homecoming, el regreso

Tower of Babel

this year
after forty years
i have come to claim
the land of my blood
to assert my birthright
to stand in the square
with the confidence
of belonging
and loudly proclaim
that i am here

i am one of you
i am your son
i am your brother
who once was lost
and now found
receive me
restore me
renew me
welcome me

after a lifetime
i dare to challenge
the harsh reality
of circumstance
this passing of time
and it’s inevitable washing
of the years
of minds
souls
tongues
hopes
and dreams

displaying my ignorance
my fears
my unrest
for all to see
i pound on the gates
of my very own
babel’s tower
raging at the twists of fate
that make me
a hero
to the few
and fool
among the many

crying
my illiterate tears
laughing
without explanation
the heights
the depths
are alone
for me to wrestle with
in my sleep
and in the haze
of each passing day

homecoming, el regreso
mi boreal interior collection
(c) 2019 j.alonso
el pocico, españa

Poems by j.alonso may not be reproduced, copied or distributed without the written consent of the author.

Orphan Bennie

This editioned set of 50 silkscreened prints by Benjamin Lundberg Torres Sánchez responds to the UN’s Resolution on the Rights of The Child (12/18/19) by remixing the Little Orphan Annie comics with transnational adoptee self-portraiture. Inspired by commentary by Patricia Fronek (@triciafronek) and others on Twitter, it celebrates the UN’s call for the end of orphanages, while expressing skepticism towards what such a resolution will look like in practice. How might systems of adoption and foster-care (evoked here by “Señora Hannigan”) morph as we strive towards abolition? 

Signed, dated, and numbered prints cost $7 (USD) and can be ordered by e-mailing benjofaman@gmail.com. Funds will support future adoption abolition art and agitprop. For more of my work, visit jointhebenjam.org

Leave Room

Leave Room – by Natasha Barnes

Leave room for joy
Leave room for pain
Leave room for sadness
It’s not all the same

There are a lot of people who are only joyful or only angry at adoption. While there is a time for both of these feelings, there has to also be a time to evaluate the why behind your feelings.  

Is adoption always the best? No. 

Is joy or sadness the only options? No. 

As adoptees, adoption is part of our reality. It is what unifies us. We have to find and explore what our own personal adoptions mean for each of us! Adoptees do not have to look a certain way, but it is challenging when other people tell society what adoption is like. 

I wanted to share my story about how adoption has shaped my life and how I view adoption. Instead of people assuming I want to meet my “real” parents or assume I’m sad or happy – I wanted to share what is really going on in my head. As an adoptee from Russia, now in America, I know very little about my beginnings. While I do not know why I was eligible for adoptive placement, I do know that my worth and value are not determined by missing time or pieces. I love to learn about my birth heritage. I dislike when people assume all adoptees are a certain way… or sometimes people ask bad questions.

I wanted to speak up and have others voice their stories with mine. What is a better way to get the word out about ideas then on social media? I posted a status about wanting to get all of this together to share our perspective! I didn’t know if anyone would reply about sharing their story. I came up with a set of questions for each participant and I waited eagerly for adoptees to reply. 

In the waiting I also spent many hours journaling and writing about all things adoption relating to my perspective and story to help educate readers on how this adoptee sees things. 

It was incredible to hear back from so many adoptees – and while we don’t see eye to eye in every perspective, it was important to get a variety of voices. This way readers can really interact and find an adoptee that they may relate to, or learn best from.  

I was so excited when the book Through Adopted Eyes was released! I’ve gotten the pleasure to hear back from people telling me how they felt after reading the book. Some had learned about adoption, others wanted to adopt, others didn’t, and fellow adoptees felt included and heard. 

I think it is really important for people to write down their thoughts about their adoption so that they can read it back to themselves and see what this means – some adoptees barely acknowledge their statuses and adapted well, whereas others focus on it a lot! I do not think one way is better than another. I think what is more important is making sure we all find out from our own stories what it is that makes us motivated to share. 

What are you most excited to share about? What do you want to keep private? What is the main perspective you want others to take away from your adoptee experience?

Start writing – but also leave room on the paper. Leave room for more thoughts, shared experiences, and joy and pain. 

Elena S Hall’s passion for adoption advocacy stems from her faith and family. She loves to write, dance, sing, and tell stories. Her goal is to aid those in the adoption triad to promote healing and growth within the adoption community and empower readers to share their own stories. Her book, Through Adopted Eyes: A Collection of Memoirs From Adoptees, shares 50 adoptee perspective and guides readers though adoption from the viewpoint of adoptees.

Connect with her on Instagram @ThroughAdoptedEyes

Forget Me Not: Review

Documentary Film by Sun Hee Engelstoft (Korean adoptee to Denmark).

What an emotional and powerful documentary! Very much aligned with the research I read and wrote a review for about the birth mothers of South Korea in 2016. I shed tears through many parts of this film because Sun Hee manages to ask and answer the two most prevalent questions we adoptees have of our mothers: “How could you have given me up?” and “Why?” This is Sun Hee’s journey to understand her mothers decision and situation.

