Not Existing

who am I

Life as an intercountry adoptee has those moments that feel extremely vulnerable and painful. I described it years ago as “peeling away layers of an onion“. I’ve had that this week. Firstly, I found out after 8 months the media company who were investigating and searching for my mother in Vietnam have failed to turn up anything substantial and no longer have funding to continue. I have spent many times over two decades trying to find a lead that will help me find my mother. In desperation I finally agreed to media taking on my case although I’m loath to having no control over how they portray one’s story. Each time after searching, I experience disappointment, grief and sadness. I give up for a while until I find the strength to be able to go through it all again. Secondly, I have spent over 10 months seeking the right experts to help me fight for my rights arising from my adoption. I’ve had to relive my years of life growing up in my adoptive home and the memories and feelings are still there. They never go away but fade into the distance because usually I get on with life and move forward. Thankfully, I don’t get stuck or spiral down anymore.

Searching for Mum

I just watched the SBS documentary Searching for Mum which follows two Sri Lankan intercountry adoptees adopted in the 1980s to the UK and their return to Sri Lanka to try and find their identity and families. There was one heartbreaking moment that resonated within me, where Rebecca went to the Registry to see if a record of her birth existed. It was her last chance to know if she had an official identity. She ended up finding out her birth was not registered at all and she is left with the confirmation that she “does not exist” on paper as a Sri Lankan identity. It struck a chord with me as I’ve lived my entire life too with little documentation except for my Vietnamese passport. The Australian government made up adoption papers and a birth certificate 17 years after my adoptive father flew to Vietnam and brought me to Australia as a 6 month old baby.

My adoptive parents and siblings teased me many times when I was growing up that I would make the “perfect spy”. They all knew and rubbed it in that I did not exist on paper anywhere. It was meant to be a “joke” but on so many levels then, and more so now, as a mature age adult I cannot fathom how or why my adoptive family were so insensitive and cruel. Only those who have an identity that they take for granted could be so thoughtless as to tease another for not knowing who they are, where they come from or having anything to show. Together with an adoption based on literally nothing – thin air – because no documents on the Vietnamese end have ever been found, I have no way to know how I came to be adopted nor to whom I originally belonged.

Screen Shot 2018-09-08 at 15.07.48.png

Last year, a private detective sent me a blury photo of what might be a Vietnamese birth certificate for me but he’s now gone underground. The media company who tried to get the Vietnamese police station to release the hoped for copy of the “real” document that the photo captures, refuse to do so. It is so excruciatingly frustrating to be held back from what is a basic human right. Like Rebecca, I just want to know who I am and the circumstances for why I was given to strangers from another country – and whether my adoption is legitimate without coercion. My journey to find the right experts so far this year, brought all this home again with a punch!

Like Rebecca, I live my life without the certainty of knowing who I am, how I came into this world, whether I was wanted or not, or who my clan is. I live with a shell for an identity – formed by my adoptive experience. Up until my adoptive family left to go overseas as missionaries at the beginning of my year 12, I had experienced quite a damaging journey that left little room to exist in a positive way. Thankfully, I found healing in my early 30s and now I mostly have a sense of peace in my “non existence”.

It blew me away to listen to the documentary Searching for Mum where one of the search detectives said, “At least 50 percent of his Sri Lankan cases in finding mothers the documentation was fabricated” and he had done over 400 cases. In my years of connecting with adult intercountry adoptees worldwide, I know of many individuals who suspect and/or confirm their documentation is false. To listen to someone who sees the outcomes of each search conducted in only one country and can quote that kind of statistic, it is a damning reality for intercountry adoptions in Sri Lanka. It matches my current project of translating into english the book Het verdriet Sri Lanka whose title translates into The Sadness of Sri Lanka. It is an eye opening book about the mothers in Sri Lanka who lost their child to intercountry adoption, written by a Sri Lankan intercountry adoptee who discovers the terrible truth about her own and so many Sri Lankan intercountry adoptions.

Screen Shot 2018-09-08 at 15.17.52I know this reality is not just Sri Lanka because a good majority of our birth countries have shown the same pattern of unethical adoptions over many decades. It also matches the doubts I’ve always held about my own adoption. Until I find my Vietnamese family and hear from them myself, I don’t think I’ll ever stop wondering whether my “relinquishment” was legitimate and uncoerced. How could it be? A war torn country just like Sri Lanka. So much bribery and corruption coupled with outright child trafficking enmasse by world superpowers who believe to this day that flying out hundreds of vulnerable babies and children via Operation Babylift was a mercy mission.

How many other intercountry adoptees live their lives like myself and Rebecca with no known documents and identity, who have been removed from our country, our origins with little thought for our rights to identity? And what about those who do have documents but find they are falsified. This is where I say intercountry adoption is simply, downright wrong. A child always grows up and we have a right to know who we are, where we came from, to whom we were born and where we belonged until our adoptions. Our paperwork needs to be true and accurate because like the BBC documentary highlights, it is our ONLY source to know who we are and our origins.

To rob us of our truth by falsifying paperwork or creating an adoption based on thin air, goes against all human rights and ethics. If you cannot guarantee our original identity intact with no lies, then we shouldn’t be flying a child out of its country. Experience of adult intercountry adoptees like myself show that in being adopted to a foreign country we usually lose the ability to communicate and understand the culture and ways of our homeland. This then makes the pathway of trying to regain what is rightfully ours, even more complicated.

And what do governments or those who facilitate our adoptions say or do when we confront them with the truth of how intercountry adoption has operated and continues to operate? Or that we want help in finding our original identity and the truth? They largely turn a blind eye and do very little!

My journey to the right experts this week has made me aware that I could technically be considered “stateless”. They are now investigating this for me but it really brought home  that the paperwork for my intercountry adoption is so dodgy and based on thin air. Even the Australian made up identity papers mis-spell my original name in 3 different ways on the same document. So am I even adopted?

To have confirmation that we don’t exist as an identity in our birth or adoptive country is another layer of the onion that some intercountry adoptees have to grapple with in situations like mine or Rebecca’s. It’s painful. There is a powerlessness we experience and very little can change it. We simply have to live with it and find a way to move through life and retain our hope. Like Rebecca, I live my life hoping one day I might find my mother and know the truth of who I am.

