Today, I pause. I breathe. I rest and honor my ancestors on this blessed Samhain.
I’m grateful to have the day off – to simply be. To sit in stillness and solitude without the weight of expectation feels like a blessing in itself. The veil is thin today, and I lean into the presence of those who came before me – my birth mother and father, and the lineage of ancestors whose names I may never know. I honor them, and I honor the mystery that connects us across time and space.
Lately, life has felt full and demanding. I’m working full-time again, and though I hoped summer break would bring the restoration I so deeply needed, fatigue seems to have returned too soon. Halfway through the fall semester, I find myself wondering how to sustain balance – how to counsel others, meet the demands of my current job while not forgetting myself.
My dream remains clear: To eventually transition into full-time sound therapy work. Supporting my adult daughter these past two years has delayed that shift, yet I hold faith that in time, things will align. When she finds her footing, I’ll be able to step more fully into the work my heart longs for, creating healing spaces through resonance, stillness, and sound.
Despite the challenges, I’m proud of the small steps forward. I’ve completed my website, OM Sacred Sound Journeys, a milestone that feels like planting a tiny seed. Beginning next February, I’ll offer bi-weekly sound therapy sessions, a sacred rhythm I hope will grow into something sustainable and nourishing.
I’m reconnecting with my musical roots, singing and playing for a herd I once worked with in equine-assisted psychotherapy and slowly returning to my guitar after years away. These small acts of reconnection remind me that healing unfolds gradually, as does starting a private practice.
Self-employment feels both thrilling and terrifying. The freedom to follow my calling is overshadowed by the very real worries of bills, rent, health insurance, and all the practicalities of life. Yet amidst uncertainty, I sense that this path is where I’m meant to go.
So today, under the quiet light of Samhain, I choose rest. I choose reflection. I choose to listen deeply to the whispers of my ancestors, to the call of my own heart, and to stillness. May this season bring renewal, remembrance, and faith in what is yet to come.
I have been hermit-ing this summer – doing some shadow work and exploring anger and rage. In the past, I was not very easily anger; however, I’ve noticed that I’ve become quick to anger and irritibility these days.
I was raised in a home where emotions were not expressed. I have a difficult relationship with my adoptive mother. She was emotionally dysregulated frequently in the home, exploded into rage and anger at the drop of a hat. No one would have known outside of immediate family. I grew up fearful of her and her erratic moods. My adoptive father and I tended to walk on eggshells. I received the brunt of her anger; dad was runner up. My adolescent years were the most turbulent in the home. My mom became physically aggressive during that period. Anger felt foreign in the past. Now, it’s familiar. I excused others’ anger toward me for a greater part of my life. Now I am the angry one.
I found some old, angry artwork that I painted years ago, probably after an argument. And the poem above was written more recently. To craft a sacred alter to rage, anger. This, too, along my spiritual journey, to explore blocks, emotional truth, blindspots. To evolve and heal. I am finding support through the Kali Oracle deck by Alaina Fairchild, illustrated by Jimmy Manton. She is simply fierce, and her spirit is inspiring.
Hello World. I’ve been in my new place for three weeks and four days. It’s slowly coming together. I did sell my digital piano and finally got my car fixed. My new space doesn’t quite feel like home. There’s more art I’ll eventually put up on the walls, and the layout in my bedroom isn’t quite to my satisfaction, but it’s getting there. I enjoy taking a space and making it home.
I have 3.5 more weeks of work until my summer break begins. Nearly three months off, which I’m sure will fly by. Time seems to be moving at a snail’s pace. I’ve noticed a shift in my mood, kinda irritable and protective. My body doesn’t always want to “go” when I want it to. Getting older brings with it certain limitations. I remind myself to think kinder thoughts and nourish my body as best I can.
By the next post, I should be out for summer break. May summer bring restoration and peace. Cheers, and may you enjoy your weekend!
I love this song. Reminds me of setting out on a new path.
I sit with bated breath, like most of the country, due to the wildfires spreading across Los Angeles County. It is deeply saddening to watch such destruction. My heart grieves for the wildlife, the animals that have been impacted by these fires. I started limiting my consumption of social media after seeing hurt animals, a completely singed, terrified raccoon posted on Threads was the last I could bear. I’m concerned and anxious for the animals who are caught and/or fleeing the fires. I know that thousands of humans have been evacuated and lost their homes and businesses. The suffering of innocent wildlife and animals, however, is most unbearable. I am safe from harm here in Long Beach. I have friends and family who live in North Hollywood and Santa Monica, and fortunately, they have not had to evacuate (at least not at this time). I’m grateful to be at home with my pup, but cannot help but feel for all those suffering. The wildfires come yearly, yet it seems that this year the damage is even more widespread. I hope those who may be reading this post in Los Angeles are safe. I’ll continue to ask the angels to send strength to all of the first responders engaged and safety to all beings affected by the Los Angeles wildfires. May we collectively hold them in light and love.
Resources to support those affected by the Los Angeles wildfires:
Happy Holidays! It’s that time of the year again. I’m finally on winter break and couldn’t be more giddy. I’m trying to stay present and not worry about how fast the break will go. I’ll be hosting a small Christmas gathering tomorrow at home with my daughter and a good friend. I still have yet to figure out what to prepare other than pumpkin pie. My brain and body are tired, but I’m so glad to not be at work.
It’s my second holiday season on my own. The quiet is nice, but I’ve found myself grieving the familiarity of the home I left, snuggling with my pup while we watch movies. Well I watched the movies, and my pup snuggled. My current rental has had so many issues, primarily feral cats pooping in the yard. I do feel for the kitties, but it’s a pain to clean their messes. The neighbor feeds them, and they kinda live in his yard but use my yard as a giant kitty litter box. I’ve considered breaking my lease, however, the thought of moving again is dreadful not to mention, likely costly. It’s been an ongoing issue since moving in and caused much stress. I’ve invested in way too many deterrents that unfortunately don’t work long-term, but I keep trying. Homeowner not very aggressive in dealing with the issue. Sigh…
Anyway, back to holiday cheer. Yule is my favorite time of the year, my favorite season. I’m truly savouring the slowdown, noursishing myself with stillness, rest, and pause as much as possible. Lots of reflection on the past year, what I’ve been able to accomplish, what has taken a toll, and what I intend to release.
Thank you for stopping by and reading this little blurb. May you, too, slow down, enjoy the stars tonight, and savor the stillness of winter. Wishing you a safe and happy holiday!
