Blood and Water (part 2)

How do you know when to hold on or let go? 

 For the last 10 years, I've been pursing communication with my biological family in hopes of meeting them one day. Sporadic emails over time seemed to be leading up to that point until a few months ago when I received the translation of my father's most recent email that may change the course of everything... 

I tried to write about it all just days after, but found I had to walk away from it all for a while. I had no answers, and still don't; however, one thing I've learned through this process is that the possibility exists that perhaps all of that searching was just to find that I no longer needed to be searching. 

I have people that love me, want me in their lives, and will make every effort to be in contact with me regardless of how busy they are. Why should I continue chasing after a "family" that would easily fall away as soon as I cease to make any effort? 

Sure, people have their arguments that I need to find my roots, and I agree to a point; however, not everyone's story is the same. Perhaps, just perhaps, it's ok if my roots were transplanted and I'm happy with where I'm grounding now.

Many of us have the driving need to have closure to every situation, but life doesn't always give us the closed ending for which we hope. Sometimes we have to learn to be ok with an outcome that ends with an ellipses instead of a period.

In this case, for now, I'm letting it go. I have the opportunity to build a family here with people I love and who love me in return. After a decade of chasing what's left me continually feeling confused, drained and empty, I'd rather pour myself into what will contribute to making my life happy and full.

Maybe one day I'll resume pursing my bloodline, or maybe I'll find that what I have here is enough in and of itself. 

"The old saying goes that we all have two families—the one we’re born with, and the one we find along the way. For some of us, the family we’ve found is everything, and enough."

(From the article: My Modern Family)

A Place in This World

(Picture from the article: Korean Adoptees, Part 3: Dating Inside and Out)

It hasn't been until the last year or so that I've begun to dig deeper into the part of my identity that I so boldly wear on my face, but ignore otherwise. I'm nearly considered an adult now. It's time to put on my big girl pants and confront myself. 

At the beginning of the month, I received the translation of the latest letter my biological father had written to me. I had all but forgotten about it until tonight. 

Well, that's sort of a lie. I didn't quite forget, but after a cursory review of it, I didn't read any further in depth. I read it the way I'd read a story about a stranger's life, and then promptly dropped it in case it would start to sink in that it was, in fact, not about a stranger. 

A couple of weeks later, I had a conversation with one of the staff members here about what I've been struggling with in terms of reconciling my 'too Asian to be white and too white to be Asian' issue as well as a bit about my apprehensions in visiting Korea to meet my family. She put me in touch with another Korean girl in LA who was a fellow at the school a few years ago. 

Nervously I composed my first email thinking, "What the fuck am I doing? Am I just going to pour out my life story to this poor unsuspecting stranger? What am I even trying to accomplish??" Thankfully, she was perfectly accepting and was, mercifully, better at directing the conversation than I was. 

After the exchange of several emails and a phone call, she sent me a list of resources for Korean adoptees. In this list contained a 4-part essay addressing several issues faced by Korean adoptees in the U.S. (If you have a moment, check them out. They're good for a different perspective. And for those of you who are close to me, they're another way to understand me. What's Your Name?, When Adoption Became Visible, Dating Inside and Out, and Return to the Motherland)

Shit. That's me. 

I read each part, and then read them again. "Holy shit," I thought to myself. "These are my thoughts and feelings written out by someone else." 

As I was reading the third essay, I came across the quote, "As much as I know my birth mother gave me a better life by putting me up for adoption, and as much as I'm grateful for my adoptive parents for doing so much for me… Do you ever feel like no matter how much someone will love you, there may be a day where they'll just leave?"

All.the.fucking.time. 

Looking back over the last 29 years, there's never been any question by me, or those who love me that I have a deeply embedded fear of being abandoned stemming from the adoption. A few people have brazenly suggested that, because I was adopted as a baby, it doesn't really affect me. 

Sure, right. I wasn't 11 years old. That unquestionably comes with its own set of obstacles. That said, who thinks about the ramifications of being inside a mother who is profoundly depressed and anxious for 9 months? About being born and instead of being surrounded by excitement, joy, and love- being met with disappointment, sorrow, and regret? About the first 3-4 months in an orphanage where no one knows if anyone responded to me when I cried?

The people who were supposed to love me forever rejected me the moment they saw me.

It's something I've been working on, and though I've come a long way, I know I still have a long way to go. Thankfully, I am blessed to have a few who love me deeply and have spent years by my side gently coaxing and convincing me that I'm stuck with them.

Love changes everything. It might be slowly, but it brings light where there was none.

After processing what I read, I remembered the letter from my father. After nearly a month, I finally went back to actually read it. 

"...And when I gave you over to Holt Child welfare agency I requested that your name be sent to America with you. However the employee changed the name I gave you "HyoJin" to an American name against my request. About the circumstances regarding your adoption... I was the eleventh generation of a "Kwon" and being the first born and without a son, my great grandmother threatened that if you were a daughter that she would force me to take a concubine so that it is why we eventually chose to send you off to be adopted, not because we had no money to perform an abortion. That isn't correct. I sincerely hope there is no misunderstanding about this."

(The files the agency sent with me said the reason for relinquishment was that my parents couldn't afford to have me abort. It also said I was the third girl. I was actually the fifth and final attempt to have a boy.)

