Shhh…

loved this…from postsecret.blogspot.com

 

Things

i think i’m sick of adoption everything.

i’m a kad – currently – sick of kads.

and i feel more than a little bad about it.

it’s not that i feel better than anyone, and it’s not that i think it’s not something worthwhile to read, write, and talk about it.

but sometimes, it just makes me sick.

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on another note – i’d like to quit my job and travel through southeast asia for a couple of months.

what am i running away from?

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“the good earth” – pearl s. buck – fantastic read, i don’t know how i missed it all these years.

 

Weekend At Home

i thought my blog needed an update, but didn’t have the time to actually do anything original – so i apologize for posting some old writing.

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weekend at home
when i think back upon it i wonder how i survived all those years, growing up here. this weekend, i was revisited by ghosts of my past, the three companions of so many years: seclusion, separation, segregation.

saturday night, i hit up all the old local standards, the globe, branagan’s, the dub (dublin house), and ended at red. i didn’t see a single asian the entire night. i didn’t see another minority, until i went to red (an upscale hip, hip-hop lounge). in general, i was intoxicated enough to not really notice or care, but later, contemplating it all, it hit me how out of place i must’ve “looked”, which transitioned to how i subconsciously “felt”.

sunday. the first sunday of lent. i attended mass where my father sings in the choir. in the hundreds of faithful, my awareness heightened from the night before, not a single minority. walking down the center aisle to receive communion contemplating the body and blood of Jesus, i couldn’t help but be nagged by the feeling that i was the “odd-one out”. were those stares, furtive glances, slight rises of eyebrows? and how could i blame them, squished as i was between my italian mother, and the beefy investment banker looking guy behind me. my flat face, slanted eyes, black hair, and darker toned skin couldn’t be missed, in this crowded white collar, old money congregation. i blushed. embarrassed. shy. and i piously bowed my head further.

i went to brunch with my dad. the broadway diner. you can’t miss the logos of Les Miserables, Miss Saigon, and Phantom of the Opera posters hanging just inside the window. we were discretely sat in the back corner. over the cup of joe, we talked about my dad’s recent trip to guatemala. the waitress came to take our order, and i saw the ever so slight questioning look. two eggs over easy, side of buckwheat pancakes, and a large glass of oj i say. was that registered surprise for how fluent my english sounded? not a single asian, let alone minority (do we count the hispanic bus boys/girls?) crossed my path. i was singularly alone. and for some reason, feeling like i was in the wrong place. i didn’t belong here. i had disturbing flashes of grammar school.

dare i admit that i went to see brokeback mountain that night? how could i say no to my own mother. i almost got out of it, but my dad was called to the hospital, what a convenient emergency. i couldn’t let her go alone to the movies, and she couldn’t wait to see the “scenery of backcountry wyoming on the big screen…” (yes, these are the types of reasons why my mother goes to the movies; story lines, plots, actors, directors are all beside the point). we drove to a discount indy theatre in bradley beach. driving through the mamouth turn of the century and early 19th century mansions of monmouth beach, deal, and asbury park, i realized, all of them were painted white. symbolically white. the theatre had about a hundred people already seated, we missed the best part, the previews. white. i slid deeper into my seat. i mean really, who goes to the movies with their mom on a sunday night, and to see gay cowboys? i wasn’t white.

the train into the big apple this morning was crowded with the usual suits and wannabe commuting actors. i slept. but how glorious it was to see so many colors walking to my office. so many faces. i am anonymous in this city. i’m just a patch on an infinitesimal quilt. not a single raised eyebrow, furtive glance, questioning look; or there was that one, but she was probably just checking out my new duds…

 

Colored Walls

there are so many situations, and that’s why i think it’s hard to say
unequivocally that the bmoms are at fault across the board – just my
opinion though.

i think the system needs to change. i think the culture needs to
change. i think the government needs to change. through that change,
i think more ownership can be placed on the bmoms. but cultural
revolutions aren’t easy to come by.

i know that my bmom supposedly gave me up to the orphanage several
months before she got married. that her “boyfriend” who was my father
was an older, married, owner of the clothing store she worked in.
that i grew up with her and my maternal grandmother – before being
sent to Eastern. these are the words that were recorded the day she
dropped me off.