 

 

Remembering Origins

A few days ago, I was invited to attend the filming of Sarah Henke to cook with a famous TV Chef from Korea 전현숙. He came to Germany to interview Sarah, a KAD chef who works at a restaurant and recently earned the coveted Michelin Star. During the filming of the program all guests were interviewed and asked a panel of questions. One of the questions was, “When was the first time you ate Korean food and do you remember eating Korean food as a child?”

40301261_10156644222366730_3287458570693509120_n.jpg

Remembering distinct tastes: In 1990, I was mistakenly sent to the wrong training program by the US Army. Months before my training took place, I had signed up to be an engineer but cooking became my new profession. I was surprised to learn I was attending the Army’s culinary school at Fort Lee, VA. One of my instructors was from Korea and his name was SFC Park. He immigrated to the US in his teens and had a thick Korea accent. My friends and I would laugh every time he would tell us to place food on the cookie “shit” (sheet). A few weeks into the culinary program I became one of the top students and was recommended by SFC Park to be one of the students allowed to take an advance cooking course and train under a Master Chef in the evenings.

Several weeks into my training, SFC Park pulled me aside and asked me if I liked Korean food. I answered truthfully and stated I never grew up eating Korean food and did not remember ever eating it. That weekend I crawled into SFC Park’s car and we headed to Richmond for the area’s annual Korean festival and I feasted on numerous Korean dishes.  All the flavors were new but wonderful!  I gorged myself with Bulgogi (BBQ meat), Kimchee (fermented cabbage) and Japchae (sweet potato noodle dish). One dish caught my eye as I psesame leaf.jpgassed dozens of dishes and it contained a tupperware of what looked like tree leaves. I was informed they were not tree leaves and were “delicious” sesame leaves called Kkaennip. I grabbed a leaf and popped it into my mouth and began to chew. As soon as I tasted the distinct flavored leaves, I knew instantly that I had eaten this before. My face was filled with excitement and I rushed to my cooking mentor and told him that I remembered eating the dish when I was young.

Remembering clothing: When I was 5 years old I visited my grandmother’s farm. It was a last minute decision and my grandmother had to rummage through the closet to look for clothing I could wear outside whilst following her doing her chores. I remember seeing her toss out oversized scarves, gloves and hats as they were pulled out of the closet and compared to my small frame. A cap immediately caught my attention as she pulled it out of the closet. It was an olive drab green army cap with ear flaps. I became really excited and I told my grandmother that I remembered seeing a picture of my father wearing a similar cap when I lived in Korea. My grandmother looked at me and smiled. She said matter of factly, “I think you have a great memory or a great imagination”.

3780_10151340895181730_2084754575_nIn 1996, I enlisted into the Active Component Army and signed up to go to the location of my choice. I turned down a chance of attending West Point and a full ride scholarship to St. John’s University for a chance to enlist in Korea and find my biological family. Newly assigned medics to Camp Casey, located in Dong-du-chon, were sent to the clinic to have their skills assessed and given on-the-job training for 30 days before being allowed to work in their assigned unit. During my training, I worked with the pharmacist Mrs. Kim. She took a look at me and asked if I was Korean. I explained to her that I was adopted from Korea. I also shared that I was looking for my biological family and she told me she would try to help.

Fate had it that Mrs. Kim so happened to attend College with the director of Eastern Social Welfare Society and she forwarded her friend a copy of my adoption papers. Within the first week, I was notified they were able to locate my aunt and she immediately traveled to see me at my base to introduce me to my father. During my initial meeting with my aunt, I inquired about a picture of my father that hung in the entrance of our home when I was a small boy. She immediately withdrew a black and white photo of my father wearing the hat from her purse and gave it to me to keep.

Remembering activities: I was overjoyed to learn that I would be heading to Korea at my first duty station as a newly minted second lieutenant. During my second tour to Korea I had my third physical trigger that reminded me of my childhood in Korea before moving to the United States. One weekend I was walking through the streets with my fellow lieutenant buddies from the s1/506th Infantry (Band of Brother1200px-Japanese_Rentan’s Unit) near our base at Munsan to find a place to eat grilled meat. We walked several blocks looking for picture of cows or anything that gave an indication the restaurant  served grilled meat. We found a sign with a picture of a cartoon pig and cow so we went inside to order food. George, the tall thin West Point graduate, made cow noises to indicate that he wanted to order bulgogi. I laughed at him and told him that Korean cows did not make the same sounds as American cows. We had a good laugh over his antics and I noticed the restaurant was using round cylinder-shaped charcoal to cook our meat. I pulled my buddies in and told themof how I remembered my grandmother cooking on these things when I was a boy in Korea.

That same year I met with my aunt again and asked her about my grandparent’s kitchen. I told her I remembered my grandmother cooking on top of the charcoal and she told me it was true. It wasn’t uncommon for country people to cook on charcoals that were used to warm the flooring of the houses. The charcoal cylinders served a dual purpose. She was surprised by the detail of things that I could remember from my childhood.

What the experts say: A week ago, on my drive to work I listened to a recent episode of Malcolm Gladwell’s podcast. It is about how memory actually works and how understanding this relates to our relationship with the truth (podcast link is below). His multi-podcast lecture states that long term memories cannot be trusted. Individuals have a tendency to mask over memories with other stories that were told. The podcast indicates people are easily influenced by others and the environment around us and its not uncommon for our memories to change over time.

Jeffrey A. Vernon a physician summarized the podcast well by saying, “Literature shows our memories are more fluid and changeable with time than we’d like to believe; our memories are colored by our emotions both at the time of the event and the time of recall; and often contain details that never happened but, rather are “filled in” at a later point to “complete” the memory. The memory of our overworked brains often doesn’t have the attention span or processing power to constantly take in and record the entirety of life going on around.

I do agree with Mr. Gladwell and numerous studies that our memories become fragmented and do change over time. For instance, the fish I caught at the lake becomes bigger and the money I won at the poker game becomes greater. I do believe there are memories that we hold onto and can retain for the long term. Sure, some of the details can be fuzzy but the overall information is correct. We can often verify these important events with others that viewed the moment with us. I remember looking into my son’s big bright eyes when he was born. I remember being promoted to top position at the Korean Hospital in Afghanistan. I know these events to be real and validate them.

