par Maddy Ullman, born in China and raised in the USA.
I wrote this on the last day of disability pride month (July).
I started disability pride month at a conference on a panel discussing the intersectionality of disability and adoption. The audience heard me and my truths saying things like:
If someone handed me a magic cure today, that would get rid of all my disabilities, I wouldn’t take it. I don’t know who I’d be without disability and there’s beauty in that.
Disability has taught me to be adaptive and resourceful. I have more empathy. More drive.
I am so proud to call myself disabled and I have cultivated a full life with it.
That is my truth.
It is not my only truth, though. In all honesty, I am exhausted. I am angry. This world is not made for anyone with disabilities in mind. Lately, I’ve been feeling the weight of my existence. Let me tell you more. It takes so much more every day to exist and function in society with any health condition. I work hard just to exist. The people around me have to do more if the environment isn’t accessible.
Disability is the one of the few marginalised groups anyone can be a part of, at any time in their life.
For the first time, I brought my walker to a conference. It absolutely saved me. The walker is something I’ve had to struggle with my vanity to use. Even though it helps me out so much. My walker is a beautiful red colour, carries so much, and I walk better with it. Still, it’s a struggle to use what helps me so much. There is accessibility but it’s usually far and hard to find. Little things like doors make all the difference. Especially when the doors are heavy.
I love my walker. What does it say about society and accessibility when it actually takes more thought for me to use what helps me? This internal struggle is something I’m always at war with. One day, I aspire to use my walker every day with pride.
I have to remind myself every day. Yes it’s okay for me to take up space. I am worthy of that space. I have to give myself permission to be enough. I am always prepared to make that space if it doesn’t exist on its own. Spoiler alert, I often have to carve it out with my bare hands. Every time I step into a room, I have to set the standard. I have to be extraordinary.
With all that said, I am choosing to honor disability pride month by allowing myself to sit in the discomfort. I give myself permission to be enough and live well without guilt and matter what productivity the day may bring.
Friends, please remember your existence is enough and you are worthy of whatever space you may hold. ❤️
par Ae Ra Van Geel, adopted from Sth Korea to Belgium
Thoughts after the adoption retreat July 2023
I was given a name,
from my grandma.
She called me ae ra
Last weekend for the 7th time, the annual summer retreat for adopted people took place in Zeist, Netherlands. 41 adoptees from different countries of origin (Mexico, Nepal, Bangladesh, Colombia, China, Sri Lanka, Indonesia, Thailand, Netherlands, India and South Korea) got to share, experience, grieve, laugh, dance, sing and heal a little bit through systemic trauma work led by Hilbrand Westra.
When I introduced myself at the beginning of the weekend, I said that I was born as Song, Ae Ra but by adoption I grew up as Renate Van Geel, that Ae Ra grew bigger, that I am and always was her, even though I was never called that.
I didn’t suspect then that 3 days later when driving home I would dare to follow the desire to be called Ae Ra, also in the ‘outside world’.
It means more Korea, more me but inevitably also less Belgium and less the other. My neighbourhood is losing another piece of who they always knew. I’m also paying a price again, this time to be able to become more myself. I give up, I lose. Renate is getting smaller.
In addition to that, there will also be peace, it doesn’t all have to be immediately.
I’ll just start at the beginning: my name is Ae Ra. After almost 39 years, call me by my own name.
Thanks to my colleagues from @adoptieoplingen, an honor and also a pleasure to form with you this weekend.
Finally, a deep bow to everyone who was there, thank you for your presence, inspiration and strength.
I was born in Cali, Colombia in 1993 during the midst period of civil war, disruption, political instability known as ‘la Violencia’. This period saw the degradation and exploitation of state civil services through corruption, war and systematic racism, which in turn resulted in tremendous damage to the lives, human rights and cultural heritage of millions of Colombians, Afro-Colombian and Indigenous Colombians whom who were displaced from their tradition lands an often subject to violence and systematic oppression. As a result of these circumstances and internal corruption within the adoption industry, I was separated from my biological mother and adopted to Australia at the age of one. I have a close but complex relationship my adoptive family.
Growing up, I loved to be outside and activate like most Aussie kids at the time and spent most of my time, fishing, kicking the footy around, and riding bikes around the neighbourhood with friends.
While I was always social and enjoyed making friends, I also struggled with bullying, racism, and the spectre of isolation/identity crisis/lack of racial mirrors that many of us adoptees experience. I fondly remember finding refuge and solace in books, stories, myths, and legends, everything ranging from magical fantasies like Harry Potter and the Homer’s Iliad to biographies and the encyclopedia on the Fall of Rome.
I distinctly recall being in grade 1 and recall reading Harry Potter and afterward, daydreaming about an imaginary time when my biological family would appear in a fireplace one day, tell me I was a wizard and take me off to enrol at Hogwarts with the other Wizards.
As a child, although I recall some intense moments of isolation and loneliness, I also had a close relationship with my younger brother, immediate and extended family who always made me feel welcome and as part of the family. It is only as I entered by teenage and adult years that these relationships began to shift and change, not as a result of any ill intent but largely due to the development of my own awareness about my place in the world (or lack thereof) as a black Afro-Colombian/Afro-Australian and subsequent experiences with racism and micro-aggressions.
