But. I also think learning Korean is something of a right for me. It's one way of making me feel more closely connected to the culture I lost. Language is a crucial part of any culture. It says so much, literally. And I do admire the Korean language. I like sound of it. There is a somehow musical quality about the way it is spoken..the inflections and such. If I ever find the devotion to keep studying and speaking Korean, I think it could be a very meaningful experience. Not to mention I could more easily watch Korean dramas/movies and listen to Korean songs. Right now I am hooked on the music from Boys Before Flowers (popular K-drama). I wish I could sing along. Maybe this sounds silly to say, but it can be mildly frustrating loving a catchy song and not being able to actually sing it and understand it. Unless I really immerse myself, I very likely will never achieve fluency in Korean. But it's always good to have something to work towards.

A room of our own

2010-08-03T16:54:00.003-04:00

At this point in my life, I am not extremely close to any other TRAs (transracial adoptees). There is that small handful of childhood friends from adoption group whom I still see a few times a year. Even though we have all grown up and gone separate ways, our families maintain a connection that cannot be replaced. I do treasure these relationships and think of them as family. This week in particular I cannot help but think of them. One is getting married this Saturday. My mom and I are really thrilled to be attending the wedding. I've known this girl since we were three maybe? It's incredible. (And now I'm reminded that I must get a tube of waterproof mascara for the occasion.) I also recently hung out with another KAD friend (the one with the unrequited crush). He told me that a girl once mistook him for the only other Asian boy in the high school. You know, because 'all Asians look the same'. Ouch. It's not exactly a picnic recalling those times being offended or hurt, but it's a comfort to know we weren't alone. Thank goodness for other adoptees. We need each other's voices, maybe more than we realize.

I think that at some point I would like to join an adult adoptee group. Or form one myself, depending on where I'm living and if there's a need. It's hard right now as I'm a graduate student without a notion as to where I'll be in a year (besides employed..fingers crossed!). About a month ago, I did attend an online seminar about starting adult adoptee support groups. I found it to be very useful and especially loved that all the speakers were adoptees themselves who started their own groups. Each group was unique in its own way. One question that cropped up a few times throughout the seminar was whether to keep groups closed to adoptees only or to include their families/support systems. It got me thinking, too. I think there are benefits to both formats, but I admittedly lean more towards the 'adoptees only' approach. Or perhaps a compromise in which the group does an occasional event including everyone. Adoption, without a doubt, affects many people and certainly not just the adoptee. However, I just like the idea of adoptees having a room of their own to express what is on their minds without fear of being judged by someone who has not been in their shoes. My childhood adoptee friends mean so much to me, even though we've grown apart in some ways. I want to be able to maintain relationships with other adoptees throughout my adulthood. I need them. And I'm an independent person who has an impossibly hard time admitting that I need anyone, but I ultimately don't believe that people, adopted or not, are meant to walk through life alone. We need each other's voices. We need each other.

Satirizing celebs Onion-style

2010-07-27T17:29:00.001-04:00

Man, do I love The Onion. The first time I ever saw a video by them, I was gullible enough to think I was watching a real news story! I thought this particular clip would be appropriate for the blog. Celebrities have undoubtedly been trendsetters when it comes to transracial and transnational adoption. Brangelina, Meg Ryan, Katherine Heigl, Sandra Bullock, Madonna.. Oh, and let's not forget Jillian Michaels who plans to adopt in order to not ruin her body. Please. I cannot pass judgement on all these people, but I'd like to see just one of them step up as an informed adoptive parent. I sincerely hope that adoptive parents, especially in this day and age, take the time to examine what they are doing and what it means. In college and beyond, I've sometimes heard peers nonchalantly say they'll 'just adopt an Asian baby' someday. I feel as though the spotlight that celebs have put on adoption normalizes it to the point where people don't give it a second thought. They don't stop to ask why children in other countries are up for transnational adoption in the first place. Or, worse, perhaps they assume that these children are being saved from some uncivilized, 'third world' country. What a hurtful notion. I like living in the United States, but I would never herald it as superior to Korea. ~~Cultural relativism just isn't healthy. It just isn't.~~ Cultural relativism is GOOD. We need more of it!