For those not adopted, if you want to get a glimpse into the grief we adoptees carry, this film will do that. It accurately portrays what sits in the deepest parts of our soul (often buried and unknown for many years) and shared in the film. As Sun Hee learned and portrays, this grief and sadness is what binds us to our mothers.

It was heartbreaking to watch. I felt this could so easily be mine and my mother’s journey. I know now why my grief is so deep — because I carry her grief too. No doubt she held it within herself while I was in utero. It wired me. And I remembered it when watching this. I’m sure my mother would have been as powerless as these women — living in situations where there is no support, no empowerment, no voice, no real choice. Not for her, and often not for him either – our fathers, often unspoken about, invisible. He, she, us adoptees — we are all just pawns of circumstance and choices made by others.

This is what adoption is all about but rarely gets talked about. I doubt there would be any adoptee who could watch this film and not be emotionally affected.

What struck me is the entrenched thinking of the grandparents. It was so eye opening to see the various scenarios. Only one out of all those covered, would keep the baby BUT only on their terms and at a price I believe is just as emotionally high as demanding she send her baby away via an agency like Holt. I personally find Asian culture such a contradiction – supposedly they value family first and foremost, but I just can’t fathom how they can send away their grandchild? The individuals at the centre of these situations – mother and baby – are treated like they don’t matter. But watching this film, I realise it’s not family that’s valued at all – it’s all about how everything appears on the surface, saving face, reputation. South Korean culture, like others around the world and how they deal with single motherhood, puts reputation ahead of our souls. Its painful and confronting to watch it unfold so clearly.

I love how Sun Hee weaves her own search and struggles into this honest look at the adoption industry as a whole. This film highlights the overwhelming lack of support, understanding and infrastructure. If only these young mothers could rebel and survive on their own without their families! I can’t wait for South Korea to evolve out from under the patriarchal structures that allow intercountry adoption to continue.

I have no doubt these mothers go on to suffer endlessly with their mental health and depression! The impact on their life is forever. It’s a fantasy of their parents to think the daughter will go on with her life as if nothing happened. The lives of adoptees demonstrate that we often live a lifetime of inner pain, some of us manage to mask it, others not so well. Our mothers are no different.

What would be interesting is to continue following these mothers and babies. How do their lives turn out? Allow the rest of the life journey, the impacts of relinquishment, to become as visible as this beginning, so beautifully captured by Sun Hee. When I speak with mothers who relinquished, as with many adoptees, the grief never ends. Even if we reunite it can’t make up for the life we never had together.

Visit the official website of Forget Me Not to learn more.

staring at your stone, mirando fijamente a su piedra

seven years too late
but i came anyway
to stare at your stone
beneath my feet
it was all
i knew to do

i primped your dead flowers
saw my reflection
on your polished slate
the shadow of a name
cold
scrolled
i never knew

this stranger before me
whose blood
fills my feet
wordless
faceless
more consistent in death
than ever in life

yes
yes i am here
to curse you
and thank you
for the void
and for this life 

staring at your stone, mirando fijamente a su piedra
mi boreal interior collection
(c) j.alonso 2019
madrid, españa

Poems by j.alonso may not be reproduced, copied or distributed without the written consent of the author.

There Isn’t An Orphan Crisis, It’s a Family Separation Crisis

There isn’t an orphan crisis, it’s a family separation crisis.

Vulnerable families are being targeted and needlessly separated from their children. When you come to realise that 80-90% of children in orphanages have families, we must adjust our thinking. We need to stop saying there is an orphan crisis and when we hear churches, friends, family or see facebook posts claiming these lies, we must be courageous and challenge these misconceptions. If we continue with the adoption rhetoric as it is now we are doing no good! Needlessly stripping a child from their family is not a “better life”. A child losing everyone they love and everything familiar to them is not in their “best interest”. Doing something for the sake of “it’s what we’ve always done” is irresponsible and in this regard I believe criminal. If we are aware of these realities and we do nothing to address them, even if we choose to ignore them, we are complicit. 

In developing countries orphanages are not viewed as we in the west understand them to be. Many loving parents have been convinced orphanages are a way to give their children the opportunities they were not given. Just as every loving parent does, we all want better for our children. Orphanage directors and child finders promise families a better education, 3 meals a day, upgraded amenities and a safe place so sleep all while they are still able to see their children. Sadly, the reality is often very different, especially when it is a corrupt orphanage. This type of orphanage will do everything in their power to keep the family and child apart. 

I’ve said this before and I will say this again. If you choose to adopt internationally you should not even consider this unless you are willing to invest your time and money into ensuring every effort has been made to keep that child/children within their family and culture. Trusting an adoption agency, orphanage director or any other party that is profiting from the adoption is not acceptable or enough. At first, I failed miserably at this. I was ignorant to the realities at play, and because of MY ignorance I enabled criminals to traffic an innocent child from her family. I’ve publicly made my mistakes and the realities known within the intercountry adoption community in the hopes that my mistakes and revelations through this process will enable others to do better. In all honesty, should we even be discussing orphans, adoption, etc if we haven’t properly addressed the family separation crisis at hand? It’s only after we have ensured every family has been given every opportunity to stay together that we should ever even utter the word adoption.