they echo off blank walls, colored by my imagination – changing,
drifting in multi-faceted hopes and dreams at 5, 15, 25 years old. i
fill in the blanks of her situation, at 5 with no other resolution
than being fed well, cared much, and disciplined for my need to hide
food, cajole my playmates, and hide under my blanket at night. at 15
i know nothing of korea except that it is foreign, uncool, a place
where my bmom gave birth to me and sent me away for a “better life” -
i’m told to thank her for giving me opportunity, and that she loves me
in her “own way”. i’m 25 and i know korea more vividly than i ever
dreamed i would. i breathed the smog filled air of seoul for years,
capturing the scent of my birthland, something too familiar,
recognized by a place so deep down i can’t see it, no matter how hard
i look. my mind’s eye plays games when i sleep, her words resound in
korean, and i understand – but sadly, i do not believe. the walls of
memory are slashed and ripped by vivid dream colors, and at 25 i see
things too well – they blind and hurt. she gave me up to get married.
she sent me away to fulfill her own dreams. dreams that you can only
have in korea with a man’s name. he now keeps me from her, and she
keeps me from myself. i forgive, but i don’t forget; i want to paint
my walls with the right palette – not the dashed discord of pitiful
imagination.

 

Horoscope

…i came across my friend’s blog – they write:

“Most people know their sun sign. Friends have told me they don’t believe in horoscopes because how can it be that every single person born in the same 30 day period be the same? They’re not! Knowing the positions of other celestial bodies at the time of birth tell you a lot more about your personality than just knowing your sun sign alone. And it comes down to the day, the minute, the second. Interested? Enter your birth info here. If you don’t know your birth time, just ask yo’ mama…”

when i was in korea, i went to a fairly well respected fortune teller near shinchon rail station. it cost me $200 – ridiculous, i know – but for some nagging reason, i believed, or tried to. if there is anything to be said, those fortune tellers are mythic in their knowledge of chinese characters. after asking me preliminary questions, he came to the most important; he wanted to know the exact date and time of my birth. when i told him that i didn’t know, and the circumstances as to why i didn’t know, he shook his head gravely, told me to give him a “best estimate”, and promptly gave me a discount. he started with the preamble that without knowing that information, his ability to “read” accurately would be impossible…

i guess i look in strange places for answers i only wish i had…

to then be denied even these simple answers, for the lack of answers themselves…

 

Language, memory, history, blood…

I thought it was just me. Spent more than two years in Korea, and
still, I have a tough time negotiating the streams of the Korean
language. Covered 5 levels of Korean courses, and still, I would
say my speaking skills are pitifully adolescent. What is up “there”
(in my head), which makes this so hard that blocks my tongue from
caressing over the words in the language imprinted in my blood??
Before I went to Korea, I had this hope/dream that I would wake up
REMEMBERING. It took me an entire year of immersion to have my
first “Korean dream”, it wasn’t all that exciting.

Nothing is natural. Korean rolls off my tongue as unnaturally as
the Spanish and French I learned in grammar school and HS. I
stutter often, and speak quietly, shyly, without confidence or the
articulation that I think portrays who I am. This is not the Korean that I
spoke when I strolled off the plane from Korea. Demanding! Whining!
Screaming! Asking for the bathroom, for food, for my mother! Where
has that gone? I’ve given up hope that it’s stored in any
accessible location – up there. If it’s in there, it’s deep, well sealed,
padlocked, atrophied…possibly, pushed so far into the farthest
recesses that it might as well be gone…poof!

Then, there are bright days. I’m talking to my Korean friend, we
speak Konglish, and dig deeper into more serious and convoluted
topics, harking back to our native tongues more and more, but then,
it comes out…especially as I’m talking about my feelings, about
my “마음” (ma-eum)…my “정” (chong)…I say it in Korean, because
that’s the way I feel…I can’t say it in English…but in Korean,
it articulates itself…and it’s powerful…beautiful…so
right…and she understands perfectly…tongue, mind, heart, spirit
all Korean all making sense…finally…

It’s taken me so long, and I have/want to go so much further. I can
do it, but it’s the grind that I’ve chosen…I’m embarrassed,
ashamed…I can’t speak “my” language. And then I get
mad…passionate rage. “Why do I feel so wronged?…and WHY, if my
Korean is not perfect do they look at me strange, look at me with
pity, look at me like I’m mentally handicapped…but…holy shit, a
white American, in their loud, nasal drawl horrendously mashes out a
simple, gutteral, deplorable, condescending, ‘COME-suh_HAP-ni_DA!’
they are crooned over???!!!!!” Their hedious pentamic, Romance,
Western infused mouthing of MY LANGUAGE! FUCK – THAT – !