I walk into the ER to check in. Two women sit behind desks. They have friendly faces and seem genuinely kind.
“Are you checking in?” says one.
“Yes. I’m having chest pain.”
“Have you experienced this kind of pain before,” asks the medical person sitting next to the woman checking me in. I know, I do not appear as if anything is wrong. I look normal on the outside. Nothing seemingly reveals that it feels like I’m burning from the inside out in my chest, unless perhaps, you know me well. I’m good at masking my feelings and pain.
“Oh, yes, multiple times,” I reply as the other assistant attaches a band around my wrist. “EKGs never turn up anything. I think it’s probably stress and anxiety.”
“Okay,” says the other woman, assuredly. “You’re all checked in. Have a seat in the lobby, and they will call you right away.”
“Can I go to the restroom first?” I ask.
“No,” they’re going to call you immediately because it’s chest pain.”
She’s right. I hear my name. A female medical assistant ushers me into the ER. Before I sit down to have vitals taken, I ask to go to the restroom.”
“No, I’m sorry you can’t. There’s a procedure we need to follow. We have to time everything because you’re having chest pain. The EKG won’t take long at all.”
I’ve had EKGs in the past, and they weren’t exactly short. But I get it. In case I’m having a freaking heart attack, which I’m certain I’m not. While she’s taking my BP, a male assistant joins us. I watch wearily as he puts on a pair of blue, squeaky sounding rubber gloves. BP is taken. I try to see the numbers but can’t because I’m bleary eyed and turn my attention away. Again I ask to go to the restroom.
“I’m sorry, but we need to do the EKG first,” the male assistant tells me. “It will be really quick.”
I follow the male assistant who takes me to another very small area, and I’m instructed to lie down on the stretcher/bed thingy. He applies all the little pads where they need to go. I’m wondering if he’s checking out my tattoos. At least I didn’t have to completely disrobe, yet why do I always get the cute, young male assistants to do the damn EKGs?
It’s the fastest EKG ever. Literally, it’s over in a couple of minutes. He removes all the wires and pads and tells me I can now go to the restroom, points me in the right direction. Thank God, because I really have to pee.
I go back out into the lobby and wait. Pretty soon, a physican comes to get me, and again, I’m taken to another small exam room. He asks about my symptoms, blah, blah, blah. My chest still hurts, but it’s not as bad as a couple of nights ago. The physician is masked, but he has kind eyes and seems to listen. He tells me he wants to run some labs and an x-ray. I’m glad they’re at least making sure the pain isn’t related to my heart. Though I don’t think it is, I can’t help but be a little worried, and it’s nice to have someone provide care when I’m worried and not sure what the hell is happening to my body. I feel old.
I go back out to the lobby, and no less than a few minutes later, another male assistant takes me back for an x-ray. I have never had an x-ray like this. I sit in a chair, and he puts a board behind my back. There is a huge, mobile machine that he adjusts, and click, the x-ray is taken. Cool. I didn’t have to remove anything. Best EKG and chest xray ever, I think to myself, ignoring the dull ache in my stupid chest. I again return to the lobby. Before long, the phlembotomist calls my name for the blood draw. Fun. Not fun. I tell him that they always use a butterfly needle because I have tiny veins. He looks at the veins in my right arm.
“No kidding. Tiny, tiny veins.”
Yes. And I am probably not very well hydrated so I’m hoping for the best. The phlembotomist inserts the needle slowly into my arm then pushes up on the needle. Ow. I’ve never had anyone push the needle in that way, but he gets a vein, and I can see the blood steadily flowing into the little tube, not dribbling, like a dried up riverbed. I ask why so many tubes. He says he takes extra just in case. Oh joy.
Eventually, I meet with the physician. Everything looks normal. My heart is fine. I knew that. The culprit of the chest pain remains unknown. I ask if the pain will just go away. The physician suggests I get a stress test after meeting with my primary care doctor, which isn’t until next April. Hmm. I’m left to believe that the chest pain is related to stress and anxiety. If I hadn’t been recommended to go to the ER by the triage nurse I spoke with on the phone, I wouldn’t have gone.
Later in the evening, the pain has subsided. Despite not wanting to drive to the ER, I’m glad I did, if for nothing else than peace of mind. No heart issues. Occasionally, I feel a twinge, then reassure myself that everything is okay. Just slow slown. Just breathe. The thought of going anywhere today makes my heart race and head spin. I’m tired, exhausted. I think my body literally could not do more last week. I pushed through the day on Wednesday, despite the pain in my chest. Thursday and Friday, I called in sick. Yesterday was the ER day. I am resting as much as possible this weekend, although a phone call with an old friend that I hadn’t talked to in a year was a bit triggering.
I’m okay. Just slow down. Just breathe.
There are two more weeks left until the winter break, at which time, I’ll have nearly one month off of work. I do not know how I will get through the next two weeks, except to grit my teeth and bear it, as the saying goes. It is hard to give to others when you have nothing left to give. So be it. There is a staff holiday party, a potluck. More work. Luckily I bought an apple pie on Wednesday in preparation for the other holiday party I missed, another pot luck. Who does pot lucks anymore, anyway? As if we’re not already tired from a long, busy semester.
Two more weeks till freedom. Temporary freedom. But freedom, nonetheless. Oh to get to the other side.
the wicked wind came howling tonight, a squall that shook me to my bones the moon pierced through the stormy clouds, and i sighed deeply as the wild wind whipped and moaned take away the memory of him i begged the fierce wind as it shrieked, but it seemed to laugh as only tempests can leaving stains of dust ‘cross my pallid cheek how haughty is the wicked wind to laugh with such disdain at a love gone cold and a heart deceived no sympathy did it feign
I’m back from my visit to Return to Freedom. Left Saturday about mid-morning, forgot to factor in traffic, but made it just in time for the tour. It was about a 3+ hour drive, give or take a few minutes. It seems no matter what time you leave on any given day in Los Angeles, there will always be traffic. Silly me to have forgotten. We started the tour around 3:30pm and ended just shy of 6:30. I got my steps in, lol.
The weather was sunny, bright, and very warm, but not unbearable. Definitely got warmer, however, as we continued our trek through the sanctuary. Thankfully, there was a nice breeze most of the time. Upon arrival, we caravaned down a dusty dirt road, greeted by several wild burros. They are the sweetest creatures! Later we walked alongside them, stoppng to scratch behind long, fuzzy ears and marvel at such cuteness.