40243236_10156644220076730_1249830797326680064_n.jpg

In Closing: I’ve spoken to several thousands of adoptees through face-to-face interactions and through social media. When I share my memories, many adoptees have expressed regret for not remembering their past. Many were several years older than I at adoption (I was 4.5 years when I was adopted to the United States). Some adoptees will question the authenticity when speaking about their adoption story because they have a hard time remembering details or events before a certain age. I don’t think individuals need to beat themselves up for not remembering anything. Sometimes the brain forgets in order to protect itself. I have witnessed this in the military. We often call the event battle fatigue, shell shock or combat stress reactions. It’s not uncommon for the brain to shutdown and forget things during stressful situations.

Lastly, children can age at different times. I’ve experienced this with my own children, where one child had high cognitive abilities at an earlier age than my other child. This could be another explanation about why people can’t remember – they simply were not at an age where their brain was developed enough to remember. I think it is good for individuals to dismiss their thoughts altogether because of this uncertainty. Memory dissipates and becomes foggy even for the smartest of individuals. If you feel that you recall something that nobody else does – keep it in the back of your mind and try to validate those thoughts as you learn more about the situation. I did and I was able to validate them to be true.

About Jayme

More Reading:
http://revisionisthistory.com/episodes/24-free-brian-williams
View story at Medium.com

 

An Adoptee’s Take on “Crazy Rich Asians”

crazy-rich-asians.jpg

There are a lot of opinions and pieces surrounding Crazy Rich Asians right now. I am simply adding to the chorus, but from a slightly different perspective as a Chinese American intercountry adopted person. As an adoptee who watched Crazy Rich Asians, it is hard to describe all of the feelings I felt while sitting in the movie theatre, well twice. It was beautiful, funny, smart, and fun. Of course, the movie is receiving extra praise because of a cast that is all-Asian and not just the cast, but the music and the cultural representation as well. Representation matters and it was with a smile that I approached the end credits of the movie.

As an adoptee, I felt proud to see people who looked like me on the big screen. People who had similar features, presented in different shades where not every Asian was the kung fu master or nerdy IT tech support. The movie was refreshing and quite frankly a new experience, at least in major Hollywood films.

But…and this is a big but. I felt represented by the way I look, but not necessarily by how I grew up. As an adoptee I straddle in between the Asian and white cultures where I look Asian but was raised in a white household. To be honest, I am not sure I understood every joke in Crazy Rich Asians, and definitely didn’t understand every song. My parents didn’t necessarily practice the honor/shame ritual of guilting their children. I recognized it and laughed, but on an experiential level I couldn’t relate.

My immigrant story is a solo journey of going from a poor orphanage in China to a middle class white family in America. My immigrant story came without a choice and the expectation of gratefulness attached, because to some, I didn’t suffer as much as other Asian immigrant families did. That’s a topic for a different discussion. To the point however, Asian adoptees and others have struggled with identifying as Asian American or Asian because we aren’t seen as Asian enough. We are called “whitewashed” by other Asian Americans and we are clearly not white, but we are familiar with white culture because we had no choice but to be raised in it. We are left out because we don’t fit any conventional norms. We are the true bananas.

There was an article the other day of the mixed Asian actresses and whether they were “Asian enough” for the film. This type of debate only leaves my head scratching. To be clear, this is not a knock on the film. The film was great step in the right direction. I’m not asking for an all adopted Chinese American film. But if Asians complain about white people leaving them out of Hollywood and that there needs to be more representation, then surely Asians should also be open to a more diverse Asian representation and what it means to be Asian. Just like there are all different shades of what it means to be American, to some degree there can be different shades to what it means to be Asian or Asian American. I understand Asians are mostly homogenous within their own cultures and countries, but the world we are increasingly living in is multiracial and multi-ethnic. If Asians want more representation in a space they occupy like society, then maybe they should be open to others who occupy a similar space to them.

Change is slow. I get it. Crazy Rich Asians was a monumental step in opening the door for an all-Asian cast and potentially for more representation of minorities of all shapes and sizes. Personally though, I can’t wait until we can stop categorizing people and putting them in boxes just because it’s convenient or because it’s the way it’s always been. Rather, I’d like to let people blaze and add new categories and labels so they can be themselves. There is more to be done for sure but that doesn’t mean we can’t and shouldn’t celebrate when it’s appropriate to do so. I left Crazy Rich Asians with a smile on my face and hope in my heart.

 

The Rights of the Child

Rights for Children.jpg

The rights of the child
The unspoken truths
The words that are said
That are all in her head

But why am I different
She hears herself cry
But at six years of age
She can’t understand why

Why her eyes aren’t blue
Like her mum or her dad’s
Why their hands are so light
And hers darker than night

She holds on tight
So she doesn’t get fright
Of the ‘white’ she has in her mind’s eye
The reflection she fights

Oh how she wishes
That she was the same
And the phrase, “You’re so Lucky”
Was only a game

The rights of the child
So lost in herself
She looks to her mum’s smile
And continues to dial

Into the fight
The fight to be seen
To be heard,
To delight into the night

Instead of the
Ok, YES!
It’s a oh, NO!
She was given up
And not worth the fight

For I was too dark
To be able to stay
In my mum’s arms
And was given away

Adoption you see
Is so very cruel
It constantly haunts you
And doesn’t play by the rule

The child who looks
To her mum’s lovely smile
And then to her dad’s Jewish nose
Then feels hers and it’s all stumped and closed

But why she asked
Why do I not match?
Not even close
Not in fingers or toes

Yet the authories chose
My destiny my path
My life
And all of my heart

At age six that day I asked
And the answers
Made my heart go all dark
And cold with sadness

The answers gave me news
That I wasn’t enough to stay
But lucky enough to
Be given away

My coffee coloured skin
Simply didn’t fit in

Yet everyday I will smile
behind gritted teeth
Smile at a world
that is simply a trial
Of loss of hope, rejection and denial

Denial of existence of my worth
And persistence

I will continue to search
For a reason
Not to give in
And choose to love, laugh and keep on breathin

My beautiful son
All blonde and blue eyed
Asked me my question
Mummy why are you different

And I had to listen
To my heart break in time
As my story unfolds
And I try to explain

Why my parents are white
Again and again
And the two mums I now have
Instead of just one
I have two granny’s from your two mums?