Anyways, hope the clip was enjoyed. I know this isn't everyone's kind of humor, but I just had to share. Kind of makes me feel bad for Jennifer Aniston, though!

Birthday blues?

2010-07-24T15:04:00.004-04:00

It has often been acknowledged that birthdays are tough for some adoptees. Rather than a celebration of their lives, birthdays can be perceived as an anniversary of loss and a time for grief rather than joy. It saddens me to realize that this is the annual reality for some individuals. Although how we celebrate (or don't celebrate) is a choice which I feel should be respected either way..

I figured all this birthday talk would be appropriate seeing as I recently turned 24. Where do I weigh in on this adoptee birthday anxiety? On a scale of 1-10, 1 being carefree and 10 being deeply depressed, I'd say I'm about a 2. Every year, about the night before, I do wonder to myself if my parents in Korea (if that's where they are, if they're still alive..these questions are for another post entirely) think about me. But I've never felt very broken up about it. I always had birthday plans with family and friends which I found quite fulfilling. Even this year, when I feel more keenly aware of my losses than ever, I did not experience any sadness related to being adopted. Maybe that's just how I am. There's certainly no right or wrong way to feel anyhow. The most difficult birthday was my 16th, simply because that is how old my Korean mother was when she gave birth to me. When all is said and done, I've had basically a lifetime of birthday experiences to be grateful for and which I genuinely enjoyed. Only next year I turn 25, or a quarter of a century old..not sure how enjoyable I will find that.

Hairy situation

2010-07-16T14:55:00.001-04:00

I’m not a fan of the colorblind perspective when it comes to race, but one place where it really, really just doesn’t apply is in the field of cosmetics. At least when it comes to some things. The current thorn in my side? Hair care. For most of my life, I had assumed that my hair was essentially the same as my mom’s; just a different color. Turns out that I’m wrong. Asian hair and Caucasian hair are not identical and there’s scientific support to back that one up! Who knew? Asian hair tends to be thicker (google EDAR gene), coarser (thanks to more abundant and densely packed cuticles) and straighter (my hair cannot hold a curl to save its life). So, that’s fun. I’ve historically kept my mane simple just because it is such a nightmare to style, but it’s getting to an unruly point. I haven’t had it cut in..let’s just say a long time. My usual stylist went on vacation for a few weeks and is now on hiatus for an unknown period of time due to family reasons. Which brings me here to ruminate the fate of my breaking, dull locks.

What’s a girl to do? This whole Asian hair thing is putting me in a pickle. Part of me would really like to seek out a stylist who has experience with Asian hair. I’m not entirely sure that it is necessary, but I’d like to at least give it a go and see if I like the results. In all my life, I’ve been to two hairdressers and been their only Asian client. No lie. My current stylist even indicated hesitation in taking me on because she had never worked with Asian hair before. I thought this was silliness, but now I wonder if she had a point. Her last style on me was not 100% what I wanted and seemed..somehow a little matronly? Let’s be honest here. ‘Matronly’ is not really the kind of descriptor I want associated with myself at 23. At any rate, I need my hair cut yesterday. I started the search for an Asian stylist within a reasonable radius of my home and no luck. Well, one place almost an hour away called Oriental Nail and Hair Salon. The name alone makes me cringe (I personally dislike the term ‘oriental’). Looks like I am staying around here and booking a consultation with a local salon. Someone has to know how to tame my Asian hair! If not, I’m seriously not beyond asking the next young Asian woman I see where she gets her hair done.