We saw several different herds of wild horses in various regions of the sanctuary, some horses open to connecting with humans. Others stood at a distance or atop a hill, probably thinking, “Oh it’s those humans again.” My favorite part of the tour was connecting briefly with a mare named Willow. There were many people on the tour, so most everyone wanted to touch the horses that were friendly and open to greeting humans. Willow walked over to me and let me scratch her head and behind her ears. She has the sweetest eyes and temperament. I could have hung out with Willow all day.
I stayed in Lompoc overnight. At bedtime, I just got so emotional! Horses bring out all the feels. Also knowing that so many wild mustangs and burros are rounded up and separated from their families by the evil BLM gnaws at me. Some are killed during the chase, including babies. Those caught are sent to auction, forced into kill pens to be transported to Mexico and slaughtered for meat by the highest bidders. Some are placed in other holding pens for the rest of their lives, far away from the lands they once roamed. Thank the stars for RTF and other sanctuaries that rescue as many as they can. They are unable to save them all, which makes me deeply sad and angry at the injustice, that humans can get away with such cruelty and inhumanity. Other horses may be bought by reckless owners who starve and abuse them until their light disappears.
The horrific rounding up continues. It’s remarkable that sanctuaries like RTF try very hard to find family members and reunite wild horses when they are able to, sometimes taking years. I hope to return to RTF to take some of the workshops offered. It’s just a long drive, and workshops are spendy, of course, but I’m sure well worth it. Horses are again at the forefront of my heart. I am drawn to them. Perhaps the horse is my totem or spirit animal.
Below are a few photos. They don’t do these beautiful animals justice, and I wished I had an actual camera so I could zoom in. I shot a few videos as well. The first two photos (top row, L to R) are of Spirit, a stallion who was the inspiration for Dreamworks animated film, “Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron.” He is 29 years old, quite beautiful and very sweet. I spent a few minutes rubbing his neck. We were told that he loves children, and the first humans he walked over to were the kids. Next are a couple of cute burros. There were many. That’s Willow and my hand, lol, on the second row. After Willow is a band of horses called the Brislawn herd. They have the most beautiful coats including grulla/o. And lastly is one of the largest herds, 33 total, at the sanctuary. There are a few bands within the herd including two stallions with their mares.
I would have loved a more private tour. There sensed so much human energy that I found it hard to be present with those horses that came up to us. This was, however, a group tour, and I’m grateful to have learned more about RTF and the wild horses and burros. I should probably stop obsessing now over horses! Just being in their presence is magical.
I am moved into the new house! It feels good to be in. Lots of spiders, however, eww. More unpacking and cleaning to do – feels like I’ve run a freakin’ marathon! Giant headache, couple of bruises, and sore muscles. This little house has less storage than my last apartment, like no closet for linens, so I’m figuring out how to get creative with storage. Where to store the makeup and bathroom stuff, the linens? I’m also not certain now that I’m in that my baby grand piano will fit. Maybe it’s the empty boxes spread out all over the place. But, it’s okay. I have a digital piano, which I’ll put back together today, as well as a bookshelf. Everything else is set. Took a while to put my bed together. It was much easier taking it apart. I have a backyard for Poppie with some pretty string lights!
It’s quieter in this neighborhood, except for the fireworks that went off last night. The homeowner did forewarn me that people like to shoot their fireworks, apparently not only on Fourth of July. I caught a glimpse of some in the night sky last night as I was doing laundry. The washer and dryer are sitting on the back deck. But there are nice covers to protect them when not in use. Old homes – ya gotta love ’em, or not… Now to undo all the boxes and store them in the scary, spider filled garage. I’m thrilled to be moved in. I think I’ve been too busy and tired to think and feel. Perhaps that’s a good thing.
I have been packing like crazy for the past week. As the saying goes, you don’t know how much stuff you have till you relocate. Exactly a year ago, I moved into this small, two-bedroom apartment due to necessity. I have never lived alone, not that I haven’t wanted to. Always had at least one roommate, and well, a spouse. I have loved living alone and having my own space. I loved furnishing my apartment. I remember purchasing my sectional sofa and bed, assembling them, then slowly adding in rugs, a small dining table and MCM dining chairs, hanging wall art, and styling the space in a way that felt cozy and warm, like home. Here I am, about to relocate again to a new place, a house. It’s a small house, one bedroom, tiny yard, garage mainly for storage, and a covered carport. I’ve fretted so much because of the neighborhood the home is located in. I hate to say it, but when I drive through the neighborhood, I feel distressed. The homeowner repeatedly said it’s a safe area, blah, blah, blah; nevertheless, it’s a culture shock. I love the house itself, however. It’s set back from the street beside two other homes. Still, I worry I won’t like the area. The lease is not forever, so there is that. All signs tell me it’s a good move, despite my qualms.
This morning I experienced a very strong wave of dizziness – not the first time. I thought it was a panic attack, but it was mostly my body telling me to slow down and take better care of it. Yesterday, I had to give a training at work for Parents of First Year Students on campus, which didn’t take long, thankfully. But I did pack before and after, way into the night. I woke up this morning with a giant headache, body aches, and pains – you know, the usual. I was stretching, and a certain movement caused a very unwelcome wave of nausea. I had to lie down and rest for most of the morning until it passed. After eating, I felt slightly better. Still not super great, but here I am writing this post.
I move next Monday. I hired movers, but still so much more to pack. Then there’s the unpacking. Multiple stressors compete for my attention – family crises, financial worries, moving, work, health, my dog, who needs to see a dental veterinarian. What struck me this morning as I was lying on my sofa is how much grief creeps in on top of all the other stuff, the loss of multiple things, including my youth, marriage, seeing someone you love suffer, thus the aches and pains. I felt this morning that I could not handle another minute of it. I will truly miss this place, this beachy community, what has come to be home for the past year, perhaps just this small chapter of my life, which has turned out to be a whopper.
I’ve come across rainbows multiple times in the past couple of weeks. The rainbow is an ancient symbol of peace and divine honor. Though things feel so turbulant in this moment, I feel certain there will be a rainbow on the other side, even if I have to paint one, dammit, in my art journal.