Oh fuck the confusion
For when you are six
Everything is so real
To the rights of the child
It’s such a big deal

And now I stand
at 43
Still disillusioned
At my family tree

Where do I put it
What do I do
With the knowledge
I just wouldn’t do

So I say
Down with adoption
And up with support
The rights of the child
Please don’t abort

Your ideas that a mother
Can be supported
To stand tall with her child
So they are transported

Away from a life that is full
Of confusion and pain
A life of ‘could have been’ shadows
And constant rain

I wish I couldn’t see the difference between
My mother and my father
And why oh why
I simply didn’t fit in

The rights of the child
I will never deny
The need to be heard
Seen and observed

In your quest for information
If I could now see
That young six year old
Hold her tight so she sees

She is loved as she is
Despite being lost
She is loved as she is
And her heart may defrost

From the pain that she’s had
For the walk to come
To find her place
Where her song can be sung

For those that now know me
Stay close to my heart
I know I’m fiesty flamboyant
And private and harsh

With my tongue
That can rip you apart
With my anger and pain
Please do not dart

From the rights of the child
I will never deny
The truth above all
Will surface and cry

The rights of the child
And to all of your hearts
I love you all dearly
But it’s me where I must start

Written by CVerite on 12 July 2018
a transracial UK based adoptee

Dear Stranger

write a letter.jpg

A letter I wrote to my adoptive father

The last time I called home, my adoptive father asked me to come and visit. I spoke to my biological sister who was raised with me and she told me the last time she was home, our adoptive father apologized to her. I’m guessing he will do the same when I go home. Unlike my sister, I cannot accept his hollow apologies and allow him to live his life as though nothing has happened. I want to address the major wrongs he has done to me, things I always wanted to raise but never had the courage to, until now.

Dear Stranger

You may be hurt or upset by the fact I have addressed you as “stranger”. It’s not done intentionally to evoke anger, resentment or animosity. However, I use this term on purpose. To me, you are a stranger. We have had minimal contact throughout the 30 years I have been on my own. I refuse to call you father because I am a father and I know the joys and pains of being a father. You are not deserving of that title. You have done nothing to build this relationship and I do not know anything about your life. As a father, I have placed the needs of my children first, I have given them every opportunity to grow and flourish, and I have loved them unconditionally. I am their father and everyone who knows my children, knows me too.

Your request for atonement?
I’m assuming you will ask for forgiveness. I know you want atonement in exchange for a simple, “I’m sorry”. How can one single phrase ever be reparation for the wrongs you committed, over many years? I cannot give this to you. There is a saying that one can forgive but never forget. This is how I feel. When I write about you and what you have done – this is not lashing out, this is not done to discredit you, this is not done to make you embarrassed … it is simply my own therapy on how to live through the trauma and pain you instilled on me as a vulnerable child.  This is recalling only a fraction of the things you did to me and my sister.

You are toxic and here are the reasons why I know you are toxic:

  1. You failed to provide me with affirmation and security
    In your mind what you did was tough love. I’ve lived my entire life thinking I was a failure, not worthy. This perceived failure and rejection stems from your toxic refusal to provide me with the right amount of security and affirmation during my formative years. I have beaten myself up enough and I no longer need affirmation from you.  I know I am a good human being.  I know I am smart enough. The long list of accomplishments throughout my life give me this affirmation – not you.
  2. You were overly critical
    You disapproved of everything I did. I didn’t do it right, fast enough, or I did it incorrectly. You criticized everything. You believed I needed to learn to do things properly but this caused me to be a harsh inner critic – to the point that it became crippling. It took me a long time to stop being overly critical of myself.  Do you remember the time you pushed my face into a pile of mashed potatoes because I was unable to say the word gravy? Why was it hard for you to understand that learning a new language as a four and a half year old boy was difficult? It was more frustrating for me than it was for you.
  3. You constantly made fun of me
    You called me “stupid” and “wimpy” all the time. You constantly made jokes about me and stated that my actions would lead me to a life of crime. I don’t know why any parent would say such damaging things. It was never funny to me. Your words were hurtful.
  4. You constantly justified your actions and tried to make out that I was the problem
    You twisted normal behavior to be wrong, to suit your thoughts and beliefs. I remember all the times you made me read biblical scriptures and gave me lectures on why my actions were wrong. I was a damn good kid and I had no mean or evil bone in my body.  Yet in your eyes, having a snack was stealing. Watching TV was evil. Listening to music was evil. How did you have such twisted logic for two small children entrusted to your care? You also thought it was normal for other children to do the same things that you denied us.
  5. You never allowed me to express emotions
    If I expressed a different opinion, you called it “sassing back” and often metred out some form of punishment. You never considered my feelings or the way I perceived the world or situation. Even more hurtful were the slaps I had to endure from your wife each time she perceived me to be talking back. I had to suppress the things I wanted to share with you as my parent.  The bullying I endured all through high school and the racism I felt from the community I lived in. I suppressed these things because you didn’t want to deal with these issues. When racism occurred, your advice was to, “ignore it!”
  6. You used guilt to manipulate
     I remember the letter you shared with me that was written by Philip. It stated I was an unruly child because I did not sit still and listen to his instructions. It’s amazing to me that you preferred to take instructions from a man who never had children of his own. You used that letter to justify what you did and you used manipulation like that letter to make me feel ashamed, guilty, and worthless. You used words and your religion to make me feel guilty for being a kid.
  7. You placed your needs and desires before my own
    Your priorities were always about the businesses you ran. I wanted to do sports –  but I was not allowed to participate. Boy scouts and numerous other things that I wanted to participate in, were always shelved. I was seen only as slave labor and never allowed to pursue things I was interested in.
  8. You never established healthy boundaries
    I did not have any safe spaces to be my own person. My room was open to inspection at any given time. The “traps” that were laid to catch me doing something “wrong” that any other parent would deem as normal was your way of proving I was a bad child. The tactics used were the same tactics used by the Nazi’s to entrap and capture the Jews during World War II. You felt that every aspect of my life was open to ridicule and I had no safe place to flourish. I was always in fear as a child. I lived in fear of reprisal and never had any privacy. No healthy boundaries were ever set.
  9. You made us responsible for your own happiness
    Your wife forced me to clean the bathrooms. I was forced to clean your filth. I was asked to massage your wife’s feet, back and shoulders at her beck and call. I was told that my actions were the reasons why you were unhappy and miserable -because I could nothing right. As a child, it was never my responsibility to make you or your wife happy.
  10. You were a control freak
    I was punished for playing with other children at the gym while you played basketball. I was yelled at. I was told to sit still and watch the game. I wasn’t allowed to have an opinion. I was told, “Children were meant to be seen and not heard”. When I wanted a soda, you forced me to drink milk with every meal. Most Asians are lactose intolerant but you didn’t care. You forced us to drink gallons and gallons of milk.
  11. You robbed me of my childhood
    When was I ever allowed to have friends over? When was I allowed to stay at my friends’ homes? Where were the trips to Disneyland or places where children want to go?  You told me to grow up and be an adult when I was only a child. On my 12th birthday, you told me I was “no longer able to eat off the children’s menu” and needed to start acting like an adult. My entire childhood was filled with memories of getting up early in the morning and going to work.  Baling hay in the hot summer sun until exhaustion. Being covered head-to-toe in filthy dust and allowed to shower only once a week. Where was the carefree, worry free childhood? I had none.
  12. You were never my advocate
    An advocate is a person who publicly supports or recommends a particular cause or policy. What I remember is that you threatened me. You stated you had good standing in the community and nobody would believe a person like me. You said these things when I threatened to expose the cruel things you did to me and my sister. When I wanted to go to college, you mater of factly told me to find a way to do it on my own. You had no vested interest in making me a better person. You were never present at any mile marker of any achievements or important dates of my adult life. You were never present at my wedding, the birth of my children, college graduation, sworn in as an officer, and the dozens of other important milestones of my life. I can count on one hand the number of times you called me in the thirty years of adulthood.  The real reason why you never called is you did not care.
  13. You lacked empathy
    The word empathy means that a person has the ability to understand and share the feelings of another. When the bully wrote on my face with a permanent marker – what did you do to ensure I wasn’t bullied? I was bullied because of my race. I was bullied all through high school. I sat alone at every meal at the lunch room. You always assumed I was the culprit, that somehow, I committed some offense. In fact, you told others you suspected I was on drugs. With what money did I buy drugs? How could I have obtained drugs when I was isolated in school? You were always quick to assume the worst in me. If you hated us so much, why did you adopt?