This tumultuous but unique start to life, in conjunction, with the lived experience of navigating the word though the lens of an Afro-Colombian/Afro-Australia male, has aided in the development of a nuanced but balanced understanding of cultural, adoption and racial politics of today’s multicultural Australia.
This lived experience, is further supplemented by an academic background in law, investigations, government, politics and international relations, the pursuit of which in retrospect and with the aid of therapy, was both my innate curiosity to learn more about the world, a desire to effect change, and my inner child seeking validation and identity through achievements.
It was during this period, that I spent a year studying and playing college basketball at Oxford Brookes University, United Kingdom. Not whole lot of studying was done and the academic transcript upon return was not great but I can honestly say this was one of the best years of my life. I say this, as it was the first time in my life where I was not the only person of colour but also the first time in 21 years that I was around racial mirrors and a large Afro British/West African community. I think, in only my second week, I joined both the African and Latin American societies and immediately felt welcomed and at home.
Fast forward to 2022 and that sample feeling of what it was like to belong, in conjunction with the covid pandemic and the BLM movement, I was motivated to start to take some concrete steps to look into my own background and search for my biological family in Colombia. I really started to ‘come out of the adoptee fog’ as we tend to call it.
I joined a number of extremely welcoming and supportive online adoptee support and re-unification groups and through one of these groups, I was fortunate to connect with an extremely kind and amazing Colombian adoptee who explained further the history of illicit adoptions in Colombia and how and what documents I would need to start my search.
I diligently followed the advice provided and unearthed the limited documents I had (a birth certificate, a few medical records, abandonment certificate and adoption paperwork) and wrote a short blurb about myself with some baby and current photos. I then posted to range of reunification groups both here and in Colombia.
I was sceptical that anything would come of it especially knowing the current social and political climate of Colombia both now and at the time of my birth. I had grieved and accepted that I would most likely never find my biological family or that that they would be deceased.
Despite those initial reservations, approximately 24 hours after I had posted the search, I woke up to hundreds of messages on Facebook from people all around Colombia (nurses, doctors, private investigators and ordinary people ) offering to help or sending pictures of profiles of people who fit the description based on the information I had provided.
One of the groups who reached out was Plan Angel (an adoptee led organisation that specialise in biological reunification in Colombia). They sent through Facebook the profile of a lady with the same name as the woman listed on my birth certificate. Funnily enough, this happened to be a profile I had come across in my own searches but had discounted it as the date of birth did not match my birth certificate.
Plan Angel explained they had been contacted ‘by a lady, who knew a lady, who use to baby sit children that looked like you’ and asked whether I ‘would like them to make further enquires to confirm’. With my heart in chest, I replied, ‘Of course!’ 8 or so hours later, Plan Angel called at 7am in the morning saying, ‘We have confirmed that it is your biological mother, would you like to arrange a time to speak to her’. I calmly replied yes, expecting that this meeting would occur in few days, weeks or months but to my great surprise, the lady pressed a button and in a little box at the top of my cracked iphone and for the first time in 30 years, I saw the face of my mother, this illusive woman whose face and personality I had imagined since as long I could remembered; a woman and a queen who had generously carried me around for 9 months and made me 50% of who I am. I think in that moment, even if it was for a split second, I felt at peace and knew what it was to truly have a point of reference for identity and place in this world.
As soon as we saw each other, we burst out in tears because we knew. Looking back, I can honestly say this was a call that changed my life, as I went from not knowing my place in the world, feeling culturally isolated and from a close loving but small two sibling family, to 25 minutes later being the 3rd oldest in a crazy Afro-Colombian family of 13 and finally understanding and having a sense of culturally finding home and place! Here, I was not only accepted for who I was, but I was celebrated.
Since that day, life and process of navigating the reunion process has been one wild, humbling, joyous, sad, grief filled, soothing yet erratic adventure that has really felt like the screenplay to a classic Latin telenovela. It has an unpredictable mix of horror, happiness, scandal, secrecy, crime, horror, drama, pain, love and family all mixed together.
A big part of what made this journey possible and survivable, has been the ongoing support, guidance, mentoring, exchange of shared experiences, friendship, healing education and community offered/provided by Lynelle and other adoptees through ICAV, Plan Angel as well as the wider adoptee community. It is my hope, that by sharing my tale, I am able to pay it forward, raise awareness around the realities of adoption (the need for improved support services), hopefully provide guidance and a relatable perspective to other intercountry adoptees both in general and for those who are thinking about reunification.
Click here to RSVP to ICAVs upcoming webinar on Reunion and Beyond:
par Damian S Rocco, adopted from Vietnam to Australia.
I share with you the next chapter of my journey!
Left to Right: Damian & Luom
This photo is from the 1970s. When I was getting picked up from a Saigon orphanage to be sent to an Australian couple in the 70s, the orphanage said to couple, “There is another half black /Asian child and these two seem to be playing together a lot. Can you take two?”