Originally shared by Jessica Davis during National Adoption Awareness Month on Facebook.

Christmas Bomb Fragments

You left me with no choice

Purge my memory of you

Both good and pleasant

 

Your nickname “Christmas” is a farce

I’m present, but your presence is a sign of guilt I reject

Your actions toward my nation cannot be negotiated away

 

Bombs named “Louie” and “Tommy” carpeted the landscape

All because you couldn’t admit defeat

All to bolster your stocks in gunpowder and steel

 

1972 to 1973, years to commit to memory

I had yet to be conceived, yet my conception was pre-ordained

Your charity is my blast radius

 

I live here, not there, because you said so

But my memory stretches centuries

Pleasantries aside, my story is your story, and it isn’t pretty

About Kev Minh

Forgiveness Is Not A Thing

It’s a continuum of fluctuating circumstances. Forgiveness is. It should not be a foregone conclusion. Forgiveness. It might heal some superficial wounds but leave open other, more lethal, ones to fester. Forgiveness can trick a community into feeling closure, but the reality of a complicated, unresolved present will always be there to remind us not to go so compliantly into the promise of peaceful coexistence.

Like any addictive substance, forgiveness prescribed by someone who stands to benefit from your dejection is not your friend. To forgive in order to accept someone else’s excuses for treating you a certain way and causing enduring grief that frustrates your efforts to be taken seriously is an act of self-sabotage. Offering forgiveness under the thumb of contrition is to cede a hard-fought dignity to exist on your own terms.

When forgiveness is a sincere act and feeling, inseparable, then it won’t appear to be anything other than what it is: a tiny blossom imperceptibly growing on a warm spring day, completing an inevitable cycle. Forgiveness will be there when you awaken and when you close your eyes to finally sleep. You won’t have to will it to be; it will present itself when the time comes.

About Kev Minh

Grieving Mother

Moth….errr. Can I say this word without a pause? Moth..eerrr. Can I say this word without my mind racing to a hundred different thoughts? Moth….errrr. Potentially, maybe, and yet possibly, no. For me it is a word that brings up many connotations, some good, most bad. A word that is hard to utter as my stuttery voice reflects my heart. The purity of the word is lost to me. I am not used to the word on its own, but rather always with another word in front, whether it be birth mother, first mother, adoptive mother, real mother or not real mother. Always another word in front, as if delineating my experience into parts, not a whole. Confusion ensues and my head is spinning as everyone tries to tell me what moth…err is and what a real moth…er is. The expectations and idealisations of moth…er fracture under increasing weight of scrutiny and life experiences. Instead of asking, people are shouting. This is what a real mother does or does not do, or this is what it means to be a mother. Can’t you see that the very fact people are arguing means there’s something not whole about this? No wonder I can’t fully utter this word on my own, bewitched by longing and sorrow, and fully feeling the emotional tension in the word. I can’t escape it. Even when I stare into the eyes of a romantic partner, the alarm bells ring and the sirens wail. What makes this woman different than a moth…errr who left a son? What ensures that the same won’t happen again? The primal fear and the visceral reaction. Moth…eer, what have you done to me? My head is spinning and about to implode. 

It feels strange to say it on my own, waiting impatiently for another accompanying word to show up beside it like a dog searching for its master. Can’t a child have two moth…errs? There I go again. Damn. Another qualifying moth…err. As much as I need to grieve for the moth…errr that is lost, I must also grieve the idea of moth…errr and the fact that, upon relinquishment, my idea of moth…errr was forever shattered, leaving me, a baby, to pick up the pieces. Adults tried to reason for the scraps of moth…err floating around in my heart, and yet, now it is the adult me picking up the pieces to reason with the baby me about the idea of moth..err. Can a man nurture himself? Can he become his own idea of moth…err? What choice is left? I am tired of people defining mother for me. I have an idea of it, because I have lost it, and know the effects of it. And yet where can one begin to heal, except for first grieving mother?

by Joey Beyer

two lives, dos vidas

i am one person
and i am another
my insides are as busy
as the noisy street below
horns honk
buses of spanish lives
pass my window

people look funny at me
as i walk in the throng
i appear to be like them
my face castellano
but my clothes
and manner intrude

they speak to me
willing to believe
i am simply eccentric
a spanish ugly duckling
and i disappoint
with blank looks
embarrassed shrugs
an elephant
on the autovia

they are mine
but they flow around me
i risk pride on occasion
as i walk among them
i am like them
they are like me
after all!

i am an insider
on holiday
in a strange land
full of people who babble
my native tongue
to my deaf ears
my soul
doesn’t know which way to turn
in the tumult

so many waves
rock my little boat
no time
to absorb any one
before another
crashes against me
i am living two lives
before my wide open
speechless eyes

two lives, dos vidas
mi boreal interior collection
j. alonso granada, españa

(c) j.alonso 2019

Poems by j.alonso may not be reproduced, copied or distributed without the written consent of the author.