hurt quote

Acknowledge your behaviour was emotionally abusive
Can you acknowledge that you yelled, name called and belittled me? This by itself is not emotional abuse. Your attempt to control me by using emotion is however the definition of emotional abuse. Your belief that you knew best, your threats, name calling, shaming and criticism was damaging to my spirit. You also spoke to other family members and neighbors about me in a negative manner to destroy my credibility and isolate me from being able to tell my side of the story. This is abuse. You allowed your wife to constantly play mind games with me and my sister: checking to see if we watched tv, adjusting the container of ice-cream to see if we ate any of it, the lack of privacy, the pitting the siblings against one another.  This was emotional abuse.

Acknowledge your actions were physically abusive
You purposefully made me fearful of you. I felt I had to avoid certain topics and was walking on eggshells because of your anger. You believed you had the authority to be abusive. Despite your Christ-like example of gentleness, kindness and understanding – you chose to hold onto the mentality of “spare the rod and spoil the child”. In fact, you referenced this numerous time when you exercised corporal punishment on me and my sister. You often denied us food when we were “bad”. You used physical restraint techniques of pinching and grabbing us by the neck. Your overpowering frame that is 6 feet four inches was intimidating alone but you felt the need to use physical force on us by whipping, spanking using belts and razor straps. You blamed us for your violent behavior. We were punished for every minor infraction. I suffered hypo-glycemia and one of the symptoms is extreme hunger. I didn’t understand what my body was going through but when I had a cookie to increase my blood sugar, you considered this to be stealing. Later, I would eat entire packets of cookies and throw the wrapper into the woods to avoid the ridicule of being a “thief and sinner” in your eyes.  Lastly, the beating you gave me in front of the milk tester was not justified.  It was embarrassing. Your violence was NEVER justified.

Acknowledge you neglected me (us)
I know you believe that you cared for me to the best of your ability – but to me, this is the furthest from the truth. You refused medical care for me and made me suffer on numerous occasions. When I had appendicitis, you made up some story that I had a stomach ache from eating apples off the tree. Eating fruit off a tree typically does not induce vomiting and severe abdominal pain, where a person needs to be hunched over when attempting to walk. Your disregarded my health and it resulted in me staying in the hospital for a week on IV antibiotics. When I got ring worm, you allowed the fungus to spread across my arms, torso and buttocks. It was “treated” by my grandmother by smearing a strong cleaner on my skin. The ringworm and cleaner left scars on my skin. Furthermore, you refused to provide me with sufficient clothing and gloves. I had to work outside in sub-zero Minnesota temperatures without gloves and proper outwear. I have deep fissures in my hands and the tight shoes caused me foot pain. When a boy’s foot protrudes from holes worn at the toes it is not caused by neglect from the child! It happens because the child has outgrown their shoes and it is neglect on your part as parent. A child should not have to beg to be given gloves to work outside nor put up with wounds in their skin because no gloves were provided.

Acknowledge you refused a child from personal growth and self-fulfillment
You never gave me encouragement nor surrounded me with positivity. You did not allow me to pursue things I was interested in. The music I listened to was “devils music.” I don’t think many people would call Madonna, The Commodores and Tiffany as “devil’s music.” Gewirth notes that “to seek for a good human life is to seek for self-fulfillment”. Can you honestly say you provided a good life or childhood for me and my biological sister?

Acknowledge there was no reciprocation
When your parents needed things, I sent money home. I did the same for your wife’s mother. Have you ever asked me if I needed anything? When you were hospitalized, I flew home to make sure you were okay. You never flew home to be with me when I underwent numerous surgeries in my life. When important people in your life passed, I made every effort to fly home to show support. You missed all the important mile markers of my life. Most of all you never reciprocated the love that I gave you as a child.  I have worked hard to share my life. I have traveled to see you. I have sent numerous letters and phone calls. You have not. We have grown apart over the years and I do not know you at all. We have become total strangers.

Acknowledge you lied
Abusive people will stop at nothing to make sure they are seen as the “nice” person. They do this so they don’t have to admit the bad things they have done. As a child, I saw your willingness to help others. You were willing to give the shirt off your back to assist anyone. It’s amazed me that you did not hold the same regard for me. Now I understand why. You lied about me. You painted me to be a monster. You gave half truths about what you did and reasons for why you did these horrible things. You talked yourself into believing your own lies. Why would a person say such things if they love someone? It’s because you had to hide this lie from others.