The couple said, “We only asked for one!” But they took Luom as well.
Although we are not biological siblings, our journeys are the same and brotherhood is not always defined as having to be biologically related.
Soon after we arrived in Australia to be with this couple, they decided after some time, not to keep Luom. He was given up to the State and then went on to vibrate on his unknown journey.
We reconnected some 25 years later in the 90s, then through some life challenges, I withdrew from our journey together. Fast forward to 2023 and we have reconnected.
Luom, like myself, has also found his African American family in the USA. This brought absolute joy and happiness to me.
Luom had his Antwone Fisher moment. For those who have seen the movie, you will know what I mean – the last scene in the movie!
Luom was met by his African American family with placards and all.
I apologise to Luom that his unconditional brotherly love for me was not enough back in early life to get me out of some dark places. Thank you for always not giving up on me.
Coming Next: You can RSVP for ICAVs second part webinar on La Réunion et au-delà
This is the last in our blog series dedicated to Recherche dans Adoption internationale. These individual stories are being shared from our Papier de perspective qui a également été partagé avec nos Webinaire, Recherche dans l'adoption internationale par des experts des adoptés
par Raya Snow born in Russia, raised in Canada
I was born in the city of Ivanovo Oblast, Russia 1989. It is located North East of Moscow with a population of 361,641. After I was born, my mother and father moved to the Caucasus of Russia, Derbent. After I turned 3, my parents got divorced and my mother and I moved to Stavropol, North of the Caucuses.
Eventually, my mother met another man and we started living together in a two bedroom apartment. He was a very abusive and narcissistic man who would abuse both my mother and myself. I believe my mother one day left him, leaving me in his care. Not being his blood relative, he shortly dropped me off to my mother’s great-aunt’s place. This is where my journey really unfolded.
My great-great aunt ( Elvira), was a religious older woman whose life revolved around the church and God. We lived somewhat happily together, but I would always wonder about my mother and her whereabouts. Sometimes my mother would come to the house to see me, but those were always incredibly short visits. Due to her never being around, the neighbours started to question my health and education. Elvira then thought to start looking for a forever home for myself.
I remember, she would advise me to be on my best behaviour, to listen well, in order for a family to take me or to buy me off of her. Being only about 5 years of age, I was very excited to be able to visit other families with children, play with them, and get to know them. Deep down in my heart, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stay with them because some were far worse off than I was, living with my aunt.
One day, there was a lady that came to the door, asking to speak to Elvira about a family from Canada wanting to adopt a little Russian girl. Elvira was so pleased about this news that she allowed the woman to take pictures of herself which she would then send to the family in Canada. The woman let us know there would be a man who would come in the following weeks to advise if the Canadian family was interested in the child, me. In the meantime, I was still going from home to home, to see if anyone showed any interest in purchasing me.
A month or two later, there was another knock on our gate and as the lady mentioned, there was a man (George) who came to see Elvira and I. George brought us fruits and sweets which I would eat while the two were speaking intently. He let Elvira know that the Canadian family took an interest in me and was willing to pay a big sum in order to adopt me. She let him know the process would not be an easy one as all my documentation was lost in a car accident where both of my parents died tragically.
According to her statement, I survived miraculously by the will of God. She then showed George the death certificate of my parents, leaving me, a little orphan in her will. George suggested we start the process by recreating new documents, stating my mother’s name and him as the biological father in my new birth certificate.
Me, being this little girl, understanding that my mother will never return back to me, as she had left and I hadn’t seen her maybe for months, I felt a new adventure was about to unfold. George started coming by the house more often, gaining my trust and I his. We became great friends and I enjoyed having a “father figure” in my life. On the weekends, I would go over to his house and meet his wife and children, who took me in with open arms.
A turning point was about to happen when Elvira spoke to our neighbours and let them know she was going to take the money and myself up West, to the Ural Mountains where the rest of our family resided. The neighbours were saddened by this news as I was a very malnourished little girl who needed attentive medical care, so they called George straight away and let him know the alarming news. George of course, called the potential family in Canada and let them know that they needed to save me and hide me while the rest of the documentation was being prepared. The Canadian family agreed and I was brought to a small city near Moscow, where the biological relatives of their family lived. There, I met my wonderful adoptive mom, with whom I gained an instantaneous attachment because of desperately wanting to feel loved and cared for.
I believe I lived with the family in Moscow for about 6 months. While my documents were getting done, I started attending pre-school, spent time with relatives on the weekends, went to church on Sundays and welcomed a new package from my Canadian family every few weeks or so.
It was sometime in June when George came back into my life again. This time, we were going to begin our travels to Canada. The process was a very tricky one, I had to learn to call him “dad” and he would call me “daughter”. George let me know that we had to fake a bond, where authorities would not be able to question our relationship to one another. Our lives were at stake if any one of us did something questionable, I could be sent to an orphanage and he to prison.
We first began our trip to Moscow, where we stayed at George’s blind father’s place for a few days before heading out on a Cargo ship to Turkey. I remember the ship well and I grew fond of the people in it. Once we reached Turkey, we took a flight to France which I don’t have any memories of, and from there we flew to Canada.