Reflecting on Somebody's Daughter

2010-07-12T16:43:00.003-04:00

It’s taken me ages to get around to this post, probably because I didn’t love the book, but I’m finally up to sharing. About three weeks ago I finished reading Marie Lee’s novel Somebody’s Daughter, a fictional story which follows the separate lives of Korean American adoptee, Sarah Thorson, and her birth mother, Kyung Sook. I really wanted to love it, but that didn’t happen. From a purely literary standpoint, I thought the writing and character development were weak. Not horrible; the author has some obvious skill, but I somehow desired more. Just getting into the novel was hard and then staying with it was even harder. The biggest letdown for me was my inability to connect with Sarah Thorson. This is the first adult-level novel I’ve read about an adoptee, so I didn’t know exactly what to expect. Adoptees are all individuals who process this shared piece of identity in their own way. I didn’t expect Sarah to be a mirror of myself, but I was hoping we’d relate on some level. Kyung Sook’s story actually resonated more with me, perhaps because I found her to be more likeable overall. There were a few moments in the novel which moved me. I won’t spoil, but I do have to share my joy at Sarah learning the children’s song Santoki (meaing ‘mountain bunny’). The friend who taught her deemed it a song known by all Korean children. And I know it! I learned it when I was four and I still remember it. It’s just a small piece of culture, but knowing about it means a lot to me. I learned that song like any other Korean child; just in a different part of the world. If I got anything out of the book, it was happy tears from this moment..to be counted among those Korean children.

Somebody’s Daughter is not getting a place among my favorites, but I wouldn’t discourage anyone from reading it. Everyone takes something different from a book, right? To echo an older post, I do want to point out that the author, although Korean, is not an adoptee. That could be one reason why I had such a hard time relating to Sarah’s character. I don’t know what kind of research Lee did to write this portrayal, but I found Sarah to be one-dimensional and inaccessible. At the end of the day, I must remember that the novel is fictional. It just turned out to not be my cup of tea. Ah well. There are more adoption stories out there and non-fiction to boot. I’m eyeing Jane Jeong Trenka’s memoir right now. Or maybe Mei-Ling Hopgood’s. I almost gave my blog the same name as her book! Adoptees always get labeled as ‘lucky’, don’t we?

My grandma as Yente

2010-07-10T16:04:00.001-04:00

Sometimes life just calls for hilarity. I’ve been visiting/volunteering at the nursing home where my grandma resides. She’s in a dementia unit, which is actually not all that sobering. I think I’ve just been there so much that I’m used to the atmosphere and people. With every visit, I manage to take away some funny or touching moment and I have one that seems fitting for this blog.

First let me share a little about my grandma. She is a 94 year old whippersnapper. A very feminine, finishing school-type lady, but a whippersnapper nonetheless and I completely adore her. She’s the only grandparent I’ve ever really known. Interestingly she was also one of few family members who was visibly not thrilled about my parents adopting from Korea. That all changed the moment she laid eyes on me and we’ve had (as far as I can remember) a wonderful, loving relationship ever since. When I visit her at the home, she’ll sometimes introduce (well..re-introduce) me to her friends as her adopted Korean granddaughter. I honestly don’t mind at all. It kind of makes me chuckle a little. Never in my life before had she introduced me with such specifics, but I suppose the residents get confused enough, so a brief explanation such as that might help.

Anyways. There are tons of workers in the unit including one man whom my grandma has been bound and determined to set me up with. Why? Because he’s Asian..duh. His name is Ming and we always say hello to each other to satisfy my grandma, but this to me is just ridiculously funny. It’s like my grandma is playing ‘match the Asians’. Her mind processes us as visually compatible and that seems good enough. I appreciate her matchmaking attempt, but Ming is a decade older than me and married with children, so I don’t really see that one going anywhere. Yesterday she tried to plug him again to me, despite being annoyed with him for trying to get her to sing a solo at church service. She said she wanted to ‘tie him to a pole and throw him in the mud’. Not surprising. I love my grandma and I know that this matchmaking business is only one of her ways to try and ensure my happiness. She was terribly happy with my grandpa and told me that she hopes I have that kind of relationship someday, too. So, her intentions are good. I wouldn’t so easily excuse others for trying to set me up based on race, but my grandma totally gets a free pass. At least Ming is the only Asian worker on her unit.