Acknowledge your religious fervor was destructive
“Most of our world’s major religions each assume that it is their faith alone that is the “absolute truth” and refuse to concede that those traditions may be mistaken. Instead, they discover ways to force conflicting information to adapt to their own doctrine.”
You, like many other religious adherents, have no problems in understating the irrationality of other religions yet you were unable to apply the same logic when came to your own faith. Your revered bible has hundreds of verses where it literally instructs people to kill disobedient children, kill disobedient women, commit genocide, subdue and silence women and to enslave people. If one committed any of the offenses today, they would be committed, incarcerated and deemed evil. You used these texts to intrude, torture, and hurt me and my sister. You used your scriptures to subjugate, to justify inequality, and to control. I cannot believe in a faith that is so evil. You lived this evil instead of the love and acceptance that was also mentioned in the same scriptures.

too late.jpg

It’s too late to apologize
You had a lifetime to offer an olive branch to me. You had your chance to visit me and my family. You had your chance to call me. You made NO effort to be a part of my life. It’s been said that “our life is the sum total of all the decisions we make every day, and those decisions are determined by our priorities”. With that said, I was never a priority to you. As a child I was hurt by your lack of empathy. As a young adult I was hurt by your lack of interaction. I didn’t expect you to make me your priority, I was hoping, however, that you’d be there when I needed you. This has not been the case and I have learned that I have no need for a person who has been a stranger to me all my life.  The best we can be is … apart.

About Jayme

A Picture Is Worth 1000 Words

Burden of Mother
Burden of a Mother by Jonas Haid

Sometimes I meet adult intercountry adoptees who have amazing talent to capture the intercountry adoption experience in a more powerful medium than words.

I’d love you to meet Jonas Haid, a South Korean adoptee raised in Germany. Here is his life journey along with the artwork he creates that says so much more than words! Together with his own personal experience and art he provides a powerful testament to the impact relinquishment and adoption has on our lives.

Thank you Jonas for being willing to share with us!

 

At the “Core” of Adoption

Sometimes I imagine the different members of the adoption triad like a raging fierce three way battle with heroes and villains on either side — each vying for supremacy, and ultimately believing their view is right. Orphanages, adoption agencies and lawyers, and the evangelical right are the weapons suppliers and war profiteers. Too far? A joke? I kid, I kid .. mostly … well ya know, sidepoint. And granted, there are voices who attempt to bridge the gap and learn about the viewpoints of the others and these should be acknowledged, but these attempts are more often than not drowned out by the constant battles that loom large.

battle lines.jpg

Battle lines drawn over issues like anti or pro adoption, abortion, ethical adoption (illegal trafficking etc), rehoming, open birth records, adoptee rights (citizenship, permanency in identity/name), non-policy issues like good adoptive parenting (racially sensitive and trauma informed), birth parent searching, what’s “best” for the child, orphan crisis or lack thereof, baby marketplace or not, saviorism, and I’m sure a host of other issues I forgot to mention.

If this was a real life telenovela, there is no doubt it could run on for twenty solid seasons without running out of episodes for a lack of content or drama. Labels and name calling take center stage: “You’re too sensitive!”, “You’re just an angry adoptee,” “You should be grateful!”, “You’re a saint for being selfless and giving up your baby to a deserving family!”, “Your birthmom was probably on drugs!”, “You’re only a baby factory and nothing more!”, “You’re not my real mom!”, “Adoptive Parents are so ignorant, arrogant and condescending!”, “Only my adoptive mom is my real mom, my birth mother isn’t!”

This is Us, an American TV family drama is cashing in big time on this. Adoption agencies can’t be the only ones to profit, haha! A lot of times I find it easy to get lost amidst all the intense emotions, name calling, back and forth boxing match, Facebook blocking and long message screenshotting about, “Can you believe this (insert name) said this (insert screenshot).” Expressing emotions, of course is extremely necessary and valid for all sides, so this is not a knock on seeking validation from others and having them sympathize, but rather to argue that this can become wearing over some time and depressing to think this is all it’s ever going to be. And of course there is some debate over to how to express emotions healthily or otherwise and to whom, but that is a sidepoint. How people find any sanity in adoption is a wonder to me. But come to think of it, no one ever said they did. How morbid!

Let’s be honest for a second. Adoption is deeply personal. Let me repeat that.

Adoption is deeply personal!

It produces a lot of feelings if you choose to allow it. If you disagree with this, then you’re either a robot, or some alien life form without emotional IQ. Not to be too dramatic because people can of course disagree. Some people will argue they never think about adoption or that it has zero effect on their lives, but that doesn’t mean it’s not personal even if everything was great. Adoption preys on our deepest fears and perhaps greatest joys in life. Fears of losing a child, fears of being abandoned and rejected, fears of not being enough, fears of the same thing happening again, fear of not being able to move on, fear of not loving a child that wasn’t originally yours, fear of being a good mother or father, the joy of gaining a child, the joy of having a family, the joy of reunification, and the joy of discovering yourself. Adoption produces intense emotions positive and/or negative, and whether one numbs their emotions or not, I have no control over this. There is plenty of anxiety, anger, loss, fear, tension, and confusion to go around.

 

Screen Shot 2018-07-16 at 11.05.58.png

I am not perfect at this and I struggle to connect to my adoptive parents because of how differently we see things, but largely because we both have deep feelings attached that make things all too personal. I understand why my parents say and do what they do, and it doesn’t necessarily make it hurt less, but gives me more empathy for them.

Acknowledging that adoption is personal for all of us doesn’t lead to a kumbaya moment, and I am not asking for it, but it has to be the start. I understand why some adoptees say very hurtful things to their adoptive parents and I understand why adoptive parents may not say such kinds things about adoptees. Does this make it right? No. But if we all acknowledge adoption is personal and tried to dig deep within ourselves to see why and how comments become triggering for us, and why they might trigger others, then maybe, we could get somewhere. If we cut through the crap and said, “I’m afraid your birth mom is going to take you back because I might lose someone I love very much”, in my opinion this is much better than,  “I was doing what’s best for you” (not seeing your birth mom), or, “I am really angry at my birth mom because she left me!” instead of saying, “She’s not real!” Maybe we might forge bridges instead of digging trenches and maybe we might even feel better when we express what we are really feeling.

So much of what we really think goes unsaid and needs to be said in the right context and hopefully in constructive way that is more about how we are feeling than what someone said or didn’t say. Otherwise our battlefields are landmines with children playing soldier at every step, rather than adults talking about issues in constructive ways. Change will never be effected with intense emotions and trigger points, otherwise we simply further entrench ourselves on our side of the battle. I’m not promising we will all agree on issues but rather, we can work towards healthier conversations that could potentially accomplish more than adding layers of hurt. It takes nothing to call out someone else, but it takes true courage to do the hard work within ourselves!