So yeah, I will be quiet, and shy, ashamed…but when the day comes
that I speak perfectly…I will shout and scream, “내가 한국인 이
야!!! 내 말 들어봐!” (“I AM KOREAN! LISTEN TO ME!)…and maybe,
someone, someone who cares, WILL listen and croon over me…

 

Reminded

As people, we naturally yearn to just “fit in”. It’s a concept that never seems to escape us adoptees, no matter how much time and effort we put in to building, reinforcing, and reminding ourselves of our self worth and identity.

For years, growing up in worlds that seem so our own, we are reminded time and time again that we don’t hold all the attributes – barring our complete assimilation. We wake up, day in and day out, many – even most – of us completely unaware nor caring of our inherent difference to the enculturation that we endured being raised in the respective environments we were adopted into. It’s rude awakenings, jolting shocks, near-slaps in the face moments which never let us forget – we are not totally our parents’ children, our siblings’ sibling, nor our community’s community.

Of course, during our younger ages, we are more directly affected by our difference. We’re hyper-sensitive to it, and as nurtured, learned survivors, have created mental/emotional defenses to defeat our inner feelings of incompatible failings. A near universal theme amongst the adoptees that I have come to know, has been the phase through which we birthed into our enculturized existence. For me this consisted of a near elimination of my Asian identity – forget welcoming it, I shunned it, shut it out of my life with an almost outrageous passion.

Obviously, much has changed in my adolescent and adult life. I’ve recreated “who” I am in an effort to embrace – “who” I am. This process has been long, arduous, painful, and most importantly, on-going. I am not, nor will I ever fully subject myself to accept the fact that I am not fully assimilated, but it’s a fact that during my stronger moments in life, I have come to accept.

It’s easy for me to verbalize, to bring some existential wisdom to, to express in the intellectual language of liberal erudition, what it means to be “proud of who I am”. I am a proud “Asian American”, I am empowered by the multicultural movement, the idea of ethnic studies, and the hopes for a nation of a quilted pattern. But…

Why then am I ashamed of sitting next to the Asian family I see at the beach during those weekends at home, ashamed of ordering Chinese food in the middle of my small, yuppy, suburban town, ashamed of seeing my people speak in their native languages at the local mall? Where is the pride in that? Where is the empowerment that I can so clearly define and project with such vigor? Where is the fairness of having to “feel” a shame that I can only know by knowing one culture, but being objectified as, and objectifying another…

This is the irony of MY existence. This is the dichotomy of who I am, and no matter what, I will always be reminded…and always, deep down during those hidden moments, feel that shame…and it hurts…

 

Dream, memory, fantasy – what’s the difference?

…there is a house – in the center of the first floor, a square opening with a ladder leading to the second. there, a bedroom with a soft, plastic floor – warm on my knees, dark wood walls surround me, and a mahogany bureau against the wall. i’m crawling on the floor, searching for my favorite – sugar cookies, hidden – someon comes in, and finds me, placating my child’s desire; the taste still sweet on my tongue, as i gloat over my good fortune.

suddenly…i’m crying, and don’t know why, and i’m held, and don’t know who. this house, with its ghosts, in my dreams, so fleeting – to focus on it, and it disappears into the threadbare wisps of memory, recedes into the dark corners of my cerebral maze…

is this all i have to hold on to? am i sleeping, or am i awake, dreams and memories dancing, intertwined in angry and wild colors, impossible to decipher, one in the same, the same in each other…

엄마 (mother), help me…help me remember…

 

제 2 과 : 입양 – Adoption (Chapter 2)

…reposted…

so i was flicking through a couple of old albums at home, and pulled a few out and scanned into my computer. i realized that in this day and age, prints just won’t last, and it’s a good idea to have a couple online.
so i scanned a few from the first couple of days, and first couple of weeks when i arrived in the states. i thought i’d share a some of them. it’s an interesting juxtaposition, the happiness of arrival and the sadness of leaving. even at that tender age, i have to believe i was very much aware of one immediate on the mind, and the other heavy on the heart.

perhaps this can be illustrated…

picture sent to my parents prior to my arrival:

w/ my foster mom, and my identity card…

…off the plane…straight to……………..