Just trucking along

2010-07-06T15:09:00.002-04:00

Ack. Apologies for the lack of updates! I've been working a summer retail job which is surprisingly exhausting. Let's just say I'm not getting any younger and this job is surely proving that. Is it sad that I'm saying that at 23? Yup.

So, my absence is part work-related, but in truth I needed a little break. This exploration of adoption can get consuming and, at times, emotionally draining for me. Don't get me wrong--it is incredibly meaningful and I'd rather explore and challenge myself than take it all for granted. I think a lot of my feelings are reflected in this post by Yoon Seon, another adoptee blogger. This adoptee identity is not some layer to be easily skimmed away. Nothing will change this part of who I am, but what about the rest of me? I'm still just a human with plenty of interests and people in my life. Sometimes figuring out how to reclaim my Korean culture feels like another task added to my list and it saddens me that I even need to reclaim it in the first place. It's my choice to reclaim it, of course. And I want to, but the lack of local resources is disheartening. Even the closest Korean restaurant to me is an hour away. I guess you could say I'm feeling ultimately discouraged right now. My environment limits me. But I will keep going! If I want something badly enough, I will keep going and figure it out. There's no other choice.

More updates later--I really do have a number of thoughts floating around in my head! Just need to get them written down. Oh! I also recently attended an online seminar about starting adoptee support groups which I'll have to spill on later.

On dating other Asians

2010-06-24T20:17:00.003-04:00

Oh, dating. A potentially complicated matter for anyone. My mom recently told me that I need a boyfriend (thanks, Mom, thanks for that). Part of me agrees, though I am in no hurry (thanks, grad school, thanks for that). I’m not going to sit here and tell you that dating has been more complex for me because I am transracially adopted, but there are some anecdotes worth mentioning that I’d like to speak candidly about.

I’m 23 years old and I’ve had crushes on boys since about the second grade. However, I was not attracted at all to Asian guys until college. So, I’ve spent a relatively small portion of my life believing my fellow Koreans to be good-looking. Before that shift happened, I never gave Asian guys a second glance and I didn’t exactly look at Asian women as stunning beauties, either. When I was ten, a childhood friend (who also happens to be a KAD) developed a crush on me and I couldn’t stand it. I was actually upset at him because I thought he liked me solely due to us both being Asian. After all, we were pretty much the only Asian kids in our elementary school. I had only ever had crushes on white boys and, at that age, I never saw myself in a million years liking an Asian boy. This is what I’d consider a solid example of internalized racism—embracing negative views of my own race. No matter how sweet my friend was to me, he wasn’t white and his chances of me returning his crush did not exist. As horrible as it sounds, to have a crush on an Asian boy felt like moving a step down..inferior somehow.

Well. Fast forward 12 years later. Lo and behold, I finally ended up dating an Asian guy. Chinese American, to be exact, and his parents both immigrated to the US as adolescents. Somehow I got over my repulsion to liking Asian guys. I think perhaps this is partially due to my college having a modest, but visible population of Asian students. I remember having class with this one guy from Japan whom I was rather fond of. I wasn’t romantically interested, but it was easy for me to see attractive qualities in him. Somewhere during my undergrad years, I started seeing Asian guys instead of seeing through them. I think this change also went hand-in-hand with greater acceptance of who I was as an Asian woman. When I ended up dating my last boyfriend, there wasn’t some crazy, eye-opening epiphany. It just felt..normal? Nothing that special. I was afraid of there being barriers between me and other Asians raised in Asian families, but being with my last boyfriend helped me to dispel a lot of generalizations I had made about being Asian American. Maybe my resistance to like Asian guys also grew out of my own insecurity about not being ‘Asian enough’ to be with them.