The weight of the Korean culture forced my family to send me off into a world where I would spend many years struggling to find a place to belong. 

Day by day, moment by moment, I am finding my way into what I want for myself and my life. I'm learning what's important to me, and in a weird way, such a brutal form of rejection has been a blessing. It has allowed me to pull close what I know I want in my life in spite of the fear. I have a family who, in spite of our many years of distance and heartache, have been growing closer as times goes by, and a few precious friends who are not scared of my past or the parts that are still vulnerable and healing.

I haven't found that place that feels like home yet. Maybe I never will. Maybe this journey is home, and once I realize it, all my years of searching will find a place to rest.

Blood and Water

The last 10 days have been quite a roller coaster of emotions, and I'm still working on processing it all. 

I found a translator to make communication with my biological father easier (well, possible), and it's been relieving and frustrating and heartbreaking all at the same time. When I first found my biological family, the adoption agency had translated a few letters, and it was brought up that they want me to visit Seoul.

Nearly 10 years later, I'm finally entertaining the possibility of actually doing so. The idea of it scares me for several reasons. Heading to a country where I can't even fudge my way through understanding the language because I have zero idea of what the characters mean is the first hang up. Secondly, I have a non-existent sense of direction. How am I going to figure out where I'm going in this incredibly foreign country? Finally, I can conceptually imagine what it would be like to meet my father, mother, and 3 older sisters, but I know without a doubt the actual experience is something I won't be able to prepare for on any level. Then, to top it off, going back to the language thing- I'll be in front of these people who hold a large chunk of my identity and I won't be able to say a word they understand nor they to me. 

But, like my friend said today, "communication is in body language, sharing a meal, spending time with them." I said I wasn't ready. He told me my time is running out. I take for granted that we live in the United States where the way we live and work is vastly different from the way the poor in a country like South Korea work. The reality is that my parents are getting older, they've led hard lives, and their health is already beginning to fail. 

In this case, I don't know that there is a "right" moment- the right moment is me going in spite of my fear, in spite of not feeling ready. The likelihood of feeling ready to meet the blood from which I came is probably slim. So, this year, I won't wait for the elusive opportune moment. I will go visit my biological family and face a history that was, until now, only loosely sketched out on paper.

Language Barriers

The students have been here for over a week now. Things that I would have thought would bother me just amuse me- their antics, their attitudes, their varying degrees of defiance and testiness.

I love it. I love their personalities, their quirks, their stories... though, sometimes their stories break my heart. They are a group of survivors- resilient fighters trying to figure out how to live in this world.

And sometimes, they're also just goofy bratty teenagers.

While discussing my daily schedule with my supervisor, I realized that I don't actually know when I'm working and when I'm not because what I'm "supposed" to be doing is stuff I want to be doing. I had a moment of utter disbelief... "Wait... What? Seriously? That's what my days are supposed to look like?" I mean, obviously there are going to be days where I retract everything I just said; however, after the purgatory that was my last job, even the hard days here will likely pale in comparison because here there's meaning. There are people involved- people who tell stories and speak in a language all too familiar to me. They speak in honest tones of avoidance and detachment that give away the depth behind the facade, and at the same time also speak with open sincerity and willingness to let you into their space. I was surprised by how quickly their affections surfaced with us. They hug, tease, test, challenge and inspire.

I feel lucky to be here in this beautiful place where I will be challenged to grow in ways I would have never imagined a year ago.

The intensity of the schedule and environment leaves me little space to process some of the tender areas of my life... so here I am, putting it out there into the safe anonymity of the internet.

About 6 weeks ago I decided to reconnect with the adoption agency my parents went through in efforts to find a translator to make communication with my biological father easier. One would think that after over 8 years of trying to communicate between English and Korean, I'd have learned that this process is never easy. This is a language I don't understand, and honestly, I'm not sure that I want to learn it for a multitude of reasons. There's a surreal element to my life- this whole other family, culture, and identity that almost was, but wasn't, but somehow still is. Pieces of myself are contained in this family literally a world away- and I don't even know how to speak to them. It's frustrating.

Years ago when I first initiated contact, the agency sent me a letter that my father had written 3 days after I was born. It sat in the archives for over 20 years. I learned that my parents intentionally wanted me to be sent to some place where I would stick out- where it would be clear that I did not belong so that I would look for them one day. And they succeeded. My entire life, I have not once felt as though I belonged anywhere, so I've traveled, wandered, and searched for the transient meanings of "family" and "home."

Here in the mountains, I'm exploring what those things mean. I'm exploring the concepts of identity and belonging with and through the students. I'm exploring parts of myself that I had to hide away because I wasn't strong enough to deal with them before.

Before I left Pennsylvania, a few people felt it necessary to remind me that I couldn't run from myself. I was never trying to run away from myself; I am giving myself the chance to know myself in a way I wouldn't have been able to without letting go of my comfortable routines- without facing my fear.

This year will be hard in a lot of ways, but as I'm finding, not in the ways I anticipated. Instead of learning to build walls and defenses, I will need to learn how to let them down while maintaining healthy boundaries.

There is much growing to do, and I'm looking forward to learning the language of it all.

As far as my biological family is concerned, I suspect that, like the rest of my life, the results will be something I would have never predicted.