Once we got off the flight, I could see in the hallway above me, there were many people waiting to greet their loved ones. My adoptive parents were one of those people, who were waiting with balloons and a cam-recorder for that very first hug. George and my adoptive mom ended up getting married and this “happy” ending lasted for a couple more years until George and my adoptive mom separated (finalised the divorce) and then she claimed full custody of me.
Twenty-five years went by, I started on my search for my biological parents which I have found with great success. I had help through a friend of my adoptive mom who was able to help me find my biological mother on a Russian app. I have found my biological mother, who is still well and alive with a beautiful, big family who has been supporting her throughout the loss of her child, me. I have also reconnected with my biological father, whom I found through a Russian tv show and he had been at war in 1994 – 1996 between the Chechens and the Russians. After the war ended, he began his search for me, with no leading answers on my whereabouts or my biological mother from Elvira.
This is a true story. It is a story of grief, loss, abandonment and also happiness. I would like to bring awareness that abduction happens, that childhood trafficking exists and it needs to be spoken about. Adoptees are lacking support in those areas as we are terrified to speak about our truths and what the truth might do to those surrounding us.
This is a new era, a space to bring light to our journeys, to the eyes of our governments, our adopters, adoption organisations and our peers. Let’s start creating legal changes through advocacy and the support of our fellow adoptees! Together, let’s share our truths!
La série de blogs suivante sera consacrée à nos Recherche dans Adoption internationale série. Ces histoires individuelles sont partagées depuis notre Papier de perspective qui a également été partagé avec nos Webinaire, Recherche dans l'adoption internationale par des experts des adoptés.
par Gabbie Beckley, born in Sri Lanka, raised in Australia
When I cook, standing in my kitchen, surrounded by the scents and smells of Sri Lankan spices, curries and dhals, I am transported back to one of my first memories of meeting my Amma in her small smokey kitchen back in the year 2000. I then fast forward to 2019, sitting in my younger sisters apartment watching her cook, being entranced by the smells, laughter and life coming from her kitchen in her home.
My life has taken so many unexpected twists and turns. I reflect upon the different versions of myself through my search and reunion with my family. I reflect at the past global climate when Sri Lanka was in the grips of a bloody civil war war and what life is like now amidst the current political instability.
I think of choices parents make for their children and the hopes and dreams we have for them. I know we all share a common thread, we want our children to be happy, healthy and content with life. I know that is what my Amma and Thatha want(ed) for me and my siblings and I know that is what I want for my children.
Yet the complex psychosocial strings that took me away from my first family and weaved a complex narrative in my second, continues to undo and reconnect as I attempt to parent my own and leaves me feeling some days like I have an understanding of what’s going on, yet most days, I struggle to make sense of it all.
My story is mine to tell, yet I am only one part of a multitude of layers, stories and connections. To tell my story is to honour my first family’s story. Our story is a love story of two people shaped by an extreme set of extraordinary circumstances that include war, love, poverty and hope. Then my second family who also experienced war, love, loss, trauma and hope; and finally the family that I have created, also has love, loss, hope and possibilities.
The way that I comprehend searching for my family is it has always been about finding out who I am, recognising the person staring back at me in the mirror and understanding who I am as a person and how I relate to the world.
Searching for me is coming to understand it doesn’t stop when you have the answer to your prayers, it’s then understanding and building relationships with the people who share your bloodlines and those that don’t. It’s accepting the choices that people made ‘in your best interests’ and placing those choices with the people that made them and not on myself.
Searching over the past 23 years has been important, life affirming and life saving. I have now know my first family longer than I haven’t known them — and for me that’s important milestone because it helps me understand the complex person within.
I know the trauma of that first great loss in my life has impacted my whole life. I want to bust the myth that love it s enough to conquer the hurt, pain and the trauma — it is not.
Connection, meaningful connections and conversations, intentional understanding, acceptance, trauma informed care and a safe space to feel my feelings is what I have needed. Finding purpose and meaning in my life has come from reuniting with my family, culture and kin. I know what it is like to walk the walk and I know why it’s important to give back and assist others in their journey of healing.
Searching has never been the end goal, searching is part of the healing journey I take every day.
La série de blogs suivante sera consacrée à nos Recherche dans Adoption internationale série. Ces histoires individuelles sont partagées depuis notre Papier de perspective qui a également été partagé avec nos Webinaire, Recherche dans l'adoption internationale par des experts des adoptés.
par Sonia Marinescu, born in Romania, raised in Germany and the USA
It was 1991 in Timisoara, Romania when I was born. I was adopted from a Romanian orphanage two years later first to Germany then to America. Most would say I was fortunate. In some ways yes but my story is marred, and my adoption was not a rosy one. I eventually took my name I was born under and what identity I could but that is neither here nor there. What I am sharing in this paper is my search for my family.
At first, it was great. I found my birth mom. Vali Nas found her. It was costly. $700 American is expensive in Romania. It took a while and she did refuse a DNA test. My brother would write. A half-brother was found through a former adoptee. My birth father was the best man I ever had the fortune to speak with in poetry and words. I was soon supposed to meet him, but he passed. This resulted in my birth mom choosing to break contact. Especially after I mistakenly married a female. I have spent countless hours since trying to find my mom and I am hoping one day she will come back.