Rainbow, Kacey Musgraves. I learned to play this on my little digital piano. Maybe one day I’ll post. But no one can sing it as well as Kacey ❤
This is an unfinished piece of art I drew and painted a couple of years ago. I’ve never taken any formal art classes – I’m sure it shows – but started drawing in adolescence. I tend to draw stylized female portraits in the style of Tamara LaPorte, my favorite artist. I wish to improve my skills and perhaps experiment with more abstract painting. I don’t quite have the skill yet to paint the way I’d like to. Most of the time, I like the sketch better – the paint seems to muck things up.
It’s been a while since I’ve drawn. Since starting full-time work, I don’t have as much time to dabble in art. But one day, perhaps I’ll get back to it. It takes energy to draw. I find that writing poetry requires less energy and is easier, of course, to edit! I’m really bad at coming up with names, like names for groups I facilitate, names for art, names for poems, etc. What name would you give this drawing? It said “warrior” to me, but like I mentioned, it’s not very creative, lol. I can’t remember what inspired it. Most of the time, I just start drawing, and what shows up, shows up!
I am here I am not here have I disappeared? peek-a-boo catch me if you can picture perfect, at first glance yet truth be told, can barely stand the way you think I’m fine must be a thousand times and over, blind find me if you can hiding, bruised, black and blue peek-a-boo and right on cue, I’ll disappear
How Soon Is Now? by The Smiths. A classic. Thought it fit the poem.
It’s a 3-day weekend! This time last year, I was planning a great escape. I can hardly believe it’s been nearly a year. So much has happened since then. Simply, it has been hard. Grateful for my friends who’ve stood close by. Enjoy the weekend!
Good Sunday to you! No new poem today, well maybe later 🙂 I’ve been in a music therapy conference all day on strengths-based improvisation. The conference is all week – gotta earn those continuing ed credits. It was a blast. I haven’t connected with other music therapists in eons, so although it was virtual, it was a lovely experience to meet with other musicians/music therapists online. We did some improvising on whatever instruments we had on hand. I played my djembe, a couple of frame drums and my new e-piano, which sadly, I don’t play often enough. I feel so lucky to be a musician and to have had the opportunities I’ve had to study music. And I very much love sharing music with others.
Drumming is so near and dear to my heart. I enjoy it almost as much as playing the piano. When I studied piano performance, I was terrible at improvising- literally froze. But when I studied music therapy, I learned that I could improvise (on keyboard mostly), play by ear, and read lead sheets pretty easily after I built some skill. I took drum facilitator trainings through HealthRhythms and am starting a healing drum circles program at work next academic year – was awarded a small grant to buy more drums. All of this to say that I love music so much. I cannot imagine this life without it. There is a song or a piece for nearly every emotion, mood, occasion, event, even if to just dance around to in the privacy of your own space.
It would be a dream to conduct an orchestra. I took conducting in undergrad, but have absolutely no experience, except practicing in class. I remember my professor telling some of us we looked like we were stirring pudding, lol! I especially love watching female conductors because – well, they’re just so badass. There’s a female conductor and violinist, Karina Canellakis, to guest conduct the LA Philharmonic later this month. I’d like to go, but traffic is always such a pain to the Walt Disney Concert Hall. I hate the traffic! One of my favorite female conductors is Mirga Gražinyte-Tyla . We have the same birthday! Another is Elisabeth Fuchs. I linked a YouTube video of Fuchs conducting the Zagreb Philharmonic Orchestra and Choir Zvjezdice. The performance features cello soloist, HAUSER, performing Benedictus from The Armed Man: A Mass for Peace by Karl Jenkins (Hendon Music Inc BMI) at his classical solo concert, which was held at Lisinski Concert Hall in Zagreb (October 2017). I literally cried the first time I heard this piece, it’s so beautiful. I hope you give it a listen and enjoy it.
This is also Coachella week, so been tuning into YouTube Coachella 2024 Live! Loved The Last Dinner Party and Bleachers last night. Cheers to music and more of it! Thanks for reading this little blurb about my deep love of music.
Hauser performing Benedictus from The Armed Man: A Mass for Peace, Karl Jenkins. Conductor, Elisabeth Fuchs. Lyrics here.
the moon decided to eclipse today
the fair sun along its merry way
between the earth and brightest star
a path predestined from afar
a phenomenal sight to behold
another not to occur for years, I’m told
though not on the path of totality
awed nonetheless by our Celestial Galaxy
a time to awaken, heal and expand
set your intentions, expect the grand
life is too short, we have only today
live with intention, live to play
for work is a necessity, will always be there
but a life well lived, truly one cannot spare
All right, so this is not the best poem, but i felt moved to honor the solar eclipse today. And, I wrote it during my lunch break, lol. I went for a walk at 11:11am, the peak of the eclipse in my area, and there was a couple sitting on the curb, trying to catch a glimpse of the eclipse with a metal strainer. They were talking with a stranger, who just so happened to have eclipse glasses. He let each of us borrow them. I saw the eclipse, and it was the coolest thing ever! I’ve never seen any eclipse in real time, and this will probably be the only solar eclipse I see in my lifetime, as the next one won’t occur until 2044 or 2045. So it was really special! Cheers! I hope you were able to enjoy the solar eclipse.
Photo by Unsplash in collaboration with Alex Shuper
take a wild ride down PCH in your little red corvette all our worries we’ll assuage as we race against the wind top down, radio booming taste the salty air the smile on your lips makes me high must forgive me if i stare you reach and take my hand in yours, the other’s on the wheel those steely blues gazing into mine always make me reel takin’ a wild ride down PCH in your little red corvette time spent with you, babe, never shall i regret
Bioluminescence by Goth Babe. This is such a fun, happy song, and the video is stunning. Let’s make for the ocean!
Mother Earth, you are not yet lost your rivers, oceans, mountains, and trees raise their voice in desperate plea a call to all beings, an anthem of freedom that cannot be ignored feel the pulse of the land steady now as ever before listen, listen to its command to all peoples everywhere bear witness to the hand of careless humans who’ve lost the way, blinded by a lust for gain what will they say when all is lost, beauty, purity carelessly tossed? we weep oceans in grief our souls in grave disbelief can’t you hear the trees sing? songs of peace they mightily ring, they will not be enslaved to those depraved life is sacred, we are connected, raise the collective must we
Cantus Iteratus by Karl Jenkins from Adiemus-Songs of Sanctuary. Cantus iteratus in Latin means “repeated song.” I’m living in this album. If you read my last post, I’ve been lost in this music lately. It’s truly breathtaking. Thank you, Karl Jenkins, for this masterpiece. I was drawn to the steady pulse of the percussion and lower strings and the beautiful chorus of female voices in this piece. I thought it truly conveyed the spirit of the poem. It sounds like an anthem, march-like and jubilant, and it steadily grows and grows until the end when the music softly trails away, much like the beginning. So clever and enlightened, I think. Our earth is being destroyed, and it deeply saddens me. I wanted that to be present in the poem, but also hope that we can make changes collectively. I think the music brings that to life. The piece reminds me a little of Treebeard and the Ents in Lord of the Rings. I hope you give it a listen as you read this poem. I wrote it at work yesterday during breaks, lol! Oh, and full lyrics to the piece are here.