Screen Shot 2018-07-16 at 11.10.22.png

About Joey

Where is the Outrage?

Help Save ICA .jpg

It’s interesting to watch and read what goes on within the USA, the largest adopter of children internationally, into so called “forever homes”.

I’ve seen a plethora of internet articles from people and organisations who espouse saving children from their desperate situations or institutions and are upset that intercountry adoption numbers have plummeted in the past 15 years to the USA. Check out the latest from the National Council FOR Adoption by Chuck Johnson and by Elizabeth Bartholet, Harvard Law Professor.

ICA Stats.png

I’m guessing these proponents barely hear the voices of adult intercountry adoptees who live it and can share what the experience has been like growing up in the USA or elsewhere, and whether we should be calling for more intercountry adoptions or to save the business or not — especially without learning lessons from the past.

I asked adult intercountry adoptees are we upset that intercountry adoptions to America (and elsewhere around the world) have plummeted? Should we make the process less stringent, with less balances and checks via government oversight, allowing private agencies to do as they had in the past? Membership within ICAV, an informal worldwide network of adult intercountry adoptee leaders and individuals who advocate for the needs of intercountry adoptees, answered with a resounding NO to both questions.

Why? Because many of us live the reality knowing intercountry adoption is not as simple as what the proponents try to gloss over. Adult intercountry adoptees talk openly about wanting to prioritise and ensure children are never stranger adopted internationally when families, social structures for support, or extended family and communities exist within their birth country.

Adoptees celebrate that intercountry adoption numbers have plummeted!

The reasons for numbers plummeting is complex and specific to each sending country, but overall we see our birth countries finally starting to create better alternatives for vulnerable families and are coming to understand their most valuable resource is their children! Imagine where our birth countries would be, if instead of exporting us, they’d kept us, raised us and been able to access resources from our adoptive countries?

Perhaps our birth countries have realised intercountry adoption doesn’t always equate to a “better life” for vulnerable children. Point in case are the thousands who sit fearful of deportation in the USA because if adopted prior to 1983, they are still not granted automatic citizenship. Intercountry adoptee led organisations, like Adoptee Rights Campaign, will tell you that US Congress and President don’t appear too outraged by the citizenship situation which intercountry adoptees face! Certainly not a lot of jumping up and down or drawing attention to this fact either by Bartholet or Johnson!

I hear from adult intercountry adoptees daily from all over the world. Many of our lived experiences, especially those who manage to find biological family, learn that often our adoptions were faciltiated because our biological families were not offered financial or social supports at the time. Then there are some cases (too many for my liking to ever thoughtlessly promote adoption) where our biological families were coerced, given false expectations e.g., education, without fully understanding the consequences of legal “relinquishment“.

As an adult intercountry adoptee, I do not see adoption agencies as “saviours” but rather as “exploiters” – financially benefiting from our vulnerabilities.

As adult intercountry adoptees, we prefer more government oversight and taking of responsibility for the lifelong journey of adoption! In the past, our adoption agencies have not always done the right thing: in preserving the truth of our origins, in ensuring we are true orphans, in making sure no undue financial gain from the adoption transaction, in providing adequate post adoption support for the duration of our life, etc. In the past, our birth and adoptive governments have sometimes (often) turned a blind eye to the troubles persisting that give intercountry adoption it’s legacy of illegal adoptions. We as adult intercountry adoptees could never state enough how necessary it is to have independent oversight of any intercountry adoption process with direct and real input from those who live the experience, the adoptees themselves!

Lessons learned from the past should include a country only taking us on via intercountry adoption IF they can also provide the much needed comprehensive and lifelong support services to ensure positive outcomes and a guarantee of permanency! This should include free psychological counselling, free search and reunion, free DNA testing, free returns to birth country, free translation services, etc.

A country should only give us away if they can also provide the much needed comprehensive and lifelong support services to our biological families who face the consequences for generations of having relinquished their children.

The emotional, social, financial and generational impact that relinquishment has on a birth family and country has never been studied!

As intercountry adoptees we face relinquishment not only from our biological families but also from our birth country. We live the emotional consequences of those decisions throughout our lifetime. We often question why the money spent on our adoption process could not have been provided to our biological family to facilitate us to remain with them, therefore giving the whole family better life options and resources.

What's Missing?.jpg

I hope this blog will stimulate questions and thoughts about what’s missing from one-sided articles that proponents like Bartholet and Johnson promote. Instead of Bartholet asking “Where is the outrage over the institutionalised children denied adoptive homes?”, we should be asking these questions instead:

  • Where is the outrage that vulnerable families are not given adequate support to prevent them from institutionalising their children?
  • Where is the outrage for the children (now adults, some with children themselves) who were intercountry adopted to the USA prior to 1983 and are still denied permanency (i.e., Citizenship) via intercountry adoption?
  • Where is the outrage over the institutionalised children being intercountry adopted and denied their human right to grow up in their own birth land – knowing their culture, language, values, customs, religion, and family heritage?
  • Where is the outrage over the insititutionalised children who are intercountry adopted to countries like the USA, who end up in abusive or worse situations that should be prevented if agencies did adequate education and screening? In my mind, this is exactly why the US State Dept should be heavily overseeing all accreditation of adoption agencies and ensuring families are adequately prepared – and most importantly, implementing measures when an agency fails.

What is not in the child’s best interest, is to experience adoption disruption because of failure by adoption agencies who are rarely held accountable for adoptions that fail to provide for a child’s safety and well being, for their lifelong journey!

Bartholet, Johnson and other proponents of adoption write articles that fail to address the lived experiences of the hundreds of thousands of intercountry adoptees around the world, who can tell you what we think about plummeting numbers in international adoption. We can also share where we believe the focus should be to address the real issues.

What I find fascinating and inspiring are the adult intercountry adoptees who spend their life creating and maintaining ventures that provide support to one’s country, without taking away their most precious resource – their children via intercountry adoption. Ventures like NONA Foundation in Sri Lanka to help young women and girls who are disadvantaged, Foster Care Society in India focused on creating alternative forms of care, Family Preservation 365 in the USA, 325Kamra who provide free DNA tests to Sth Korean families in the attempt to reunite them, Centre for Social Protection of Children in Vietnam to help special needs and disadvantaged children obtain an education.

