THE ADOPTED ONE
November 13, 2018
Hi everyone,
I think I have been avoiding talking about myself for quite some time now, or actually since forever. I think I have this fear of opening up fully to the world and people in general, scared that people will judge me or not like me for who I really am. I leave small pieces of myself with people wherever I go, but never ever my whole self. I think I have realized that for quite some time now and that is probably why I never had a hard time leaving people or places behind. It is a mechanism I have developed to protect myself I think, and it has followed me up until now.
I was adopted at the age of 3 and flew to Canada with Sister Rosa, she mostly took care of me at the orphanage when my mother was trying to work and earn some money so she could take care of us. I remember arriving at YUL Airport in Montreal with a red backpack, red shoes and I distinctly remember meeting my new family. I was quiet, shy, and yet, extremely curious; I didn’t fully understand what was happening.
I think being adopted is kind of special and unique. I can’t speak for every adopted kid of course, because we all have different stories, and come from different situations. I can only speak for myself here, and honestly, I’m proud to be half-Asian and adopted. It took me a while to appreciate it and be proud of it, though. You probably wonder why it took me a while, well, that’s probably because I grew up in St-Foy, Quebec where at the time immigrants, Asians, half-Asians and adopted kids weren’t very common. Quebec was known to be an all white, French-Canadian community. Kids used to make fun of me because I was adopted and didn’t look like my parents. Names such as “P’tite Chinoise”, “Chintok” and so on were very common to make fun of Asian people. I used to be bullied a lot and they would often say, “Your parents didn’t want you that’s why they gave you up.” That’s probably the reason why for the longest time I used to say I was only white. Then, I moved to Montreal (which is a very multi-cultural city) and I realized being Asian and adopted wasn’t so bad after all. People were surprised and seemed to like the fact I was half-Asian and adopted. They made me feel like I was special and unique and that is when I started embracing myself.
I think I always felt different than everyone. I’ve always been thankful for all the opportunities I was given after being adopted. I recognized I was lucky to receive unconditional love from both my parents and other family members, I always had food to eat, I was able to go to good schools, meet amazing friends all around the world, play sports, travel, learn and experience a lot of different things, both good and bad in my life. Even though I am thankful for everything that I have in my life at the moment, a part of me somehow still feels different. I still have many questions in my head that the majority of people wouldn’t understand.
Even though a few questions were answered when I met my birth-mother, I have probably 50 more I have yet to find an answer to. I think a lot of adopted kids don’t get the chance to meet their biological parents or when they do it isn’t what they expected or what they were looking for. There are so many possibilities as to how it can turn out. Some will never get the chance to ask such questions; “Why did you put me up for adoption?”, “Did you love me?”, “Do you still think about me?”, “Do you regret it?”, and so on. Some will get the chance to ask and wish they didn’t and a small percentage will get a happy, fairytale ending. No matter the ending, good or bad, I think a big part of us is (and always will be) curious and dying to know. We subconsciously dream about it and imagine the hundreds and thousands of possible outcomes.
I remember it like it was yesterday. I was standing in a small white room with huge windows. It was so quiet that I could hear the smallest mosquito flying around the room. My eyes were peaky, traveling all around the room, my palms were sweaty, and I think, for a quick moment, I even forgot how to breathe. Then, I saw a small woman opening the door, and she came running towards me. She grabbed and hugged me so hard that I froze. I just remember hearing a small voice say over and over again, “My daughter, my daughter, my daughter. Mommy is here.” It was a voice that didn’t seem real. Like it was a dream and I needed to wake up from it. I was looking up at the white ceiling and although I could feel her happiness and joy somehow I couldn’t feel a single thing. My mind was racing a hundred miles per hour. Should I hug her back? Should I smile? Am I supposed to be happy? Why is she calling me her daughter? Why is she saying mommy is here? Why is she acting like I never left? Or like she never put me into adoption in the first place? What is happening? What is this? I think for a moment I was angry, and then, happy, sad and ultimately confused. It was like a rush of emotions traveling through my body. I would say this lasted maybe 2-3 minutes but it felt like an eternity. It felt like the world had just stopped and only I realized it. I think for a moment I wanted to disappear and get away from it all. How could my parents let me go through this alone and not even come with me to a country I hadn’t set foot in since I was 3. A country I didn’t know anything about, a country where I couldn’t even speak the language and where I was completely and entirely alone. Why didn’t they care to come? Why did they allow me to go and meet my birth mother? Why me? Why now? Why?? This was total bullshit. Bullshit, I kept repeating in my head! I didn’t ask for this. Not on my 18th birthday.
My head was a total mess and I still hadn’t said one word. In the car going to the restaurant I remember I was sitting quietly looking out the window and suddenly I felt empty. My thoughts went blank, there was absolutely nothing! I sat down at the restaurant observing Sister Rosa and Szi-Ann staring at me smiling and speaking mandarin to one another. And then, all of a sudden I wanted to know why? I wanted answers. And I wanted them now. I was allowed answers and explanations. I took a deep breath and with my head down looking at my empty plate I yelled out “why!” They stopped talking and I could feel their eyes staring at me. I still had my head down looking at my plate. I couldn’t bear to look at them. I was once again frozen.
So I repeated “why?”, this time louder, thinking I might have said it in my head, but I think they didn’t know how or what to reply. It took a few seconds before they started explaining it to me and it took me probably the rest of the lunch to take it all in. A part of me was angry because I felt that she wasn’t telling me the whole story. It might sound selfish of me but I wanted all my unanswered questions to be answered, I came all this way to meet her, after all. And yet, she just couldn’t give them to me.
And then, I felt sad. Sad to know that my birthmother had to go through such hardships, as well as a broken heart. And I, I was enjoying a nice life in Canada with my new family. For a moment, I felt like I didn't deserved it. How can I be happy? She probably made the hardest decision of her life just so I can live a better one. I felt like a pinch in my chest. My heart stopped. What kind of person was I? I wanted to cry. But I couldn't, not here. Not right now in front of them.
After lunch we walked around Keelung market and I was quiet. I didn’t feel, want or have the energy to talk. I was mentally tired and angry. Angry at her (for not answering), at Sister Rosa (for not saying anything), at the world, at myself for being angry and my parents for putting me in this situation. It was like riding a rollercoaster. After spending the afternoon with them it was time for me to head home. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be alone.
Keelung was a 30-40 minute bus ride from Taipei and I wish I could have stayed on that bus all night. I don’t think I slept that night. I couldn’t, and why would I. I was replaying the entire day in my head at least 100 times over. Thinking about what I could have said, or done differently. Each time I came to the same conclusion. As much as I wanted answers, I started to put myself in her shoes. That it must have been a tough decision to gave me away, that she had a hard time and went through so much and that I was lucky enough to have met her and have the life that I have now. Many kids don’t get this chance so I should be thankful to have at least that. Right?
Still, a part of me was angry, so angry.
Until now, I am still thankful and appreciate the opportunity I had to meet my birth-mother. I still have unanswered questions that I think about now and then and I still feel different somehow. As I grew older there were and still are different aspects of my life I feel a disconnect from, but at the end of the day I know how lucky and thankful I am to have loving parents that have given and continue to give me unconditional love. The rest is something I will have to figure out as I go. As I get older I realize that life doesn’t get any easier. It just depends what you make of it and how you want to deal with it.