It’s a Foo Fighters kinda Friday! TGIF. I thought I’d share one of my favorite Foo Fighters songs. In my humble opinion, Taylor Hawkins remains the best drummer ever. May he RIP. The song really resonates at this stage in my life. Enjoy your Friday whatever you find yourself up to!
Chorus:
I’m learnin’ to walk again I believe I’ve waited long enough Where do I begin?
I’m learnin’ to talk again Can’t you see I’ve waited long enough? Where do I begin?
I heard this song on the radio yesterday on my commute home from work. Had to look it up. Totally get the lyrics and love the melody. Full lyrics here:
Chorus: Sometimes I’m in a room where I don’t belong And the house is on fire and there’s no alarm And the walls are melting too How ’bout you? I’ve never been the favorite, thought I’d seen it all ‘Til I got my invitation to the lunatic ball And my friends are coming too How ’bout you? Don’t worry, it’s all just a symptom of being human…
morning blushes,
soft light begs entry
through the tiny cracks
in my window
I sigh,
not ready to greet the day
longing to return to that place,
that distant, starry place
in my dreams
where time and sense
are nonexistent,
and all that matters is you and me,
the pair of us
illuminated like an iridescent flame,
a warming glow that never fades
and never grows cold-
we dance till dusk
to the music of Sirius
under a canopy of glittering stars
until I am blushing,
every inch of me
like trees flowering in summer–
the dream weaver softly casts his charms
and I sigh,
The Qingming Festival (清明節), aka Tomb-Sweeping Day in English, was observed on April 5th. It means literally, “Pure Brightness Festival.” This holiday dates back nearly 2500 years and is a traditional Chinese festival observed in Taiwan, Hong Kong, Macau, Malaysia, Singapore, Cambodia, Indonesia, Philippines, Thailand, Vietnam and by ethnic Chinese in mainland China. During Qingming, certain foods and traditions are celebrated. Families in Taiwan visit the tombs of their ancestors to clean the gravesites and make ritual offerings to their ancestors. When I reunited with my birth family in 2012, we planned a visit to our parents’ tombs (it wasn’t Qingming); however, I became very ill on the way there and ended up in the hospital. I was disappointed that I wasn’t well enough to visit their tombs. Although Qingming is not celebrated here in the U.S., I spent the morning honoring my birth parents, Shiow-Jean Lu and Chan-Huai Huang. I messaged my oldest sister in Taiwan, Christina, who told me that they would go “tomb sweeping” at the end of the month to honor and show gratitude for our ancestors. She said they will take fruit to the Buddhist hall where the ancestral tablet is located to give thanks and pray for blessings. During the height of the pandemic, the Buddhist halls on the mountain were closed, so “tomb sweeping” was not allowed over the past year or so.
My birth mother, Shiow-Jean Lu
Christina also shared that our ancestors originally came from Guangxi Province in southern China, which I first learned of when I had my adoption papers translated in 2010. Guilin is the capital of Guangxi Province. Christina said that the landscapes of Guilin (桂林) are very beautiful, and the landscapes of Yangshuo, a riverside town in Guangxi Province, are even more beautiful. She told me of a famous river, Lijiang River (漓江 Líjiāng), in Guilin. The Li River spans roughly 80 kilometers (50 miles) and runs through the heart of Guangxi, connecting beautiful downtown Guilin with Yangshuo. Christina shared that she visited Guilin for the first time in 1989 when the “iron curtain” opened. She visited the village of our parents a couple of times. As the years passed, their hometown underwent many changes. Christina said she has never returned, but the beauty of the land left a lasting impression that is unforgettable.
My sister shared more about Pa and Ma. She said China had been at war for decades and during those years and even earlier, natural and man-made disasters forced common people to migrate to the south in search of refuge. Christina heard that the ancestors of our parents are actually from Hunan Province, the largest province in South-Central China. Our father was born in Pingle City (平樂), and our mother, in Liuzhou (柳州), the second largest city in Guangxi. When they grew up, our parents relocated to Guilin. Christina said she doesn’t think it was many years before the war took them away from their home to join the resistance due to the Japanese invasion, or Chinese Civil War (1937-1945). China endured decades of Japanese occupation and years of brutal warfare. After the defeat of the Japanese in 1945, a race between the Nationalists and Communists ensued to take control. The Chinese Nationalist Party, or KMT, fought against the Communist Party from 1927-1949. In 1949, the KMT leaders were forced to retreat to Taiwan when the Communists gained control of mainland China, so our parents also fled to Taiwan. Christina said it was a very turbulent time, and I can only imagine so. Our father was in the KMT army, and our mother was a housewife.
Christina also told me about my Chinese name, Hsaio-Ling Huang (黃筱玲). The basic meaning of Hsaio (筱) is small bamboo. Generally, brothers and sisters are named with different middle or third characters as the difference between family members and seniors. We have the same Ling (玲). And Hsaio (筱) in Chinese has the same voice as Hsaio（小) (small) and means more gracious. She said because I’m the youngest sister, I take the (小). In traditional Chinese culture, orchid, bamboo, and plum symbolize tenacious nobility of character. The evergreen bamboo in all seasons symbolizes life and eternal youth; its branches are bent but not broken, which is the principle of being soft but firm. The hollow of bamboo represents the character of humility and virtue; the bamboo joint represents high moral, and the tall and straight bamboo represents integrity. It’s lovely to know what my Chinese name means.