Even now, I do not deny my insecurities, but I do feel freer to date within my own race without embarrassment. Who knows what guy I’ll ultimately end up with. I’m not sure that’s really the point of all of this. The point is that I am Korean and I can finally see other Koreans as attractive. As beautiful, even. Take that, internalized racism!

The face(s) of politics

2010-06-20T20:20:00.005-04:00

Just wanted to share this article which was recently featured on Yahoo. It's about the rise of Indian American politicians and the notion of these individuals 'whitewashing' themselves vs. embracing their Indian identities. You know, I like the point that was made about the fact that the US currently has a black president named Barack Hussein Obama. There's absolutely much more work to be done, but that Obama is even in office right now does indicate progress. I personally feel that America is, overall, a largely conservative society that has not yet learned how to celebrate diversity. No, not acknowledge, or even accept, but celebrate. Differences = beautiful. They don't need to be painted over, but seen for what they are in all their glory. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

More substantial post to come in later days. Life's been rough lately and I'm just bouncing back into reality. Reader, whoever you are, I hope life is treating you well!

Adopted: Part II

2010-06-13T11:56:00.002-04:00

Adding onto my last entry, I just wanted to write a little more about Adopted. For starters, I liked the movie very much and would recommend it to anyone interested in broadening their perspective on transracial and transnational adoption. It was released, wow, four years ago, so I’m sure it’s nothing new to many. It was the first film I have ever watched relating specifically to adoption. There was so much to latch onto, so I apologize if my writing loses cohesion.

For those not familiar, I promise not to spoil too much! The movie follows two adoptions stories; one of 32 year old Jennifer Fero, a KAD facing her identity struggle and confronting her parents, the other of John and Jacqui, a couple in the process of adopting a child from China. The latter is focused on less in the documentary, but I was touched by their story (not to mention they have the same names as my parents!). I can not at all claim to know what it is like to be a parent, not yet at least. This couple, like my parents, were unable to get pregnant. I see that some parents of transracial adoptees get flack for how they handled raising their children and I do not intend to excuse parents for being colorblind and making their childrens’ birth cultures secondary. However, the couple in Adopted reminded me of the pain many parents have gone through prior to making the decision to adopt. I feel that this pain should be validated. Everyone involved in adoption brings a perspective and deserves to be listened to and empathized with. John and Jacqui really struck a soft spot with me. Their joy was so visible as they interacted with their new daughter. Finally. After failed attempts to get pregnant, they had a child and could identify themselves as mom and dad.

Jennifer Fero’s story felt like a significant contrast to John and Jacqui’s. Hers was full of sadness as she sought identity and understanding from her parents, including one who was terminally ill. This was hard to watch, especially since my own mom has been in life-threatening condition a few times. Nevertheless, Jennifer spoke so openly and I admired her courage in confronting her parents about her feelings. It was hard listening to their responses, which were often mixed with sorrow and resistance. There was no doubt that they loved her, but she was telling them things they clearly didn’t want to hear. Of the many poignant observations Jennifer made, I most connected with her notion that adoptees work hard to protect their parents. Yes, yes and yes. This is me, absolutely. And I can only imagine how hard it was for Jennifer to actually tell her parents about the lack she felt when she protected them for so long. I’m not sure that Jennifer felt like a strong person in this movie, but I thought that she exhibited great strength.

So, I recommend Adopted if you haven’t seen it already! Of course, I also have to throw out a friendly suggestion not to overgeneralize. My mom connected with John and Jaqui’s experience in some ways and I connected with Jennifer’s in some ways, but these two stories do not represent every parent and adoptee story. Even so, very worth watching and not something I will forget.