Finding family is not easy. There are language barriers. Romanian is not a language I speak. I needed a translator just to talk to my mom. The emotions were the hardest. While she cried, I was confused. I did not know what to feel or how to react. I still do not. Now, I am using The Never Forgotten Children of Romania Facebook group. I am hoping someone I have not met will come around.
Family is important to me and the hole where it sits is missing. All I can do is hope. But for what I found; it was certainly a whirlwind with limited support on how to even process the timeline. It was something I had to do on my own but luckily, I am used to this. My advice to adoptees wanting to find family is make sure you have a good one in place before you do. If it is chosen, that is still family. It is better to feel less alone while you search especially if it ends in rejection.
Prochainement: Searching for my family in Philippines
La série de blogs suivante sera consacrée à nos Recherche dans Adoption internationale série. Ces histoires individuelles sont partagées depuis notre Papier de perspective qui a également été partagé avec nos Webinaire, Recherche dans l'adoption internationale par des experts des adoptés.
par Samara James, born in South Korea, raised in Australia
artwork by Samara
When I first moved to South Korea back in 2008, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to locate my birth family. How do you know whether you want to unlock the biggest mysteries of your life? How do you know if you are ready for it? For me, it was a curiosity, but for my Korean friends, they seemed determined to make the reunion a reality with an almost feverish determination. This is what really propelled the search for my birth family, and despite not really understanding what that would mean or preparing for what may happen, I agreed to do the search. Ann Babe, breaks down the attitudes toward gyopos into three types. She described the first as, “A person that’s older who is sort of angry about you being a Korean but not being fully Korean.” There are the “people who seem flummoxed and simply incapable of grasping your background” but then there are also those who are “very friendly and helpful” but sometimes “overbearing when they try to convert you or reform you” (Wiggin, 2010). My Korean friend (who was also my boss) was this third type. As an older sister figure to me in Korea (or unnie) she took me under her wing and introduced me to Korean life; eventually the reunion between myself and my birth family became her personal mission. My adoptive parents were concerned about me locating my birth family. I knew they didn’t really want me to do it. My mother used to watch movies about adoptees reuniting with their birth families and choosing to stay and live with them, as if they were horror movies, “You would never do that would you?” she used to ask me. I had always promised I wouldn’t but when I asked for my adoption paperwork, I knew in a way I was betraying them.
My paperwork was scarce to say the least, a piece of paper with my parents’ names dates of birth, the name I was issued by the adoption agency, and the province I was born in, translated into English that only led to dead-ends and we exhausted most of my options quickly. Leanne Lieth, founder of Korean Adoptees for Fair Records Access, explains, “Access to our Korean records is dependent upon whether the adoptee knows that there are duplicate or original records in Korea, that those records may have additional information… and that the adoptee has the will and tenacity to investigate across continents and languages with the often uncooperative and hostile Korean international adoption agencies. This process is arbitrary, inconsistent, and can drag out for years” (Dobbs, 2011). According to Dobbs (2011), “There are no laws sealing or regulating adoption files, which are technically agency private property. The agencies could burn the records if they wanted.” Eventually, my friend convinced me to go on a Korean reality TV show where adoptees can make a public plea for any information that may help to locate their families. Say your Korean name into the camera, she said. I had never used my Korean name before. “My name is Kim Soo-Im. If you have any information about my biological family”… the rest was a blur. Before I knew it, we had found them.
After declining to film the reunion on air, we drove to meet my birth family. I had no idea what I was walking into, or even where we were. I didn’t expect to have family, I thought I was an orphan but when I walked in the door, I was taken aback to see almost 20 relatives – mother, brother, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents who were all crying inconsolably. I didn’t understand. My friend was so excited and I was completely at a loss for how to react. I didn’t have any questions prepared, I think I was still in a state of shock. All I could think was, why couldn’t I have stayed here? Why are they crying when they abandoned me?
My friend did the introductions in Korean, and it was only then I realised, she wouldn’t be able to bridge the linguistic and cultural gaps between us. I struggled to understand most of what was said, but a few things came through. I looked like my father who had died a few years earlier. I guessed by my mother’s age, that he may have been in his 40’s at the time. They couldn’t explain to me how he died exactly, but I inferred by their hand signals it was something to do with the chest – I hope it isn’t hereditary. I was told that I have two siblings (who were also put up for adoption) and I was the last of the three children to reunite with the family. My brother who was there, didn’t say anything to me that day. Apparently, he could speak English, but I guess chose not to. I have no idea what he was thinking or what his story was. My sister wasn’t there, when I asked where she was, the reply was “she’s gone”. I couldn’t figure out what ‘gone’ meant. Was she missing? Was she dead?