My birth father, Chan-Huai Huang
When I arrived in Taipei, Taiwan, in 2012, my sisters, Christina and Amy, gave me photographs of our parents, multiple photos of our father at different ages, but only one of our mother, as all the others had been destroyed. It was quite something to see my biological sisters in person for the first time and to see the photographs they so carefully prepared. Though we are separated by continents, my birth family is always near to my heart. My first trip there was such a special and meaningful time. I can hardly believe it’s been 11 years since that sojourn. One day, I will return to Taiwan. Sometimes I wish I were 30 years younger and could live there and teach English or something like that.
Things have changed much since 2012. The years have flown by, COVID happened, we’ve all grown older, and life has been full of twists and turns. Now tensions between Taiwan and China loom. It is not the same China that our parents once lived and breathed in during their youth. Nevertheless, I always remember my time in Taiwan as if it were a fantasy come true. I literally felt like I was walking on clouds – it was a joyous and celebratory time. May our next reunion be just as sweet. And may Taiwan remain the strong and independent country she is now.
Beautiful Lijiang River in Guilin, my birth family’s original homeland. My sister shared this video with me.
I’m an adopted individual. Like many adoptees, parts of my history are a fill in the blank. I reunited with my first family ten years ago. Despite what many assume, reunion does not always mean that all your questions about your early beginnings get answered. There are still many missing pieces that leave me to wonder. And there are many different reasons why pieces remain missing. Perhaps, the language barrier. And, out of respect for my first family, I don’t ask a lot of questions, as I sense that it’s distressing. I did gain answers to some of my questions. There are still voids. I will never have the opportunity to meet my first parents, as by the time I reunited with my first family, my parents had passed on. I will never know why my adoptive parents told me mistruths about my birth heritage (I learned they were mistruths), as they too have passed on. The wonders feel like a big, dark hole. I don’t sense into it often; however, I know exists. I know it can be triggered unexpectedly in moments when I feel flooded with deep loss and/or threat. So, here are seven wonders that I have around my adoption. Perhaps some of them resonate with you.
Did my birth mother ever think about me? I learned from my biological sisters that our father relinquished me to an orphanage secretly. I was adopted at the age of four months from the orphanage. My sisters shared that they remembered visiting me at the babysitter’s after school, holding me and such. Then one day, I wasn’t there anymore. I wonder if my first mother mourned. Did she try to find me? How did my relinquishment impact the family once I was gone? Did she love me? As I write this, I feel that big, dark hole in my heart opening up just a little.
Did I attach to my birth mother? Did she hold me, feed me, make eye contact ? Did she take care of me? Knowing what I know now about attachment, I recognize that I didn’t get a whole lot of it during my early years. I can’t recall a single time my adoptive parents ever played with me. There are pictures of them holding me, smiling for the camera, but were there moments of connection? Moments of bonding? I grew up scared most of my childhood and adolescence, so I wonder.
What were my first parents like? What was my birth mother’s personality like? I learned from my bio sisters that she was a teacher and loved classical music. Was she kind? Was she loving? Are we similar in any other ways? My sisters told me that I look like our mother when she was younger, although there are no pictures left of her as a young woman. In my memoir, I tell of a time when I “saw” my first and adoptive mothers. It was during a Guided Imagery & Music (GIM-Bonny Method) training I took with some music therapy classmates years ago. It was quite emotional. I remember it like it happened yesterday. During my “traveling” experience, my birth mother told me she gave me the gift of music, and the whole experience was like my adoptive mother telling me, “I want you to know this now.” My adoptive mom purposely hid so much of my adoption history. I often wonder what my first parents were like.
Why was I relinquished? On my adoption contract – which stayed hidden in my parents’ attic till after my adoptive mother’s death – it states that “the family was impoverished.” I assume that to be true according to what my bio sisters shared. I believe that there was stress, tension, anxiety in the home of my first family. But what was the breaking point? What may have happened that led up to my going away? I wonder.
Did my birth father ever regret relinquishing me, or mourn my absence? I surmise that we never bonded. He must have felt a lot of something to take me away. Was it anger, was it pressure? Did I cry a lot? Was I just another mouth to feed? Was there something wrong with me? I hear that a lot from other adoptees, a resounding, “I don’t belong. I don’t fit in.” Unconsciously, I think other adoptees feel that (not a generalization). It’s a message that gets transmitted nevertheless. A deep sense of unworthiness and shame is often at the core of some of the patterns we develop later in life.
What do my extended birth family members think about me now that we have met? I reunited with my extended first family on the Eve of the Lunar New Year, 2012. I met my Uncle, the patriarch of the family, my niece and nephew, and my sisters’ husbands, as well as close family friends. My two biological sisters and brother were also there. I spent daily time with my sisters during my entire visit, and I remember not wanting them to think that I was spoiled in any way, or had an easier life. I maintain contact with my sisters and my niece and nephew via social media and direct messaging. My niece is now married, and she and her husband have two little girls. I’m also connected to my brother on social media. I experienced nothing but kindness and generosity from my family. It was so special to meet them all. I often felt like I was floating. It was one of the happiest times in my life, and of course, life changing. I felt accepted, but I wonder if they too wonder about what happened.
Will I ever feel like I fit in? This is the greatest challenge I’ve experienced as a result of being adopted. I’m Asian and grew up in a predominantly white community. Yes, racial teasing. Yes, racism, prejudice, microaggressions, still. Yes, tried so hard to “fit in.” Yes, rejected my cultural roots well into adulthood. Yes, it hurt. In everything I did and do today, the feeling of not fitting in is pervasive. Through therapy, I have learned skills to recognize, befriend (this is a work in progress), and cope with this deeply rooted sense and internal message. Some days, it’s overwhelming and really hard. Most people in my circle, including family and friends, don’t get it. It’s hard for them to understand or empathize. So I cope, alone. Meditation, mindfulness, yoga, drawing, and music help. Music was my first love and remains so at the very core of my being. But I wonder, had I been offered safer connection during my early years, would I be different? Would I struggle less with shame, people pleasing, codependency? I think, yes. I said earlier, therapy has been instrumental in healing, growth, validation, and self-awareness. My therapist is not an adoptee, but she gets it and is very knowledgeable about attachment and trauma.
So, I wonder as I wander. I live each day in hopes that I’ll grow past my wonders. But, I think my wonders will always remain wonders. I have this hope. That perhaps I can offer support to other adoptees who have similar wonders.