Watching Adopted with my mom

2010-06-12T12:08:00.003-04:00

I recently rented Barb Lee's film Adopted. Initially I was just going to watch it by myself later this evening, but when I told my mom what the movie was, she wanted to see it, too. So, we watched it together this morning. I will dedicate a proper post to the film itself at another time. Right now, my mind is on my mom's reaction to the movie. I can't say I was shocked because I have at least some idea of where my mom stands regarding my adoption. You might call her an old school mom, seeing as she adopted in the 80's; a time period when Korean adoption was at its peak, when attitudes regarding adoption were different than they are now and when there were literally fewer adult adoptee voices to talk of their experiences. The film did not sugar coat the experience of 32 year old adult adoptee Jennifer Fero whose story, to me, was just heartbreaking. When the film was over, I asked my mom what she thought. Her response was that it was 'depressing' and that 'that girl didn't adjust well'. My response was that I felt it was important for her struggle to be documented and that I could identify with many things she said or felt. This surprised my mom and led to a slightly uncomfortable conversation about racism. Fero was taunted at her predominantly white school for being Asian. My mom said, "Well, you never had that problem in school". I hesitated and then ended up dispeling this notion for her. Her words were sincere. She truly thought that I didn't experience racism growing up. I finally told her about the boys at school who made crude comments to me about Chinese porn and the father of a friend who called me a chink. It was a hard conversation for both of us. I could tell she felt a little hurt that I never told her about these incidents when they happened. Had I told her, I'm positive she would have folded me in her arms with love and acceptance, but she will never know what it is to actually be an Asian female in this society. This is no fault of hers. She is what she is. I am what I am. Watching Adopted today made me realize that this journey of exploration I am on will ultimately not affect just me. I'm glad my mom and I watched the movie together, even if it led to discomfort. I even told her about this blog. We might not be on the same page, but I want her to always know that she is welcome to be a part of this journey with me.

Drop in the ocean

2010-06-09T16:38:00.002-04:00

It’s a humbling experience, pulling back that lens you see the world through to view your life as one piece in a huge, ever-changing system of people and beliefs. Sometimes it’s so easy to get caught up in what you see up close. For most of my life, I have viewed my adoption in this way. I belonged to an adoption group and had a few adoptee friends in my childhood, so I knew I wasn’t alone, but still. I am the only Asian in my white family as well as an only child. I was one of maybe four total Asian kids at a high school of 1200. Growing up in the United States, I was raised under westernized ideals, which I interpret as putting high value on individuality and independence. Basically, I grew up feeling pretty darn unique. I was quite convinced that few people, if any at all, could truly understand me. Even now, there are still times when I curl into that self-absorbed, misunderstood ball. It’s certainly not something I’m proud of, but I try to face it.

In starting this blog, I have come to discover the incredible amount of adoptee voice and resources out there. Holy cow! The scholarly literature, memoirs, poetry, organizations, conferences.. I’ve been so isolated from all of it. Entering this adoption blogosphere has been overwhelming. Going from feeling alone to feeling like one of thousands is incredibly humbling. I can scarcely take it all in. There are so many smart, sincere and eloquent people getting their thoughts out there. Some have been blogging for years. Some stopped blogging years ago, but I still find myself entranced by their dust-covered words. All these amazing contributions make me want to re-assess why I’m here and why I’m doing this. In this sea of voices, what can I offer? I feel like I’ve entered a party unforgivably late. I want to be here, though, and I’m already learning so much. The adoption community is bigger and more present than I ever realized. I hope that I can start feeling like a part of it again.

Soo vs. (insert anglicized name here)

2010-06-05T13:23:00.004-04:00

Lately I’ve been debating whether or not to just use my first name in identifying myself on the blog. To be honest, using Soo has been a little weird for me. I initially opted to use it out of privacy, especially as I am one year of graduate school away from entering a profession which upholds boundaries about disclosing information and confidentiality. My name is not the most common of names for individuals my age and my odds of a future client stumbling upon this section of my life are probably very slim. Even so. I want to try to stick it out as Soo. I can’t help but get all symbolic on myself and wonder if there’s a discomfort in having people address me by a Korean name. I will openly admit that I haven’t ‘owned’ my identity as Korean for a large portion of my life. Calling myself Soo is like wearing a pair of shoes that don’t fit quite right, but I want to give them more time and see if they don’t break in a little.

