It’s times like these that I just have to take a step back from any critical thinking regarding adoption and let myself feel. My lovely grandma passed away this week. She was 96 years old. The last time I saw her was about two weeks ago. So much of her mind had grown dark from Alzheimer’s. She could not articulate names or how we were connected, but there was still the dimmest light of recognition. I knew this because when I leaned in close to talk to her, she said, “Hello darling”. She has always reserved the word ‘darling’ for me, her only granddaughter. Her passing did not come as a shock because her decline was so rapid over the last month. In a situation that would be stressful for anyone, our family has handled everything with incredible grace. As much as it saddens us to not have her here with us anymore, we knew we couldn’t hold on forever. Her condition worsened so that eating and breathing would no longer come easily. The most loving thing we could do was let her go and be at peace.
In this moment, I can only think about my love for her and the tremendous relationship we shared. At 25, I know there are many out there who did not get to keep their grandmas as long or who never had them in their lives in the first place. It is for those reasons that I am grateful. When my parents first shared that they would be adopting a Korean baby, my grandma was not thrilled. Or, at the very least, a little confused. But if you ever saw us together, you would never know that. I have felt nothing but pure love and affection from her for as long as I can remember. In retrospect, one thing that touches me most is how she used to sleep over every Christmas Eve at my house with my mom and I. She could have stayed with her daughter, but she always stayed with us, her son’s wife and child. Somehow, as all grandmas know, she knew we needed her. She was a mother to my mom and the ultimate grandparent to me as all the others had passed long before. She could share in the loss of my father in a way that no one else could truly share. She was our protector who kept us close to her heart always.
Sometimes people like to ask if I “regret” being adopted. Well, regret might just be the wrong sentiment. I am sad that I’ve never had a relationship with my Korean family. I am sad that my connections to my Korean heritage have been tenuous most of my life. I am sad for the missed opportunities. But I am not sad to be a part of my American family. They are my world and they have brought me so much joy and love. I’ve realized how much I despise the notion of birth and adoptive families somehow being pitted against one another. I do not wish for one over the other. Even though I don’t know my birth family, at the end of the day, I cannot hate them. I cannot call them inferior. Who am I to even make those judgments? If I were to have any regret at all, it would be over the fact that I have been unable to have both families in my life. If I had the power to choose, I would choose both.
Adoptees haven’t had the power to choose in many ways and I lament that. But, right now, I can also say that having the privilege of being my grandma’s darling was one of the greatest choices I never got to make.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Duck, duck, goose
The easiest way for me to describe my family’s love for me can be summed up in one word: seamless. Among my mother, grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins, I am one of the crew. I am not loved any less or any differently. In their company, I have always felt as though I belonged. I have always felt relevant. Even as the only Asian person in the room, I never felt isolated or uncomfortable. It didn’t matter because we’re family. This is our normal, you know? Being the only Asian at every holiday and birthday party has been my normal. And I’ve largely been okay with that.
And then this past weekend happened. A few relatives on my dad’s side organized a mini reunion out in this little rural town at an American Legion. I agreed to go, assuming that it would probably be a bit awkward since these were more distant relatives that I rarely saw. I perpetually mix up how this person is related or who that person is married to. This get-together would be a good chance to clarify this tangled extended family tree of ours.
Once at the reunion, though, I couldn’t help but start thinking of the tree as theirs. I felt no sense of ownership. I am tenuously connected as it is with my dad gone. He was the main connecting thread and that thread was irreversibly broken decades ago. I felt awkward from the second I stepped into the American Legion. I was greeted (and I use that term loosely) by a handful of patrons sitting at the bar: a bunch of old white men nursing beers staring at me in a way that I can only describe as condescending. Not really the best way to start this get-together! By virtue of being a young Asian female, I suddenly felt like I had no business even being inside the establishment. Did the Civil Rights Movement not happen?