…the new family!

…after crying…they stuffed something in my pockets – CANDY!

…my new family tried hard to make me feel at home…brown rice in chicken broth – i didn’t know the difference…

…so simple they say…sliding right into my new life…

… but still…wondering about all that was left behind…

 

제 1 과 : 입양 – Adoption

trans. "Chapter 1: Adoption"

Subtitle: 친가족 찾다
trans: "Birth Family Search"

One of the main themes for this blog, and I'm not one to be absolutely restricted by some notion of rules or order, was to talk a bit more about adoption. Not knowing either a start nor good beginning, I thought I'd share a bit of the correspondence in my most recent search for my birth mother.

The etymology of my search began in 1994, when my mother initially proposed the idea of visiting Korea on a motherland tour (the second of its kind at the time). Being young, fickle, and fairly blasé about the whole issue, I neither acquiesced nor made a firm decision about it either way. In the off-hand way that kids that age often handle serious topics, I said, "Surrre" (notice the elongated emphasis on the "errr" sound and slight inflection downward). Thus it began.

Here, I'm going to quickly synopsize the events. I wrote a letter prior to the Motherland Tour, which was translated and then sent via the adoption agency to the address of where my birthmother was living. Apparently her husband intercepted the letter, read it, and became outraged. Right off the bat we have mistake #1, it is bad practice to send correspondence blindly, especially in a country where adoption is seen as a HUGE ding against ones' reputation. Thus attempt number one failed. Five years later, when I was living in Korea at this time, attempt two was made. It was also doomed to failure as the adoption agency was neither thrilled to put much effort into it. I was walled by "We were unable to locate your mother's new address." With much persistence, and two years later, just as I was leaving Korea, attempt three was made. The director of the agency took more than 3 months to finally locate who she thought was my uncle (my mother's older brother). Again, she sent a letter (why they keep on this obviously failed tack is beyond me). The letter was not answered, and here the story gets blurry. I'm not sure how it went about, but somehow they achieved some verbal contact. At this time, I was corresponding with them from the United States. I inquired about my search about 2 months after I had returned, and here was their response:

Dear John

I am very sorry for late reply. It was not easy for me to explain about this situation knowing how hard you have been searching for your birth family.

But, it is true that I have been doing my best to help you. With the information we had, I had contacted the persons I thought might be your birth mother and uncle but they absolutely denied having given up a baby for adoption. Every once in a while, we come across such a situation and there are usually three explanation for it.

First, the birth mother react this way because no one knows about her past and she would like to protect her present life and the people around her. In these cases, once a couple of years has passed, some will admit to having done so.

Second, to conceal her identity, the birth mother has falsified all her information at the time of adoption. In these case, we can not find her. Third, for reasons we can not explain, we have the wrong information. In your case, we don't know which of these is the reason we can not locate your birth mother. If the first explanation fits your case, we might be able to try contact her again in two or three years.

Unfortunately, there seems to be nothing we can do right now. We tried contacting the social worker who met your birth family at the time of adoption but that branch office has since closed and she has passed away. We are so sorry and I hope you will understand that we cannot give you any more information other than what you already have. If the first situation fits your case, we have the responsibility of protecting the birth mother's privacy.

You have parents that love you now and we are certain that your birth mother gave you up because she loved you and where ever she is now, she loves you deep in her heart.

I don't think that meeting with your birth mother will complete your life. Only a few ever meet their birth mother, and back when you were adopted, our adoption procedures were lax and we were unable to collect all the necessary documents like we do today. back then, our priority was to find good families for children and procedures or documentation was often overlooked.

Of course it has changed these days. We will try again to contact your family in the future but we are sorry there is nothing we can do right now.

Please try to lead a happy life despite not being able to contact your birth mother.

Talk about a downer, so I responded with:

Dear Ms. Ok-

Thank you for your candid email. I received it about a week ago, but have been taking a long time in contemplating its contents. I am saddened by the news, and it seems, you have put this on the back burner, having reached a wall in the search.