I have noticed that a number of Korean adoptees (and perhaps other transnational adoptees as well?) legally change their name back to their name given at birth. I very much respect this choice and feel that people are entitled to define themselves the way they want to. They are taking back a piece of culture lost. In the case of my name, my parents actually wished to keep my Korean name as my first name. However, the adoption agency flat-out discouraged them and they relented. This truly bothers me. What right did that agency have to tell my parents what to do? The agency’s argument was that I needed a more anglicized name in order to ‘fit in’. Korean name = inferior, foreign, not American. Anglicized name = superior, assimilated, American. (They probably didn’t use those terms, but that is my blunt interpretation.) I don’t blame my parents for giving me the name I have. They still kept part of my Korean name, Soo Hyeon, as my middle name—a move the agency also did not support. Ultimately they took the ‘expert’ advice they were given, hoping it would give their daughter a more comfortable life. Who doesn’t want their child to feel accepted? I still disagree with what the agency told them, but truth be told, I do like my name. It was chosen by my late father and I intend to keep it, just as I also intend to keep Soo. Goodness knows what I’m going to do when I get married.

In our own words

2010-06-01T20:54:00.004-04:00

I just finished re-reading Digging to America by Anne Taylor. It follows the lives of two American families who first meet at the airport where both are picking up their adopted baby girls from Korea. One of the families is Iranian and the book often focuses on the varying degrees of challenge they face assimilating to America, particularly the grandmother, Maryam, who immigrated from Iran as a young bride. I feel as though the story had a lot of potential, but I was ultimately disappointed and even more so on this second read when I am a little more self-aware and critical.

Where to begin.. I cannot help but wonder what motivated Tyler to write this story. She writes about Maryam’s long buried, personal feelings of being an outsider. She writes about adoption. However, she herself is an outsider to these experiences. She is a white woman, born and raised in America. She never adopted children. Why this story? Why these characters? What made her feel she could write genuine portrayals? To be fair, I feel that all writers write outside their experience. And some of them are damn good at it. Tyler is a prolific, Pulitzer prize-winning author, but after reading other reviews of Digging to America, it seems that this book was received as one of her weaker publications. Perhaps I would have liked this story better if it were written by someone else.

One reason why I started this blog was to simply get my voice out there, even if it only reaches a handful of people. The words of adoptees are important and underrepresented. I still have a collection of childhood books about Korea and adoption on my shelf which I rifled through recently. As it turns out, the authors of over half of these books are neither Korean nor adopted. They are primarily teachers, parents of adoptees and missionaries. I could be sweet about things. I could offer my thanks and praise to these individuals and to Anne Tyler for bringing light to a population so infrequently in the spotlight. But the truth is that I’m a bit irritated. It is my opinion that the best way adoptees can be supported is through empowerment. Don’t write our stories for us. Instead, encourage us to speak. Who else can tell our stories better?

Those who came before

2010-05-25T20:28:00.004-04:00

My mom and I planted flowers at our relatives’ graves today. We do this every year around Memorial Day to honor family. I can’t always say I’ve gotten a lot out of the experience, to be honest. Going to the cemetery where my dad and paternal grandfather are buried draws forth emotion, but the rest of the relatives passed away long before I was born..before my parents were even married. Some of them are so rarely spoken of. I’ve heard stories here and there, but I never knew them and my interest in their lives feels like a detached interest.

Would I feel a deeper connection to my ancestry if I were a biological child? If my dad’s ancestors back in Wales ever imagined what their future generations would be like, I’m fairly certain they wouldn’t have pictured a Korean baby being attached to the family tree! When I think of ancestry, my mind drifts not to Wales or my mom’s German roots, but to Korea. There, I feel, is where my history lies, even if I left at six months and have never sought out birth family. There are people living in Korea who share my blood, who share physical traits, maybe even personality traits. We may not know each other, but generations eventually led to them and to me. In that way, I feel we are connected. To think of them makes the reality of what is happening between North and South even harder to face. How many ancestors already died in this civil conflict? And what, exactly, is in store for the living? I know these people even less than the ones whose graves I rinsed off with water today, yet something draws me more strongly to them..