Taiwan, The Republic of China (ROC), celebrates National Day, otherwise known as Double Ten Day, on October 10th every year. Taipei, Taiwan, is my place of birth. I was adopted as an infant by an American family, and consequently, lost all connection to Taiwan and my first/birth family. That changed, however, over the Lunar New Year of 2012, at which time I traveled to Taipei to reunite with my first family including my two older sisters and brother, my uncle, niece and nephew, and close family friends. Sadly, I know very little about Taiwan’s history and had even less knowledge of Double Ten Day . So I messaged my oldest sister to learn more about its significance. I’m so glad I did, and my sister seemed pleased that I wanted to know more about Taiwan’s history. So I share what I learned now with my fellow Taiwanese adoptees.
Double Day Ten in Mandarin is 雙十節. 雙 means double or two; 十 means ten; 節 means day. Here is the history of Double Ten that my sister shared with me:
The Wuchang Uprising in China occurred at the beginning of the Revolution of 1911, and the Qing Dynasty, China’s last imperial dynasty, was overthrown by Chinese revolutionaries. The Republic of China was subsequently established on January 1, 1912. Since the first day of the Wuchang Uprising occurred on October 10, 1911, October 10 is commemorated as the anniversary of the founding of the Republic of China. My sister shared that there is not as much importance attached to Double Ten Day as in years past. She remembers that, at one time, there were many activities on National Day, and the whole country was joyous. The national flag was flown all over the sky, and national flags were placed everywhere on the streets and lanes, fluttering beautifully. There was a flag-raising ceremony at the Presidential Plaza at six o’clock in the morning, and during the day, the heads of state, officials from various ministries, and invited international guests gathered in the stands to watch a military parade. The Air Force and Army presented majestic shows. It was a very popular holiday, and there were numerous performances by various groups celebrating various folk customs. What everyone looked forward to most was the fireworks at night. Colorful fireworks were placed in the square in front of the Presidential Palace, bringing on cheers and applause. Everyone enthusiastically participated in the parade, holding a small flag and walking around for a long time following the performances. My sister said that In recent years, there have been firework displays at Taipei 101 and Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall. She shared that these are the memories of older generations, and the jubilance once felt as a nation on this day has diminished. Now there are different kinds of activities on Double Ten in Taiwan but it is just a holiday without the same jubilance, and few young people pay attention to its meaning.
I asked about the Double Ten flag and Taiwan’s national flag. My sister explained, our national flag is based on the blue sky with a white sun created by the revolutionary martyr, Lu Haodong, and the founding father, Sun Yat-sen, with red as the background color. The 12 rays of light on the sun represent the 12 months of the year and the 12 traditional Chinese hours in a day (each ray equals two hours). In 1928, the red and blue flag with the white sun officially became the national flag of the Republic of China. The white flag with the double ten red Chinese characters is the flag that represents Double Ten Day.
I appreciate this history lesson about Taiwan from my sister. I hope it has meaning for you, too. There is still so much to learn and know. Incidentally, my daughter’s birthday is on October 10, to which my sister said, she has lucky blessing!
Just over a week ago, the Department of State’sBureau of Consular Affairswith the support of the U.S. Domestic Policy Councilhosted aSymposium on Intercountry Adoption (ICA)in Washington DC. The purpose of the Symposium was to bring together a diverse group of ICA stakeholders in order to strengthen the future practice of intercountry adoption. Such stakeholders included professional adoption practitioners; attorneys; government officials from theU.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS)and the Department of State; and Legislators as well as a number of others. Interested adoptive parents also attended, and historically, the Department invited adult adoptees as well as birth parents for the first time, as the Department’s aim was to “create a deeper understanding of the respective views and interests of each stakeholder group.” The Symposium gave a clearer comprehension of the roles of the many different governmental offices in intercountry adoption, and yet there is still much to learn about each entity and their direct roles. It became clear to me that our present system of intercountry adoption and the policies and regulations governing it are far more intricate than I imagined.
All of us care for the safety of children. All of us recognize their vulnerability. All of us want to protect them from those who would do them harm. Bringing all of us together, as this Symposium does, provides us with an opportunity to meet those goals in cooperation rather than in competition.
Carl Rische, Assistant Secretary of State for Consular Affairs
Despite moments of challenge, in the end, all agreed that safety of the children is utmost. For long now, fear, trauma, anger, and disconnect have made it extremely difficult for everyone involved to come together. I believe all members within the adoption constellation, that is birth parents, adoptees, and adoptive parents, have suffered tremendous loss, but those losses and how they are experienced and processed are uniquely individual. However, I’m not the first to say, adoptees have had the least voice and suffered the greatest losses, yet have the most to be learned from because of our lived experience. We all need far greater awareness and acknowledgment of the losses, fears of rejection, feelings of shame and guilt and our own processes of grief for true healing to occur. We have to hear each other’s voices and not be put off by them, find connection through difference. I experienced the Symposium as a step towards changing the current environment, an opportunity for all voices to be listened to, despite great disparity at times among different groups. All in all, if intercountry adoption is to exist and we agree that those who should “benefit” the most – the adopted child, youth, adult adoptee – then we must guarantee long-term healing, safety and permanence for the adoptee through adoption practice and policy that provides greater protections.
What Protections?
Citizenship For ALL Adoptees. Today, an estimated thousands of intercountry adoptees who were adopted by U.S. parents are without U.S. citizenship due to a loophole that exists in current legislation. They remain at risk, unable to access critical services and rights. According to 18 Million Rising, 35 intercountry adoptees have been deported with more being targeted. Current legislation (Child Citizenship Act of 2000) granted citizenship to foreign-born adoptees adopted by U.S. citizens; however, the bill did not take effect until February 27, 2001, and as a result, adoptees who were 18-years old or older at the time were not covered unbeknownst to adoptive parents and adoptees. Deportation causes another significant trauma to those adoptees. They are torn away from family and forced to live in a country where they were relinquished, where they do not speak the language, understand the culture, nor have known family. They were guaranteed a “better life,” one of permanence, and yet have been failed. TheCitizenship Act of 2019 would fix the loophole in current legislation and grant automatic citizenship to all adoptees; however, the bill remains tied up in Congress. Adoptee activists continue to engage with Congressmen/women and Senators to advance this bill, yet increased and ongoing Adoptee and Ally support is needed. I urge you to support this bill, get involved by donating, volunteering and/or contacting your legislators.Learn more at Adoptees for Justice, Adoptee Rights Campaign, Adoptee Rights Law. And for a brief history of this legislation, click here.