We need the focus to be more about keeping families and societies together and we should be celebrating when intercountry adoption declines — because it should always be the last resort for vulnerable families and countries, as per our human rights!

Family Preservation

 

 

 

 

What If

1505.m00.i125.n006.p.c20.180768896-three-roads-and-question-mark.-choosing-the-right-path-concept-

Two words. If one lets them, they produce countless thoughts and a potential rabbit hole so deep it feels endless. In sports, an inch in the game of football (American) can be the difference between a win and a loss, a playoff win or a ride home. For others, what if can mean the difference between life and death. Yet for adoptees, the what if is tantalizing, even if it is only presented in a binary, without any nuance. What if adoptees weren’t adopted? Well, people say, they would definitely either be dead or aborted as if that ends the debate and thus confirms how lucky we were to be saved. Either dead or adopted. Maybe that’s too extreme and we can tone down death and expand it to include either be adopted, or grow up in an orphanage and/or foster care system and see how terrible our life is — afterall, we all have our preconceived perceptions of kids stuck in the system. What if for adoptees has been transformed to “your life would suck if you weren’t adopted.” With adoptees best intentions, of course, at heart.

Surely however, there is more nuance to what if, especially as it pertains to adoptees. Nevermind the miracle of a specific sperm and egg that germinates to create each one of us. Had it been any other sperm or egg, the person might not exist or be an entirely different person. What if in each of our lives has the potential to change it in numerous directions at each stage of our life. For me personally, maybe there was a way for my first family to keep me, maybe I could have been raised by a relative, maybe even though I was in an orphanage, I could have survived the system without being adopted, maybe another Chinese family could have raised me, maybe another family could have raised me internationally, and yes, maybe I would have died in the orphanage, and maybe I would have died in a car accident.

It is amazing the confluence of factors that make something happen, but when one of those factors is changed, who is to say what the outcome might be. Yes, maybe people might concede that anything is possible. But those things didn’t take place. We can’t speculate or wish for something different, when it didn’t. People always say, “No point in playing what if games! What is fact is that you were in an orphanage starving”.

Absolutely correct! I can speculate and wish something was different but it didn’t happen. I will never know what it might have been like had something changed.

what if 1.png

In the same vein however, people can’t say adoptees would have died or been aborted if they weren’t adopted because anything could have happened. People will never know because they were adopted and therefore they can’t know for sure what might have occurred if they didn’t. One can speculate, but that’s it. People don’t get the right to choose to play what if in a person’s life if they are unwilling to look at the entirety of that person’s existence or even their own — without also seeing the many different possibilities that life could unfold.

Some Christians make the argument that adoptees would not have known God unless they had been adopted into Christian homes. This binary of the what if suggests adoptees had to be adopted in order to be saved and would otherwise not have known God. I hate to break the news, but God does and has used any number of means to bring people to Him. To suggest otherwise and limit God is to deny His sovereignty. Maybe God used a Christian home to bring some adoptees to know God, but many equally reject God because of this same Christian home. Not every Christian comes from two Christian parents. I might have not been adopted and still known God in China. In fact, there are more Christians in China than in America (numbers are a little shaky in either place), so who is to say otherwise?

We all like to simplify complex ideas and notions to make them more digestible. But when we fail to address the nuance, we leave something out, and often to the detriment of ourselves and others. What if should not be just a tool for saviorism but should at least be presented with nuance. Maybe if we saw the world less in binaries and more in shades of grey, perhaps what if wouldn’t be such loaded two words. Maybe, just maybe, it could lead to a world of possibilities, not only in our past but hopefully and even more so, into our future.

About Joey

infinite possibilities.jpg

Anxiety Triggers

I had my first panic attack almost fifteen years ago. I had just found out that my then partner was pregnant. As happy as I was for her and us that we were having a baby, something inside of me which I had suppressed for my whole life, without being aware of until then, was awoken. Sheer panic and absolute terror overcame me. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I was vomiting and having night sweats. This intense period went on for two weeks. Waves of panic and adrenaline would surge through me periodically through the day. I had to take time off work. I’d get up in the morning and make myself a glass of sustagen and that’s all I could manage to eat for the whole day. I lost 7 kilos over two weeks. I worried that a new baby would somehow replace me, that there wouldn’t be enough room for me and my needs anymore. The primal fear of being abandoned and rejected had resurfaced. I was thirty years old.

anxiety demon

This has happened again twice more in my life. The second time came when my ex-partner and I broke up after being together for fifteen years. It was the same sense of being abandoned, feeling alone and not worthy of being loved anymore. Sound familiar? Thus ensued more vomiting and the inability to sleep or eat. I also experienced suicide ideation. I didn’t actually want to die, I just didn’t want to continue feeling like this. I’d lie there imagining what would happen if I walked out in the middle of the busy road that I lived on at the time. A very good friend thankfully called me one night to ask how I was. I told her about my thoughts of the busy road and the sharp knives in the kitchen.

She said, “You need to go and see your GP tomorrow”. I replied, “I’ll just keep doing my yoga and meditation. I’ll be fine.” I was less than fine. My doctor was unavailable so I saw another doctor who prescribed me anti-depression medication that had an anti-anxiety effect and another type of medication for anxiety. Both were highly addictive. And yes, I became addicted to them. It took me almost a year to get off them. The same beautiful friend who called me, drove me to stay with my parents who live on the Bellarine peninsula near Geelong, an hour and half away from Melbourne. I arrived a shell of myself and my folks literally scooped me up like I was a child again and took care of me until I was well enough to return home.

The third time came recently four months ago now when my girlfriend broke up with me. The same feelings of being rejected, not good enough, unworthy and unlovable resurfaced. This time though throughout the panic attacks, the vomiting, nausea and inability to eat, I was still able to function to the degree where I could continue to go to work and parent my children. Something had improved.

It’s only now that I have finally started working on the issues surrounding the one time in my life I was actually abandoned — as a newborn on the orphanage doorstep in Vietnam.

I now have a better understanding of what triggers my anxiety and what is at the heart of it. It isn’t anxiety at all, it’s grief. I have an ocean of sadness inside me that I’ve never fully addressed until now. I have gathered a team of professionals to surround me who are helping me work through this deep seated feeling of not being good enough or loveable. I know objectively and rationally that I am, but somewhere deep inside, the wounded child doesn’t know that ……… yet.

About Kate

grief.jpg