I don't understand the development of the search from our initial contact in 1995 till now 2003 (almost 2004). I remember that initially in 1995, my supposed mother's husband had intercepted the letter, became angry and tried to sue the adoption agency. Is that the same woman that you tried to contact this year? I'm confused as to the progression, and as to what has happened.

I lived with my mother for at least 2 years. Why would she falsify my records? Why would my uncle deny such an adoption, if I was given up as an infant, like through a maternity home program, I could understand the family not knowing, but considering that I lived with my mother and grandmother for over 2 years, this seems highly unlikely.

I guess, what I'm saying is, there are so many unanswered questions. I understand your policy in protecting the privacy of the birthparents’; I want to protect my birthmother as well. However, when that policy impedes the progress of a search, I wonder how protection and the continuation of a search can be balanced.

I am going to think more upon the news, and, once again, thank you so much for your email. It is the Thanksgiving Holiday here in America, so, in those regards, I wish you a happy Thanksgiving.

Sincerely,

John Arbour

At this point, Kim Tae Ok, Director of Post Adoption Services, responded by sending an email in Korean to the Director of Love the Children (PA) who had overseen my adoption. I've enclosed the contents of the letter here:

박회장님 , 전화로 말씀드린 입양인에 대한 mail입니다 .

83c-1885 유 주 열

1995 년 온가족이 모국방문단으로 한국방문하여 친가족 search 요청했는데 그당시 친모의 남편이 알게되어 기관에 항의한적 있었습니다. 그후 2001 년에 입양인이 한국에 나와있는동안 기관에 찿아와서 제가 다시 search 시도하였습니다. 95 년도에 실패한 기록이 있어 겁이나서 제가 친모의 거주지 확인해 놓고도 전화번호를 찿지못해 편지나 전보로 연락못하고 1 년이상 끌다가 겨우 친모의 오빠부인 ( 올캐) 과 통화했는데 자기가 친모를 결혼전 데리고 있었는데 분만한 일이 없었다고 하여 다시 벽에 부딫쳤습니다. 입양인은 그사이 계속 연락을 저에게 했는데 그러나 제가 이말을 입양인에게 하지못하고 연락이 잘 않된다고만 밀어왔습니다. 그러다 2003 년 다시 친모의 새주소지를 알아내어 연락하던중 다시 친모의 남편이 알게되어 항의했습니다. 그리고 친모와 직접 통화하게 되었는데 절대 그런일이 없다고 하니 더이상 연락할수도 없습니다. 입양인은 친모가 자기를 2 년이나 키우다 보냈는데 어떻게 부인할수가 있으며 정보가 잘못될수가 있냐고 이해하지 못한다고 하는데 정말 할말이 없네요. 가끔 예날서류에 엉뚱한 사람이 친모로 둔갑해있는 경우가 있지만 이 아동은 키우다 보냈기 때문에 저도 의심하지 않았습니다. 이사실을 입양인에 그데로 말해서는 않될것 같고 어떻게 해명해야할지 모르겠습니다. 마지막 주고받은 \n을 \n보내드리겠습니다.

양모도 양모지만 입양인과 직접 통화해 주시면 더욱 좋겠습니다 . 이아동이 입양갈시점은 초기시점으로 사후관리에 대한 준비가 전혀 없었고 아동의 수속을 위해 본래의story 가 무시된경우도 있는것 같습니다. 그러나 아동들이 그런 상황을 어떻게 이해할수 있겠어요?

I don't have the heart to translate it all word for word, but it tells the overview of what I already said transpired. It's also hard to understand everything as it's written in relation to a phone conversation that the two directors had prior. Kim Tae Ok, tried to contact my bm, and it's unclear if she was able to contact her directly or not, but that the rebuttle was that I, as a birth, child, adoption did not exist in their realm of reality. She iterates that this was a hard thing to tell someone like me, and that she [Kim Tae Ok] did not know how to break such harsh/bad news. She hoped that the director of Love the Children could tell me in kinder and more understanding terms. She again reiterates how I have a good life here, and that I should try and lead a happy existence.

Not to bore you with all the details, but in 10 years, not much has come of the search. In my last correspondence with the adoption agency, the director of post adoption services emailed me, and then emailed their adoption counterpart here in the USA, Love the Children (based out of PA). She asked the director of Love the Children (who had overseen my own adoption) to explain to me the situation of the search.

Back to square one.

My Adoption Photo w/ Foster Mom: