I'm alive because I breath
I live because I breathe
I feel my heartbeats in my chest
They told my mother I was stillborn and everyone else I was a disease
But I know I'm neither
I wasn't stillborn and I'm not a disease
I'm no longer that innocent child
Yet I might still be naive
Everyone says you should listen to your heart or let your heart guide you
But what if you have tried to listen and tried to follow what your heart said ?
Maybe all the answers you get just makes you more confused
What if you don't know what you want
Don't know how you want to live your life
Or don't have a clue about exactly how your future should be
All I know is this I just want someone to love me and accept me as I am with all my flaws
I'd like an equally imperfect guy to love
Someone who shares my values and political views
But I still need to figure out the formula for my perfect life and future
I still haven't identified all the ingredients in the recipe for my dream life
Monday, September 30, 2013
Life Recipe
I'm a Swedish KAD.I happen to have a genuine but not unique interest for Hallyu especially but also other Asian related things.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Whose Interests Do We Serve?
“In all of us there is a hunger, marrow-deep, to know our heritage- to know who we are and where we have come from. Without this enriching knowledge, there is a hollow yearning. No matter what our attainments in life, there is still a vacuum, an emptiness, and the most disquieting loneliness.” Alex Haley
"Whose needs are being met by whom?"
An adoptee's purpose is not to fulfill the needs and desires of adults who want to be parents, or is it?
Adoption brokers have convinced society that adoption is a win-win. They "create families" for anyone with enough cash, by convincing (or worse) vulnerable parents into heroically relinquishing their babies to "more deserving" parents. Children are "saved", birth certificates "amended", and new "parents" have their dream child. The deal is done. "As if" the child was their own.
This unregulated billion-dollar industry of transferring humans through "sealed" and "amended" birth certificates, however, sheds light on the fact that our current adoption system is actually more in the best interest of adults than children.
Adult "adaptee"...
reunited with
my first family
for over 2 decades.
Roundtable on Adoption for In These Times Magazine
Yesterday, I participated in a roundtable discussion about adoption, for In These Times social justice magazine, alongside Megan from the National Council for Adoption and birthmother Claudia from Musings of the Lame. (I'll post a link to the transcript online when it's posted.)
Obviously, we represented various sides of the "debates" on adoption--I was the adoptee voice, Claudia, who has written extensively about the adoption industry, represented a birthmother voice, and Megan represented a more "pro-adoption" voice.
With Claudia regularly describing, on her blog, the adoption industry primarily as a business exploiting adoptive parents because they need their money, and with Megan on the other side with NCA which describes the Veronica Brown case as a "victory for adoption" on its home page, I wondered,
Would we argue? Spar words over the phone?
Obviously, we represented various sides of the "debates" on adoption--I was the adoptee voice, Claudia, who has written extensively about the adoption industry, represented a birthmother voice, and Megan represented a more "pro-adoption" voice.
With Claudia regularly describing, on her blog, the adoption industry primarily as a business exploiting adoptive parents because they need their money, and with Megan on the other side with NCA which describes the Veronica Brown case as a "victory for adoption" on its home page, I wondered,
Would we argue? Spar words over the phone?
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Lost Relationships
“You were tossed away like a pair of beautiful, brand new shoes that did not quite fit.” ~Donna K. Childree
Sometimes when unexpected, painful, life altering events happen there are just not enough words to express it, emotions run too deep, and there is nothing that can be done or said unfortunately. It just is. When you are an adoptee you can often multiply reactions by ten.
So here goes. I apologize if I repeat my poems in posts but they have always been the best way for me to allow the depth of emotions being adopted has brought to my life "out". The triggers that can send us spiraling into a darkness only "we" know can often change everything about where we think we belong in life. Or more importantly, don't belong.
I am an adoptee denied her original birth certificate by the state of Missouri. Even after showing "good cause" before the courts four times my rights to identifying information about my biological family is being kept from me. Adoptees deserve the same rights as all other citizens of this country have, access to their original birth certificates.
Monday, September 23, 2013
Equality
Her cries are real, and his too. There is anguish in the eyes of a small four-year-old.
Baby Veronica is now in the arms of her adopted parents, Matt and Melanie Capobianco. Yet, whose arms are now empty?
A man. A father. Dusten Brown weeps for his daughter as she does for him. Here is where our system has failed. A man who desperately wants to be a father was denied the right. He was overlooked in the process.
As a feminist, I should make clear that I believe in the true definition of feminism … “the doctrine advocating social, political, and all other rights of women equal to those of men.” But this assumes that men have rights.
I was reared as a “Tennerican,” part Tennessean, part Puerto Rican. But truth be known, I was born Korean. I was adopted and grew up in rural, East Tennessee. Feeling unmoored and fearing my children wouldn’t know me if I passed, my blog began in 2007 as a record of my existence. To hear more of my storytelling, check out my YouTube channel @thekoreanhillbilly and the podcast “Bless Yer Lil’ Ol’ Heart” on all podcast channels.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Reflections
September 12, 2003. The world was still reeling from the news that John Ritter had died the day before, when it was reported that Johnny Cash had died.
It was also the day that my adoptive father died. I cannot believe that it's been a full decade since he's been gone. During that decade, my children have both reached double digits in age. I've gone through three cars, moved into a house with my boyfriend and the kids, reunited with my natural parents, gotten engaged and survived losing both my adoptive and natural grandfathers. So much change and yet, if I think about it, I can put myself right back in the moment that I found out my father died. Traumatic...horrifying...and yes, as much as it will make me seem uncaring, brought me a strong sense of relief.
His death meant that I never had to confront him about the abuse. Never had to hear him talk to my natural mother, playing the loving father role that he was so good at in public. Never had to see him at family functions, keeping an eagle eye on my daughter when she ventured too close to him.
And yet, September 12 comes around and I get sad and angry and the grief washes over me in huge waves. For all his many faults and abusive actions, he was the only father I had growing up. It just confuses me and I have no idea how to reconcile my anger towards him with the overwhelming sadness and grief.
I grieve for the father he should have been and for the lost little girl who kept hoping that he'd change.
Each year gets better though. I know that blogging has helped. As have the connections I've made with other adoptees and natural mothers online. I've finally come to realize that I am allowed to feel all the emotions, sometimes all at once. I can grieve and also be so angry about the childhood I lost and should have had. I can be relieved that he's dead and sad that he died alone.
It was also the day that my adoptive father died. I cannot believe that it's been a full decade since he's been gone. During that decade, my children have both reached double digits in age. I've gone through three cars, moved into a house with my boyfriend and the kids, reunited with my natural parents, gotten engaged and survived losing both my adoptive and natural grandfathers. So much change and yet, if I think about it, I can put myself right back in the moment that I found out my father died. Traumatic...horrifying...and yes, as much as it will make me seem uncaring, brought me a strong sense of relief.
His death meant that I never had to confront him about the abuse. Never had to hear him talk to my natural mother, playing the loving father role that he was so good at in public. Never had to see him at family functions, keeping an eagle eye on my daughter when she ventured too close to him.
And yet, September 12 comes around and I get sad and angry and the grief washes over me in huge waves. For all his many faults and abusive actions, he was the only father I had growing up. It just confuses me and I have no idea how to reconcile my anger towards him with the overwhelming sadness and grief.
I grieve for the father he should have been and for the lost little girl who kept hoping that he'd change.
Each year gets better though. I know that blogging has helped. As have the connections I've made with other adoptees and natural mothers online. I've finally come to realize that I am allowed to feel all the emotions, sometimes all at once. I can grieve and also be so angry about the childhood I lost and should have had. I can be relieved that he's dead and sad that he died alone.
My adoptive name is Christina. My original name was Elena. I'm just a girl (okay, so I'm a 39 year old woman and mother to two but why dwell on specifics at this point?) who, at the age of 34, was reunited with her first mother. Not sure where this blog will take me but I'm eager to begin the journey.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Round Table: Adoptees As Mothers - Part 2
The prompt: In what way, if any, has your experience as an adoptee affected the way you parent? Does your adoptedness impact your children and/or your relationship with them? When you consider the choices you have made or might make in the future regarding reproduction, does adoptedness play a role?
Stephanie Kripa
Cooper-Lewter I definitely think adoptedness plays a role in
how I parent ... I see it everyday. Here is a link to the book Parenting As Adoptees -- some
beautiful perspectives. My daughter and I wrote a chapter entitled
"Beautiful." I think there is a definite need for continued
conversation and writing on this from our varied perspectives.
Mila I can say without a doubt that my parenting is profoundly influenced by my experiences growing up as an adoptee, both in overt and covert ways, and both in positive and negative ways. I fear projecting too much of my experiences of rejection onto my children while simultaneously fearing that my children will feel rejected by me, particularly emotionally.
http://parentingasadoptees.com/ |
Mila I can say without a doubt that my parenting is profoundly influenced by my experiences growing up as an adoptee, both in overt and covert ways, and both in positive and negative ways. I fear projecting too much of my experiences of rejection onto my children while simultaneously fearing that my children will feel rejected by me, particularly emotionally.
My experiences of race as a transracial adoptee also inform
my parenting since our children are biracial. I grew up in a family that was
oblivious to racism and one that still generally denies that I have been
affected by growing up as an Asian in predominantly White communities. My
husband and I are making sure to raise our children with an awareness of their
race and how the world will respond to them. We are also trying to instill
confidence and a sense of pride regarding their Korean heritage. Of course,
this presents complications as a transracial, transnational adoptee because I
obviously did not grow up with any exposure or knowledge to Korean culture or
people. But I am determined to empower our children all the more because I was
not.
Regarding my fear of my children feeling rejected by me -- I
think this fear has the potential to lead to some borderline unhealthy
parenting behaviors if I do not keep them in check. You know how they talk
about young children experiencing separation anxiety as a part of normal
development during early childhood? Well, I experience separation anxiety as a
parent, due to my experiences as an adoptee. I fear that being separated from
my children will result in them feeling rejected by me. This emotional aspect
of my parenting is very difficult to overcome. It is a profound anxiety.
However, the good side to this is that I am very sensitive to their emotions
and both my husband and I focus on teaching them how to understand and express
their emotions in a healthy, productive, confident way. Because I was taught
that my emotions were bad, that I could not feel complex emotions about being
adopted or otherwise, I have a deep conviction about equipping our children
with the abilities to embrace and appreciate their emotions.
Also, our son is SOOOO much like I am. He's basically my
emotional mini-me. As an adoptee, this has been a profound experience -- seeing
myself in our son, and it compels me to parent him in the ways that I did not
receive. Most parents can relate to this idea. But I think as an adoptee, it
can be so much more complicated and surprising and confusing and wonderful
simply because we never experienced that biological connection growing up. You
revel in it as much as you grieve over what you realize you lost. Parenting as
an adoptee has thus far been an incredibly emotionally enlightening experience
and one that is constantly influenced by my adoption journey. Also as a
reunited adoptee, my parenting of our children regarding their Korean family
and origins is very complicated and requires much thought, particularly because
my adoptive family is not accepting of my Korean family or origins. I have to
learn to reconcile these differences, so that we can raise our children with
the wisdom to know how to understand and reconcile the dissonance that exists.
I also feel VERY protective of my children emotionally
because of how unprotected I felt emotionally as a child. I also feel
protective of their uniqueness. Our son is clearly a very different kind of
boy. As an adopted person who grew up feeling so much shame and rejection for
being so different within my family and within the communities in which we
lived, I want to teach our children not to feel ashamed of the ways that they
are different. Rather I want them to feel empowered and proud of the ways in
which they are different. This obviously requires me to overcome my own shame
and discomfort regarding my sense of self.
Rosita Initially,
my parenting could be considered a product of my parents’ experiences (both
successes and mistakes), but I think that applies to just about any parenting.
As our society evolves so do we as parents.
I learned from my adoptive parents, but what they couldn’t
teach me was my racial identity. I learned to be resilient as a transracial
adoptee in a rural Tennessee
town, but that experience also prompted me to protect my own children from the
ignorance and narrow-mindedness I faced as a child.
When my husband and I started planning to have a family, I
made it very clear that I wanted our children to live in an ethnically diverse
community. This was the voice of a naive mother. I quickly discovered that I
could never fully protect them.
My guiding force, my adoptive mother, died just nine months
after my first child was born. So, I do feel rather lost. While she was not
fully equipped to help me with my race, she could certainly have been able to
comfort my children as she did me. I mourn that fact alone as I often see my
daughter wish for her grandmother, a woman who would call just about every day.
Women need women and the perspectives of the past.
My racial identity (http://mothermade.blogspot.com/.../slow-to-see-myself.html)
is still evolving, but my children have become the catalyst to my discovery.
They question their biological, cultural history and their racial relevance,
things I feel inadequate addressing. Their awakening is coinciding with my own.
I have sought Korean surrogates, culture camps (http://mothermade.blogspot.com/2013/07/our-independence.html)
and a network of Korean adoptees to help me find my way and theirs.
I also find myself unable to navigate the mixed race
element. I have one child who is obviously Korean but who wishes he were white
and unnoticeable. On the flip side, I have a child who looks like her white
father. I was thankful for this because I believed she would be spared the
ridicule. But she sometimes feels outside the race conversations I have with my
son (http://mothermade.blogspot.com/.../the-misguided-guide.html).
She wishes she could look more like me and be noticed as an Asian American.
Bottom Line? My parenting challenges are the same as most
parents, but my transracial adoptedness has posed the biggest parenting
obstacles, and often I am reminded of how little I know. But I guess we all
have our moments of feeling this way, adopted or not. (http://mothermade.blogspot.com/2013/05/what-we-pass-on.html)
All I can do is love them as I was loved, hold them tight,
listen intently to their voices, respect their reservations and seek the
answers we all want to know.
Peach Having my
son awakened my heart to recognize and cherish the mother/child bond I lost as
an adoptee. He is the only biological relative I have had the privilege of
living every day family life with, and I feel so blessed. To love this deeply
taps into the primal fear of loss (especially after having to leave him in the
NICU every night for four months), and I have to work constantly to let go of
it, and enjoy every precious moment.
Lynne What Peach
said resonates because my son is the only biological relative I've ever lived
with. He is 19 now and I'm so proud of the man he has become. He is loving,
caring and open. The talks we have warm my heart because he is not afraid to
bring to me subjects that most would think of as off-limits, which is something
my a-mom and I never had.
I have parented my daughter (age 8) in a way that values who
she came out of the womb to be -- not who I want her to be. This is the
opposite of how I was parented. It was expected that I would be like my a-mom
and I don't want my daughter to feel that pressure to be like me, unless she chooses
to. Some of the ways she is like me is that she is creative, and is pokey in
the morning and is sensitive. Luck of the genetic pool!
My being adopted has affected my son. He met his biological
grandmother one time on a trip when he was a freshman in high school. He just
recently learned his ethnic background on my side, which of course, affects
him. He appears to take all these things in stride, but it is an unusual
scenario as compared to his friends. Anything I learn about my own family
background, affects him and his future children -- whether it be new medical
history, a breakthrough on the family tree, or new family members.
Christina If anything, being adopted
by the people I was has taught me what kind of mother I DON'T want to be. I'm
much more lenient with my kids, and yet, am able to discipline them effectively
without them fearing me. I've learned that unconditional love is possible and
that it's okay to make mistakes as long as your kids know that you are trying
to be the best mother you can.
Deanna Shrodes I
believe we can learn something from every person, and of course our parents,
whether bio and adoptive are at the top of the list. I have learned from all of
mine everything I want to be AND not be. As a child and as an adult, I have
been under the tutelage, carefully observing things I want to incorporate into
my parenting, or not. Sometimes people teach us much more of what NOT to do
than to do. And I think that's okay. As long as we learn and then do better,
because of what we now know by example.
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Round Table: Adoptees As Mothers - Part 1
The prompt: In what way, if any, has your experience as an adoptee affected the way you parent? Does your adoptedness impact your children and/or your relationship with them? When you consider the choices you have made or might make in the future regarding reproduction, does adoptedness play a role?
Friday, September 13, 2013
The Experiment [in the name of The Great White Almighty]
I.
i vanished.
and.
i am vanishing.
as a secret
that remains untold,
that lies down with the dead,
as though it had never lived.
that it could be recruited
for the Great Experiment
to quench the thirst
of the Great White Hope.
who cannot feel complete
without taking on a good deed
to love and to hold and to cherish
to mold and to form and to push
into their image
into their arms
into their calculated world of privilege
where everything and everyone is
Perfect.
Pristine.
For the Viewing--
Look at
my Little Black Doll.
Gawk at
my Golden China Doll.
Covet
these Beautiful Ethnic Children
behind the thin glass walls
With their mothers and fathers
brothers and sisters
grandfathers and grandmothers
weeping at their feet.
the Great White Light
will not see you
the Great White Trumpet
will not hear you
the Great White Wisdom
will take you.
away.
from it all.
Because you do not need what the Great White All
can not give.
Because you want what the Great White Almighty has.
It is Divine.
It is. My.
Mandate.
And it has the papers to prove it--
balled up in its fist.
You can not compete
with
the Law of Green and White.
By which all abide.
II.
And now that it is too late
to retrieve
that whom was thrown away.
You are trapped.
Away.
And although it is never too late to.
submit to.
the Law of Green and White
will not.
get you out.
Not this time
it will not save you.
Not in this life.
For, do you not know, dear,
you have already been saved.
from the Person
the People
the Language
the Land
the Family
the Love
you might have been
nothing
no one
without us.
III.
So be sure to fulfill your obligation
And utter with profusion
the gratitude
of being granted the mercy
of being permitted the opportunity
to be strapped down to the tails of its coat:
you are welcome,
my darling,
as long as you
silence the wailing lump
trying to escape from your precious little throat
where your insignificant
whining
impotent
voice resides
no one will listen to
you were just an
experiment,
just another subject,
statistic,
dot. on. a. line.
of the Great White Graph,
that the Great White World will choose to
dismiss,
will choose to
forget,
will lock in a box,
All for.
All in.
the only name that exists,
all hail, America,
all of you,
all of us,
everyone,
all in the sacred name.
of:
The Great White Love.
_____________
To view other previous posts written by Mila at Lost Daughters, click here.
I am a Korean adoptee who has been in reunion since 2009. I am also a wife and a mother of two, a sister, a friend, a relentless questioner of the status quo. I love my adoptive family and I hate being adopted. I love the life I have but wish I could have grown up with my family in Korea. My life as an adoptee is an ever-evolving journey full of complexity and seeming contradiction.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
True Life's Complexity
Some small reflections on the adopted life, the journey so far -
She appeared as a character in a book about a pact with the Devil and also in another by a local author Barbara,, although it was never completely clear which character or part of a character she became. The perspective from inside is not that of the oblique view of an outsider, seeing and recording only certain aspects which interest or intrigue. Both books were wordy, full of dialogue like a newsroom script or the recording of a family history. Barbara, taking tiny fragments of self to weave into fantasy people with real lives, existing in her imagination and then in print. Her books suddenly, after her death acquiring a cache, monetary value and feed for academics and pseudo-academics. How can so many words be spun out on something so simple, so spare and uncomplicated? It was as if the sharks gathered to feed off the corpse, the body of work she had meticulously turned out in that too short life, which so fitted her stories and was another of her tales, if only she’d been there to write it.
In any case this life lived was far more interesting than any book, any composite characters where the eyes were picked out of real lives or fictional lives stolen and reheated. People kept asking if she’s watched this television program or that one, as it had made them cry or was so moving, touching or dramatic. Her thought was always the same and sometimes the reply, that her time was so taken up with living her own life and coming to terms with it that there was no time or no appeal in watching others wrestle with the information, the strangeness, the webs and intrigues and the opportunities which present themselves to be taken up on not depending on choice and courage. Hers was a complex web, a tapestry of strands of many gauges, making a long and fulfilled life. One that was by no means over, but presented itself in thought as a completed work so far, with a series of beginnings, middles and resolutions.
How easy is a work of fiction where the dates need not be true, the venues real or the characters living. True life is far more complex and difficult to deal with as writers of biography will testify. There are messy bits, parts that don’t add up, answers unknown and questions that arise with no possibility of reply. How many of us know all the answers, how many lament that they didn’t ask more questions or press the point with a now dead relative, contact or informant? Who passes this way again or has time to reflect and redo, make amends or mend the cracks? Life suddenly becomes too short to not speak out, hold information and feelings close to the chest and leave them unsaid and unshared. The gift of death, the death of a loved one was the learning that this is so. Too many years of opportunities untaken and unexplored for lack of courage and vanity, ended by death on a remote rock that might as well have been on the moon. To truly believe in an afterlife or reincarnation would be such a comfort, provide another chance, enable beauty to last forever.
She appeared as a character in a book about a pact with the Devil and also in another by a local author Barbara,, although it was never completely clear which character or part of a character she became. The perspective from inside is not that of the oblique view of an outsider, seeing and recording only certain aspects which interest or intrigue. Both books were wordy, full of dialogue like a newsroom script or the recording of a family history. Barbara, taking tiny fragments of self to weave into fantasy people with real lives, existing in her imagination and then in print. Her books suddenly, after her death acquiring a cache, monetary value and feed for academics and pseudo-academics. How can so many words be spun out on something so simple, so spare and uncomplicated? It was as if the sharks gathered to feed off the corpse, the body of work she had meticulously turned out in that too short life, which so fitted her stories and was another of her tales, if only she’d been there to write it.
In any case this life lived was far more interesting than any book, any composite characters where the eyes were picked out of real lives or fictional lives stolen and reheated. People kept asking if she’s watched this television program or that one, as it had made them cry or was so moving, touching or dramatic. Her thought was always the same and sometimes the reply, that her time was so taken up with living her own life and coming to terms with it that there was no time or no appeal in watching others wrestle with the information, the strangeness, the webs and intrigues and the opportunities which present themselves to be taken up on not depending on choice and courage. Hers was a complex web, a tapestry of strands of many gauges, making a long and fulfilled life. One that was by no means over, but presented itself in thought as a completed work so far, with a series of beginnings, middles and resolutions.
How easy is a work of fiction where the dates need not be true, the venues real or the characters living. True life is far more complex and difficult to deal with as writers of biography will testify. There are messy bits, parts that don’t add up, answers unknown and questions that arise with no possibility of reply. How many of us know all the answers, how many lament that they didn’t ask more questions or press the point with a now dead relative, contact or informant? Who passes this way again or has time to reflect and redo, make amends or mend the cracks? Life suddenly becomes too short to not speak out, hold information and feelings close to the chest and leave them unsaid and unshared. The gift of death, the death of a loved one was the learning that this is so. Too many years of opportunities untaken and unexplored for lack of courage and vanity, ended by death on a remote rock that might as well have been on the moon. To truly believe in an afterlife or reincarnation would be such a comfort, provide another chance, enable beauty to last forever.
Living the good life.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Bitter Winds: In Memory
My First Mother, Norma Carol, was born on September 11th.
She gave birth to me as a young, unwed mother in 1968 when society frowned upon single mothers, and was one of the first to register with the ALMA Registry (Adoptee's Liberation Movement) looking for her "son". She wasn't allowed to hold me, and had been told by the hospital staff and attorney after going through a difficult labor and c-section that she had given birth to a baby boy.
Sadly, she died in 1980 from breast cancer, thinking she had a son who she told her family would some day "come back". In truth, she actually had a daughter, who, indeed, did come back, 10 years too late to meet her (again) on this side of eternity.
I still haven't been to obtain my own birth records from the hospital, even though I gave birth (at the same hospital) to a premature baby and need(ed) this important information for my own medical care during pregnancy. Even with a court-order I am still waiting after several requests.
With my Mother's birthday on 9/11, I have finally been able to grieve her passing and loss of my dream to know her. I watch the Memorials and cry for those innocent victims at the Twin Towers. And also for my Mother and the pain she endured during the Baby Scoop Era.
It took years of slowly unthawing from the numbness I felt inside, the day I found my Grandmother and heard my own Mother's story. She loved animals, the color purple, and advocating for women. She even wrote a column for the Bartlesville newspaper in honor of Alice Paul.
On my own birthday a few years ago I was driving alone listening to the radio, when a beautiful lullaby I had never heard came over the waves, immediately catching my attention. It was Bette Midler singing "Baby of Mine" and the tears flowed again ~ but this time they were tears of acceptance. I could finally embrace the Love I knew my Mother had for me all along, and the strong connection we will always share.
She is my Mother. I miss her so much.
I post this link to "Bitter Winds" in her memory.
Adult "adaptee"...
reunited with
my first family
for over 2 decades.
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