Home Is Where The Heart Is (Also: The Final Weeks)

Nine months ago I left my cozy stable life behind in pursuit of what I hoped would be a better life. 

Did I find it?

Yes and no. 

It's a story that's so popular these days; leave your stable well-paying job, sell all of your things, leave your home, live by the seat of your pants while hoping that the universe really will conspire to assist you once you make a decision (I'm still not so sure of that, Paulo Coelho).

I've only got 5 weeks left in this too-beautiful-to-be-real living and working space tucked away in the mountains. The last several weeks I've felt completely and utterly excited to start a new chapter of my life mixed with a sense of complete and utter failure. 

I have just as little clue of what I want to be doing with my life as I did when I arrived. 

In addition, as I reflect on the past several months, I catch myself wondering how much any of what I did really mattered. 

Did I just pour everything I could into something only to find it wasn't (good) enough? 

Generally, I have the wherewithal to pull myself back into a more rational positive mindset, but lately I've been struggling with everything going on back home for which I'm not present; a death, a major health issue, a struggling wandering heart, a family crisis, and a love.  

My friends are an incredible blessing, and even those who are struggling are reminding me that this decision was not a mistake. I've learned lessons here that I may never have learned any other way, and, I have a love reminding me of the home awaiting me. 

"You had to leave to find what you really wanted. You know now where your heart is. I know you don't know the specifics of what you'll be doing, but you know where you want to be. You'll figure the rest out, and we'll be here for you." 

So, I guess I lied a little when I said "no" in regards to my opening question. The answer is simply "yes," I did find a better life than the one I had been leading. This one has been full of learning, adventures, new friends, eye-opening experiences and a redefinition of what and where home and love are. Trite as the phrase "home is where the heart is" sounds (and is), it also holds a lot of truth. 

And as far as feeling as though what I've done isn't good enough, I have to remember that when we do the best we can, at the end of it all, we have to be ok with accepting that is good enough because it's all we've got. 

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.

When There's No Going Back

I've been home for 9 days now. It's a strange mix of feeling comforted by the familiar and sad that what I used to be so much a part of, I am now becoming an increasingly vague memory. I knew that would happen. Such is the nature of leaving- the spaces you once filled must necessarily be filled with something or someone else.

Some of them, anyway. There are a precious few spaces that I know will contain only me no matter how long I am gone from them. One of those spaces I am currently inhabiting, literally and figuratively, as I write this entry.

Family and home have always been elusive concepts for me; I've never really felt as though I belonged anywhere. My most comfortable place still possesses an element of disengagement because at the heart of it, I know it's not mine. This home welcomes me with open arms and hearts each time I come back, and here is where I take refuge from the rest of the world now that I don't have my own space, but when it's all said and done, I will depart and their lives will be unaffected that I'm gone; as it should be.

But I can't help but want something of my own- something that subconsciously brings a smile to my face because I know it's where I'm meant to be. That something could be a career, a place, a hobby, a passion... something that belongs with me and me with it.

A few days ago, I received an email in Korean text from my biological father. I plugged it into Google Translate (I know, I know- that does a horrible job, but it gives at least some inkling as to what he's said) and he apparently made some reference to when they gave me up. I've received a few like that before, but this time it felt different- it was frustrating and left me feeling as though a giant chunk of my identity is tied up in another country in a language I don't understand... because it is. It's strange to think that there are people out there who are intimately tied to me biologically, and I can't even have a small talk conversation with them. They wanted me to be sent to a country where I would stick out- where I would know I didn't belong so I would find them one day. Their plan worked- I did find them, and in turn, opened a whole different level of searching for meaning in family, home, and belonging.

Which brings me back to now. Part of me wonders if my search for somewhere to belong is the result of nearly 29 years of knowing I was sent to a place where I would perpetually stick out. In some ways, I'm lucky because without that sense of displacement, I don't know that I would have been driven to travel as much as I have or been as adamant about how important it is to live in a way that makes sense to me, even if everyone else thinks it's crazy.