My birth mother plead with my friend to tell me that she regretted putting me up for adoption and that she tried everything to undo it. She didn’t know I was sent overseas. My friend looked so overjoyed, but I wasn’t sure what to say, I couldn’t understand. I thought she didn’t want me, I was told I had been abandoned after birth. I was prepared for rejection but regret, despair, shame, longing I didn’t know what to do with. I sat there silently for what felt like hours, then the family asked if I was staying to re-join the family and asked if I would help take care of my ageing mother. Everyone was looking at me expectantly. It was at this point I felt something shutdown inside me, and I told them that I was going to go back to Australia. My birth mother asked if I would sleep over that night and let her hold me. I declined. I wanted to enter that world, but I didn’t know how. It’s something that still haunts me. This part of my life had been closed for over 20 years, and for those moments when I opened it again, I didn’t know what to do. I had never felt so useless, so I closed it again as quickly as possible and I haven’t spoken to them again. This was 15 years ago.
Behar (1996) who talks about ‘roots’ and ‘routes’, asks how do you return to a home that is lost? How do you reckon with what you uncover? What are you really returning to? What does it offer? Digging through old paintings, I find a self-portrait from when I was a teenager. Half human and half tree, floating above a dark ocean. My roots are exposed and I’m crying the sea of tears that I’m floating above. If I was trying to replant my roots, I was experiencing transplant shock. I didn’t know how to process what had happened. Returning to my office after our reunion, I found a large box of dried squid on my desk. “It’s from your family, they really must love you” my friend exclaimed. I am still at a loss to what that means. What a cruel irony, I had spent my life trying to blend in with my peers in Australia, trying to belong as an Australian. It was all I ever wanted. But in those moments, I wish I could have been Korean. Korean enough to understand what my family was saying and the meaning and context behind it. Now I’m so Australian that it feels like I’ve locked myself out of that world.
15 years later, looking back from a point in my life where I realise the gravity of what I dug into and how it lingers in my subconscious as an unresolved part of my life. Now that I understand a little more about Korean culture, the adoption system, and the impossible choices my birth mother would have faced, I have finally come to a point where I want to try and reconnect with them again. I realise now that the birth family search is not about guaranteeing a fairy-tale ending, but it’s about opening yourself to something. This time I’ll go in with a completely open mind and heart, no expectations and an adoption specialising translator. I just hope my birth mother’s still alive so I can properly meet her this time.
Samara James (Kim Soo Im)
Les références
Behar, R., 1996. Anthropology that breaks your heart. The Vulnerable Observer.
La série de blogs suivante sera consacrée à nos Recherche dans Adoption internationale série. Ces histoires individuelles sont partagées depuis notre Papier de perspective qui a également été partagé avec nos Webinaire, Recherche dans l'adoption internationale par des experts des adoptés.
par Huyen Friedlander, né au Vietnam, élevé aux États-Unis
Dimanche, j'ai appris que mon père biologique était décédé. Je suis toujours en train de passer au crible ce que ça fait, une sorte unique de perte d'un parent. Même si nous nous sommes réunis il y a plus de 20 ans, il y avait encore beaucoup de non-dits, et peut-être beaucoup de choses que nous ne savions pas ou ne comprenions pas les uns des autres. Nous nous sommes rencontrés en personne deux fois. La première fois, c'était peu après le 11 septembre. J'avais ses coordonnées depuis près d'un an, mais je n'étais pas prêt à le contacter. Sachant qu'il vivait dans le New Jersey, si près de NYC où les tours sont tombées, j'ai ressenti un sentiment d'urgence que je ne devais plus perdre de temps. J'ai téléphoné un vendredi soir. J'ai laissé un message vocal disant que je m'appelais Huyen et que je pensais qu'il avait été un ami de ma famille au Viet Nam. Le lendemain matin, il a retourné mon appel.
Dans les premières secondes de notre conversation, j'ai redit mon nom, dit qui était ma mère biologique et dit: "Je pense que tu es peut-être mon père biologique." Immédiatement, sans aucune hésitation, il a dit: "Je pense que je le suis aussi." Ce fut un énorme cadeau pour moi. Pas de refus. Aucune défensive. "Je pensais que toi et ta mère étiez morts."
Un lien avec l'armée lui avait dit que ma mère était morte en essayant de se rendre en Thaïlande et que j'étais mort dans l'accident du Babylift. Il a dit qu'il avait voulu épouser ma mère biologique, mais qu'il n'avait pas été autorisé parce que sa famille était originaire du Nord.
C'était tellement surréaliste d'avoir enfin cette information, une petite fenêtre sur ce qui s'était passé. En quelques semaines, je me dirigeais vers la côte Est avec mon père adoptif, mon mari et mon fils de 17 mois en remorque. J'étais enceinte d'environ deux mois de ma fille à l'époque. Mon père biologique et sa femme nous ont accueillis dans un restaurant, avec un câlin et des fleurs à la main. Après le dîner, ils ont été aimables et nous ont invités à la maison pour des cannoli et une chance de visiter plus.
