I Killed My Vietnamese Parents

by Mark Erickson, adopted from Vietnam to the USA.

Sharing this to process feelings about my birth family, trying to write down some difficult things.

I have a confession to make: I killed my Vietnamese parents. I don’t know when I did it or how I did it, but I did. Actually, what I did was worse. In order to kill them, I would have actually had to know them, acknowledge their existence, and forget them. Instead, I fully erased them: no names, no memories, no feelings.

No one specifically told me to do it, but the message was loud and clear. Let’s play pretend. Your Vietnamese parents are never to be acknowledged or mentioned. We are your real parents. You were born in our hearts.

If there was a part of my young self that ever believed that my Vietnamese parents were still alive, then the burden of carrying that hope was too much for me. So I stopped. I was not Oliver Twist. I was not Little Orphan Annie. Instead, I became a twisted three-headed Scarecrow-Tin Man-Lion: unable to question my experience, disconnected from my feelings, and non-confrontational to a fault.

What I didn’t count on was that this matricide-patricide was actually a double homicide-suicide. In order to erase them, I also had to erase a part of myself. I self-medicated. But instead of self-medicating with substances like others in my immediate circle, I became a compulsive over-achiever.

This worked for many years. But my Vietnamese parents wouldn’t play along and stay erased. Instead, they haunted my nightmares and later my day dreams. When I looked in the mirror, was I looking at the image of my creators?

Check out Mark’s photography and book of Vietnam or follow him on Instagram.

ANZAC Day Reflections

Australian War Memorial – MELBOURNE

ANZAC Day for people from Australia and New Zealand is a time of reflection that connects us through the generations. For me as an orphan from the Vietnam war, it gives me a time and place, admist all the beautiful gifts of everyday life, to acknowledge the undeniable tragedy I carry in my heart.

To have my whole family and identity lost through war is often something too painful to talk about. For those who know me well, self pity is not my song but in respect to my biological family, I can’t pretend the loss of not knowing them is not a deep wound to carry.

As I have grown older and possibly wiser, the symbols of rememberance have gained in personal significance. As I sit next to the eternal flame at the shrine, in my heart I see the flame as a beacon of light that I pray draws me closer to those I have loved or have loved me, whether we know each other’s names or not. I feel we share our hearts. The warmth of the eternal flame comforts me, as it reflects the love I am praying to send out to the world, like a portal to those I have lost and yet to find.

Please don’t feel unnerved by my sharing. My sharing is a chance to say thank you for allowing me this day, this moment in space to lay down my grief without question or judgement. It is only because I am loved and I can love those around me that I can share these thoughts.

And now, as I do for every other day in the year I will embrace the beautiful life I have and the adventures of the unknown future.

by Sue-Yen Bylund

Adoption is Complicated

By Aaron Dechter, adopted from Colombia to America.

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45 years ago today, I was adopted and arrived in Boston, USA. This day is hard: three sides to the coin. Deep sadness for Mamá and my Colombian family for the son who was stolen and taken from them. Happiness for my mom and dad and my American family for what was the most important day for them. So that leaves me.

Like many other adoptees who are torn internally into a million pieces, at my age now, I’ve come to accept the ups and downs, the happy and sadness as the pendulum swings each day.

My younger sister tells me, “The pain and suffering of Mamá and the entire family will never heal”. My older sister tells me, “Take it as a gift of life for having two families that love me, for caring for me and allowing my to return home”. Brenna and Gabriella say, “This was a happy day, now knowing that truth it’s different. It’s tough, it’s still a special day but it feels tainted”. All opinions are justified.

So here I am, representing the triad of adoption. I represent Mamá and Colombia family. I represent my parents and American family. I represent Brenna and Gabriella and myself. I can’t wash the adoption off but it made me who I am today.

The path to healing continues but I’m still here fighting the cause for Mamá, my parents and me.

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