Fortunately, my relatives were a far cry from the old men. They were largely a laid-back bunch; friendly, casual and with a sense of humor. Some of them remembered me and were very warm. Others weren’t really all that open to engaging in conversation. As usual, I was the only Asian in the room and, for the first time at a family function, I felt uncomfortable about that. Those who weren’t used to having me around were just visibly not as comfortable identifying me as a family member. And it bothered me. I feel as though it’s my right to feel part of my family, including my extended family. This experience made me feel as though I really don’t have much claim to an extended family.
I realize that it’s negative to fixate on the less welcoming aspects of this reunion, but I just can’t help it. Maybe I was more self-conscious because we were in a public place and I was the only person of color in the entire building. Maybe my own biases came into play. I’ve heard enough old white veteran men make disparaging remarks about “Japs” and “Gooks” to make me feel uneasy. And on my part, that is an extremely unfair generalization to make. There were maybe 30 at the party altogether and aside from talking with a handful of friendly people, I just felt lonely. I found myself oddly wishing that I had an Asian significant other with me. I just wanted to look like I belonged with someone. In this particular environment, I felt exposed. It was the first distinct time that I desired a sense of protection from being with another person of color. It just disappoints me that this happened among family. It reminds me again of why I needed to break away from that little hometown.
And then this past weekend happened. A few relatives on my dad’s side organized a mini reunion out in this little rural town at an American Legion. I agreed to go, assuming that it would probably be a bit awkward since these were more distant relatives that I rarely saw. I perpetually mix up how this person is related or who that person is married to. This get-together would be a good chance to clarify this tangled extended family tree of ours.
Once at the reunion, though, I couldn’t help but start thinking of the tree as theirs. I felt no sense of ownership. I am tenuously connected as it is with my dad gone. He was the main connecting thread and that thread was irreversibly broken decades ago. I felt awkward from the second I stepped into the American Legion. I was greeted (and I use that term loosely) by a handful of patrons sitting at the bar: a bunch of old white men nursing beers staring at me in a way that I can only describe as condescending. Not really the best way to start this get-together! By virtue of being a young Asian female, I suddenly felt like I had no business even being inside the establishment. Did the Civil Rights Movement not happen?
Fortunately, my relatives were a far cry from the old men. They were largely a laid-back bunch; friendly, casual and with a sense of humor. Some of them remembered me and were very warm. Others weren’t really all that open to engaging in conversation. As usual, I was the only Asian in the room and, for the first time at a family function, I felt uncomfortable about that. Those who weren’t used to having me around were just visibly not as comfortable identifying me as a family member. And it bothered me. I feel as though it’s my right to feel part of my family, including my extended family. This experience made me feel as though I really don’t have much claim to an extended family.
I realize that it’s negative to fixate on the less welcoming aspects of this reunion, but I just can’t help it. Maybe I was more self-conscious because we were in a public place and I was the only person of color in the entire building. Maybe my own biases came into play. I’ve heard enough old white veteran men make disparaging remarks about “Japs” and “Gooks” to make me feel uneasy. And on my part, that is an extremely unfair generalization to make. There were maybe 30 at the party altogether and aside from talking with a handful of friendly people, I just felt lonely. I found myself oddly wishing that I had an Asian significant other with me. I just wanted to look like I belonged with someone. In this particular environment, I felt exposed. It was the first distinct time that I desired a sense of protection from being with another person of color. It just disappoints me that this happened among family. It reminds me again of why I needed to break away from that little hometown.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Death and abandonment issues
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 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.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Angry Asian girl
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.
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.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Gratitude (but not the kind you might be thinking of)
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.
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.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Small town girl blues
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.
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.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Airplane Day
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..
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..
Monday, December 20, 2010
I love my mom
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!
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!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
I'm with her...no, really, I am.
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.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
A room of our own
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.
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.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
My grandma as Yente
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.
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.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Watching Adopted with my mom
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.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Soo vs. (insert anglicized name here)
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Those who came before
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.
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.
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