À la maison, j'étais ravie de rencontrer ma demi-sœur, qui était également mère d'un jeune garçon. Mon père biologique a sorti une photo de moi, probablement à environ 2 ans, une copie vierge d'une photo en lambeaux que la sœur de ma mère biologique avait conservée pendant 20 ans au Viet Nam. Nous n'avons jamais fait de tests ADN; cette photo qu'ils avaient tous deux enregistrée en était la preuve suffisante. Mon père biologique m'a également donné une croix en or que ma mère biologique lui avait donnée avant son départ du Viet Nam, pour le protéger sur le chemin du retour. De même, lorsque ma mère biologique m'a emmenée chez les Amis des Enfants du Viet Nam à Saigon pour m'abandonner, elle avait mis un médaillon de Saint-Christophe sur une ficelle et l'avait attaché autour de mon cou, pour me protéger dans ma nouvelle vie. Me donner la photo et la croix m'a semblé généreux et attentionné.
Au cours de la décennie suivante, nous nous sommes enregistrés périodiquement par courrier ou par téléphone. Au moment où nous nous rencontrions à nouveau en personne, j'étais veuve, mère célibataire de deux jeunes adolescents. Ayant perdu mon mari, j'ai de nouveau ressenti l'urgence de m'assurer que mes enfants rencontreraient leur grand-père biologique. Et encore une fois, mon père de naissance a eu la gentillesse de dire oui à ma demande. Notre visite a été agréable et les enfants ont pensé que lui et sa femme étaient amusants et gentils. Avant notre départ, mon père de naissance nous a offert un ensemble de service orné qu'il avait ramené avec lui du Viet Nam.
Suite à cette visite, une grande partie de notre communication s'est faite via Facebook, avec des commentaires occasionnels sur les messages des autres. Facebook nous a permis de voir des aspects de la vie de chacun d'une manière très naturelle. J'ai eu une petite idée de son sens de l'humour, de son amour de la pêche et des trains miniatures. Facebook se trouve également être le principal moyen par lequel je maintiens le contact avec ma mère biologique ; nous FaceTime et elle voit mes publications et mes photos.
Je ne voulais rien publier sur la mort de mon père biologique sur Facebook jusqu'à ce que j'aie eu l'occasion de faire face à ma mère biologique au Viet Nam pour lui faire savoir. Lors de cette première visite avec mon père biologique en 2001, il a dit à mon père que ma mère biologique avait été son premier amour. C'était un cadeau à entendre, même en connaissant le triste résultat pour eux, car d'une certaine manière, cela validait la foi de ma mère biologique qu'il reviendrait pour nous. Elle a attendu huit ans.
Dans ma vidéo de retrouvailles avec ma mère biologique (cinq ans avant de retrouver mon père biologique), nous sommes assis à la table de la salle à manger de mes grands-parents. Elle est rayonnante vers moi, avec un bras autour de moi, et en riant, elle dit : « Beaucoup d'amour t'a fait ! Ouais, beaucoup d'amour t'a fait. Quand elle m'a regardé, elle l'a vu. Elle pointait mes traits et disait : « Pareil ! Même!" Cela semblait lui apporter de la joie, de le voir sur mon visage.
J'étais nerveux de l'appeler ce soir pour lui annoncer la nouvelle. J'ai demandé à ma chère amie Suzie de se joindre à l'appel pour aider à traduire. J'ai parlé en anglais : « Mon père de naissance est décédé. X est mort. Je suis désolé." Et aussitôt, elle poussa un cri lugubre. Même si ma mère biologique s'est finalement mariée et a eu cinq autres enfants - la base et la joie de sa vie -, mon père biologique occupait une place spéciale dans son cœur en tant que son premier amour. Pendant un an de leur jeune vie, ils s'étaient beaucoup aimés.
Suzie a aidé à traduire les détails que j'ai entendus auparavant. C'était en temps de guerre. Ils ne pouvaient rien faire pour être ensemble. 50 ans plus tard, le décès de mon père biologique est une perte pour ma mère biologique. En tant que fervente catholique, elle prie maintenant pour lui. Il y avait beaucoup de choses que je ne savais pas sur mon père biologique, et j'aimerais toujours en savoir plus, mais je peux aussi être en paix avec ce que je sais.
Pour l'instant, je reste ancré dans la gratitude que je ressens pour l'avoir trouvé, la gratitude qu'il m'ait reconnue et la gratitude pour les opportunités que j'ai eues de me connecter avec lui et sa famille. Je dis une prière pour sa femme et sa famille alors qu'ils traversent cette perte.
Prochainement: A la recherche de ma famille en Corée du Sud
La série de blogs suivante sera consacrée à nos Recherche dans Adoption internationale série. Ces histoires individuelles sont partagées depuis notre Papier de perspective qui a également été partagé avec nos Webinaire, Recherche dans l'adoption internationale par des experts des adoptés.
I was adopted from Zhejiang, China to Ontario, Canada in 1996 when I was 8 months old. In one of my adoption documents, it says, “Our institution has looked for her parents and relatives by all means, but no trace can be found.” To this day, I still know nothing about my biological family.
About 5 years ago I decided to act on my growing curiosity about my birth family. While I know the odds of finding them are very slim, especially because I don’t have any information to go on, I couldn’t help but at least try. The first step was a 23andMe DNA ancestry kit, gifted to me by my mom as a Christmas present. I carefully read the instructions in the box to make sure I did everything correctly, then sent off my saliva sample. My sister, who is also an adoptee from China, did one too. And then we waited.