In the midst of this confusion, one thing remains true: I love my family with all my heart. I genuinely appreciate hearing stories of their ancestors. After all, the people I love so much wouldn't be in my life without the generations that came before! But I feel as though I will never be able to claim these ancestors as my own. Still, I am glad for this ritual of remembrance to share with my mom, even if she is the only one of us who can remember.

B&N: An unrequited love

2010-05-23T13:58:00.005-04:00

I need to preface this by saying that Barnes & Noble is one of my favorite go-to stores. No matter where I'm living, I can always count on one being reasonably close to visit for an hour or three. Rarely does a visit leave me disappointed. Unfortunately, today was an exception.

We're well into the month of May, which means that it is officially Asian Pacific American Heritage Month in the United States. Book stores and libraries often have displays during the month of February for Black History Month. I figured maybe something would be going on for APAHM, too. Wishful thinking? I cannot speak for the entire chain, but my local B&N had nothing. The selection of books on Asian studies was scant. There was one shelf; a comparatively small selection to other ethnicities represented. Bummer. I realize this is nothing new, to find a footnote on my heritage, but it's still disappointing. And I do wish APAHM had been acknowledged on some level. On my way out of the store, I saw an "Asian Tattoo Kit" and a feng shui guide with little Chinese characters splashed all over it in the bargain section. Is this really the best that can be done? These kitschy images? I acknowledge that the area I am in right now does not have a large Asian population, but I don't view that as an excuse to underrepresent a group of people. Sadly, it all comes down to money and what is marketable to the target consumer. I will say one positive that came out of this visit was finding Eric Liu's The Accidental Asian. The cover depicts a fork next to a bowl of rice. All I can say to that is...word.

What's in a name?

2010-05-20T20:31:00.001-04:00

If you’re reading this entry right now, then you know that I finally did it. I finally decided to start a blog about being a Korean Adoptee (KAD). The idea to do this started months ago, but I couldn’t find the time and/or conviction. And I couldn’t think of a name for the blog. I wouldn’t say naming your blog is akin to naming a child or even a pet. Yeah..it’s probably one notch below pet. Or your car, perhaps. But a good name is something to be thought about carefully, at least for me.

The point of this rambling is that I want to tell you why I settled on the name *Chopsticks Not Included. My childhood was pretty blissful. I knew I was Korean, but didn’t feel the need to think about it all that intensely. Being part of a white family and growing up in a predominantly white community felt normal, natural. I enjoyed attending Korean culture camps and a local adoption group. Life was good. Until adolescence (arguably a miserable time for, well, anyone). At 11 years old, I walked into a Chinese restaurant, only to have the hostess ask me where I was from and then speak to me in a language I did not understand at all. It was a mere misunderstanding, but it was the first seed of discomfort planted in me and it grew for years. From that point on, Asian restaurants became something to be dreaded. I still remember the shame burning on my cheeks when I went for hibachi with a friend and her family once. I, the only Asian individual among our group, was the only one who struggled with the chopsticks and had to ask for a fork. I watched my friend and her parents, who were not the slightest bit of Asian ancestry, use their chopsticks with absolute ease and felt resentment. I looked at the Asian server who handed me the fork and felt ashamed. So much for enjoying a nice teriyaki dinner. I was having an identity crisis!

Incidentally, my mom and I went to a hibachi restaurant for lunch today. I love Asian cuisine too much to stay away from any place that serves good bulgogi, sushi or Pad Thai. My ability to use chopsticks is not perfect, but I’m improving and I can’t ask for much else. The chopstick issue really symbolizes my experience as a KAD, trying to figure out where I stand between the culture I was raised in and the culture I was born in. For me, I’m realizing this is a lifelong journey. I hope to keep sharing that journey through this blog.