People have asked me if I regret any of the choices I've made (like quitting my job), and for me, it seems like a pointless question because my choices were made and consequences are playing out. I can't go back and change what I did in the past, and frankly, I wouldn't want to. Of course I'm anxious sometimes because of all of the unknowns I invited into my life, but I also invited infinite opportunity. For example, I know that if I wouldn't have moved to Colorado, my search into my identity wouldn't have the depth it does now. I have no idea where that will lead, but I can only imagine a positive outcome.

(A Few) Things I Learned the Last 3 Months

After 3 incredibly long but fast-moving months, I'm going back to the place where the journey all began. I'm going back for a break, to rest, to sleep, to eat, to train, to enjoy being who and what I am without every.single.thing.I.say.and.do being weighed, analyzed, and judged. 

I'm going back to the place I hated for so long to find my safe place because many of my safe places are contained in human form; in the faces of my friends and family who are there waiting for my return. Sometimes, you have to leave a place to find what you love about it. 

  

That said, for those who are wondering, I have no plans to move back to PA anytime soon. I've realized how much I value and miss those whom I love, but I still have yet to find what I left seeking. Sounds pretty vague, huh? I know, and I can assure you, it's as frustrating for me as it may be for you. But in the words of Steve Jobs, "as with all matters of the heart, you'll know it when you find it." I don't know exactly what I'm looking for- I just know I had to leave to find it, whatever "it" is... a job, an adventure, a love, a new way of living.... the possibilities are endless. Maybe I'll find all of them. 

Another thing I have discovered is that my obsession with travel wasn't confined only to daydreams within my cube walls. My mind still wanders to far off places and dreams of meeting new people and learning how they live, work, eat, celebrate, mourn, and play. I imagine staring into vast blue oceans, exploring dirty dusty streets, climbing terrifyingly high mountains, and taking in views that would take my breath away while redefining how I perceive myself and my place in the world. 

For now, I have no big trips planned. My only focus is to go home to see my family. "Home" and "family" have also taken on new meanings as I hear the students' stories and re-analyze my own. Generic as it may sound, home has nothing to do with the location, and everything to do with the people.  Family isn't only about who gave birth to you, or necessarily even who raised you or who grew up with you- it's who holds your heart and you theirs. It's who loves you without pretense, without inhibition, and with everything they have. 

I'm going home to see my family.

Home is the Love You Carry With You

12 days.

Holy shit.

I'm leaving in 12 days. Less than two weeks.

This realization began to finally settle in as I re-read the cards given to me at my farewell party last night. Looking at pictures of my 2 year old niece and 4 year old nephew that my sister had put in my card caused me to reflect on the last few years- I remembered part of why I stayed so long was wanting to stay long enough for them to be able to remember who I am.

They remember me now. They ask when I'm coming to visit. They are little people with likes and dislikes, thoughts, ideas... I had a brief teary-eyed moment as I realized my monthly visits to Philly to see them will be reduced to once or twice a year.

Then I thought of the last two months, of the people- my friends and family- I've been able to really spend quality time with, and I felt really really sad. Sad because these people who have loved me, in spite of my quirks and neurotic (sometimes obsessive) tendencies, will be much further than a quick car ride away. Dinners, lunches, trips to the beach, hikes, and happy hours will all boil down to long distance Skype, emails, and phone calls.

But then I remembered that it is also because of them and their love that I am able to take off. They have loved me through some of the most difficult parts of my life, and helped me to heal. I can leave with my heart whole and intact with the knowledge that they will be with me wherever I am. 

I am unspeakably grateful for these people- these talented, passionate, intelligent, strong, loyal, loving people- who, for whatever reason, have made room in their lives for me. They are my family and my home.

As the days wind down, and I prepare to pack up my car to venture westward, I am shifting my focus from leaving what I love to remembering that what I love is the reason I am able to go. For much of my life I've had a pervading sense of lacking a home, but now more than ever, I've been learning that home  isn't necessarily a specific place or person. Sometimes, home is the love you carry with you.

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, 

while loving someone deeply gives you courage."

-Lao Tzu