I remember being eager to get the results back because of the hope of having a DNA match with someone else in their database. At the time, the waiting period was about 6-8 weeks. Though after 2 months, instead of my results, I got an email with the subject line, “Your 23andMe Analysis was unsuccessful.” I was told that “the concentration of DNA was insufficient to produce genotyping results.” Luckily, I was sent a replacement kit and got a second chance to submit another saliva sample. Having followed the instructions correctly the first time, and without any further guidance on how to do things differently, I repeated the same steps and sent my sample once again.
After another long 2-month wait, my heart sank as I read the same email subject line as the last one. Except for this time, they would not be sending me another replacement kit. The email explained that because of “the second low DNA failure” and there being “no additional steps that would increase the chance of success,” a full refund would be available to me. I was shocked and saddened by the news and confused too. I had done the exact same thing as my sister, yet she received her results back after the first attempt.
When I told a friend about the situation, she suggested I lightly chew my inner cheeks before spitting into the tube because buccal cells have a higher concentration of DNA. Determined to give it one last shot, I purchased another 23andMe ancestry kit with the refund they gave me and followed my friend’s advice. The saying, “third time’s a charm” held true in these circumstances because, after another 2 months, my third sample was a success!
All this waiting only heightened my anticipation, which probably contributed to my slight disappointment when I saw that I had no close relative DNA matches. It’s been 5 years now, and while I have over 900 distant relatives, all with less than 1% DNA shared, the number of close relatives is still zero. I have also since uploaded my raw data to GEDmatch and still no luck.
Another search method I’ve tried is adding my information to a birth family search poster specific to the province I was adopted from. I did this 3 years ago through International Child Search Alliance (ICSA), a volunteer group of adoptees and adoptive parents. Their province search posters are shared widely on Chinese social media and in the past, they partnered with Zhejiang Family Seeking Conference and ZuyuanDNA for an in-person event.
Getting my information added to the poster took about 3 months, partly because of the time it took me to make a WeChat account, gather the necessary information, and translate some of my adoption paperwork. The other reason for the timing was that ICSA’s update schedule for province search posters is three times a year.
Through the WeChat group for my province, I was able to connect with a woman from Zhejiang who wanted to help overseas adoptees. With great thanks to her, I was able to get my information on Baobei Huijia (Baby Come Home), a Chinese site run by volunteers to help find missing children.
I learned of GEDmatch, ICSA and Baobei Huijia through the online adoptee/adoption community, which I discovered across various Facebook groups in 2018. Connecting with other adoptees and adoptive parents who are further along and more experienced in the birth family search journey has been extremely helpful.
My mom has also been a huge help in her own efforts of searching for resources and information about birth family searching. Though most of all, her complete support for me throughout this process is what matters most. She hopes that I can find my biological family and relatives because she knows how important it is to me.
We have discussed taking the next step of hiring a root finder or searcher. Though once I began to seriously consider this method, it didn’t seem like the right time. One searcher that my mom had reached out to in 2020 said that because of the COVID-19 pandemic, foot traffic was not as high as it used to be, and therefore paying for physical posters to be distributed in my city or province in China may have even lower chances of bringing about any success.
Also, the process of hiring a searcher or organisation seemed quite daunting to me because it is hard to know whom to go with and which services to pay for. Packages greatly differ in terms of how in-depth the search process is and prices can easily be hundreds of dollars. And at the end of the day, the odds of finding my birth family, even with professional help, are very low.
I do plan to go back to China one day for a heritage trip and would incorporate searching for birth family into that. While my active search efforts are paused for now, this is a lifelong journey, so I can pick back up whenever I want to. It’s nice to know that through my other initial search methods, the opportunity for a match is always possible, even without me doing anything.
However, I do worry that by waiting to pursue additional active search methods, I might be making the process more difficult the longer time goes on. I don’t know if my orphanage has any adoption paperwork other than what I currently have and would hate for those documents to be destroyed. I also fear the possibility of birth family members dying, especially biological parents and grandparents. This thought crossed my mind when COVID-19 cases and deaths were high in China.
On the other hand, I don’t know if I’m emotionally prepared for the can of worms that can come with more intensive searching and then a possible reunion. I know of adoptees who contacted their birth families, only to be rejected. Then there are others who have very complicated reunions and relationships. Though even considering the endless possibilities and the fact that I might never fully be ready, I still think searching and finding something unexpected is better than knowing nothing at all.
My advice to other adoptees who are considering searching for their birth family is to make sure you have a solid support system to lean on during this process. I also recommend personally reflecting on your motivations for searching and what you want to get out of it. Lastly, do your research on search options and leverage the existing resources and lived experiences of others who are already familiar with this. I recommend joining the CCI Birth Parent Searching and Reunion Group on Facebook for any Chinese adoptees looking to start this journey.
Thanks for reading and best of luck to my fellow searching adoptees!
Prochainement: A la recherche de ma famille au Vietnam