Ethical Adoption Practices. Regulatory oversight is critical to ensuring the safety and protection of children, as we know that those who would cause harm for profit have existed under unethical adoption practices across the history of intercountry adoption. At the Symposium, adoptive parents, Adam and Jessica Davis, shared their story of adopting a five-year old girl, Namata, from Uganda only to learn a year and a half later, as Namata’s English improved, that she had a loving mommy who cared for her back home. Upon further investigation, the family learned that, indeed Namata was not an orphan. Her mother had been tricked into sending her daughter to a family in the U.S. whom she believed would provide for her education and then be later returned home. The Davis’ did a remarkable thing, eventually vacating the adoption and reuniting Namata with her mother in Uganda. This is one family who stood against those who urged them to keep Namata, despite the injustices again her mother and the abhorrent trafficking that occurred. Jessica stated in an interview with CNN.
After unveiling Namata’s true story and doing extensive research, I feel I have gained an awareness of the realities of corruption occurring across the board within international adoption. This complicated yet beautiful act of opening up a home and a heart to a child in need has become heavily corrupted by greed and saviorism.
Jessica Davis, adoptive parent and activist – quote used with permission.
The U.S. adoption agency the Davis family worked with was later debarred. This is only one story, one family, one example of unethical adoption practice, though others exist. And yet, “Harm to even one adopted child is unacceptable.” (Carl Rische, opening statement). Unregulating standards is not the answer, as some alluded to, but efforts to thoroughly investigate a child’s “orphan” status among other things must continue.
Additionally, unregulated custody transfers (UCTs), also known as rehoming, endanger the lives of adopted children. UCT’s occur when parents transfer the physical custody of their child to a person who is not the child’s parent or other adult relative, or adult friend of the family with whom the child is familiar, with the intent of permanently avoiding responsibility for the child’s care and without taking reasonable steps to ensure the child’s safety or permanency of the placement (Child Welfare Information Gateway). Children adopted through foster care and intercountry adoption are at greater risk for UCT. A recent study found challenges associated with these adoptions – the child’s complex physical and behavioral health needs and difficulties finding and, furthermore, paying for needed health services, may lead families to seek out unregulated transfers (Brown, K., Morrison, E., Hartjes, E., Nguyen, N., Sweet, A. 2015. Steps have been taken to address unregulated custody transfers of adopted children. Washington, DC: Government Accountability Office. Retrieved from http://www.gao.gov/products/GAO-15-733). There is legislation currently pending on unregulated custody transfers.
Post-Adoption Services. At this time, there is no federal or state regulation or oversight guiding implementation of post-adoption services. Adoption service providers across the country are at their own discretion to offer such services. We heard from a number of adoptive parents who expressed great difficulty accessing needed resources and support after the finalization of adoption. Adoption service providers themselves agreed that this is the case. We know that children who are adopted are at higher risk for developing emotional, psychological, and behavioral problems as a result of disrupted attachments, trauma and identity issues, even though physically they may thrive in a safe and loving home. The emotional, psychological, and physical state of the birth mother during pregnancy also has tremendous impact on the child. The child brings all of this trauma into the adoptive family, which impacts every member of the family system, including siblings. With this knowledge comes great responsibility to help that child heal. The adoption journey really begins post-adoption. Most services are terminated at that time, yet ongoing support during the first few months and years following are critical to the healthy development and healing of the child.
Lastly, there is legislation pending related to intercountry adoption, but outcomes remain to be seen. And finally, I want to thank the Department of State for welcoming adoptees and birth parents to the Symposium and for showing support to those of us who attended. Thank you to my fellow adoptees for your passion, determination, and tireless efforts to make our voices heard. Huge thanks to Lynelle Long, who blazed the way for us to attend this event. We’ve reached a pivotal point. It is my hope that Adoptees can work alongside other stakeholders to achieve change that brings increased safety, protection, and healing to adoptees. We do need to get it right because so much is at stake, now more than ever, and the way forward is to include adoptees as part of the process.
To read Carl Rische’s introductory remarks at the Symposium in full, click here.
May is winding down, and boy has it been a busy month. May is officially recognized as Asian Pacific American Heritage Month. Celebrations occur throughout California during the month including the Los Angeles Asian Pacific Film Festival and the Taiwanese American Cultural Festival, which is held annually in the Bay area. TACF is sponsored by Taiwanese American Professionals-San Francisco and Taiwanese American Foundation-No. California. This year, TACF featured a collection of nearly 50 works by authors, writers, poets, and creatives who are Taiwanese American or have ties to Taiwan, and guess what? My book, Beyond Two Worlds: A Taiwanese-American Adoptee’s Memoir & Search for Identity was one of the works featured! For the entire list of books showcased and brief descriptions of each book, visit Taiwaneseamerican.org.
Thank you, Ho Chie Tsai, for gathering this wonderful collection of books highlighting Taiwanese American storytellers. I wish that I could have attended the festival and seen the display in person as well as all of the other festivities. I’ve put several of the books on my to-read list.
If you’d like to purchase an autographed copy of my book, just follow this link.
Here are some photographs from the Taiwanese American Cultural Festival 2018!
Since last November, I’ve had the privilege of connecting to many other adult intercountry adoptees around the U.S. via a podcast I hosted called Global Adoptee Talk. Some participated in my podcast and others did not. Nevertheless, just to hear and share stories was incredibly validating, and I appreciate the supportive community that we’re a part of. Unfortunately, I had to let go of my podcast before it even had a real chance to get off the ground due to increasing demands at work and the lack of time and energy I had to keep up with editing/interviewing. I am always inspired, grieved, saddened, angered, and motivated by the many adoptees stories I hear – motivated primarily to elevate adoptee voices in whatever shape or form that may take. It’s always important to be mindful of the fact that though an adoptee may have had a positive adoption experience, there is still undoubtedly loss, trauma, and frequently a longing to connect to cultural roots. That may mean searching for one’s birth parents or first/birth family or traveling to one’s country of origin, learning the language, and/or connecting to others who have similar backgrounds and experiences. It doesn’t go away – it may ebb and flow across the span of an adoptee’s life, but it’s a part of our makeup; it’s part of our DNA and hard-wired into our brains, literally. I don’t have time to go into how separation from birth mother is trauma, but suffice it to say, there is research that supports it. Acknowledging that adoptees have a vital role in the future of how adoption occurs and are given a voice is crucial.
I’m bummed to let go of my podcast, but I have hopes of one day picking it back up, as time allows. I miss that connection to other adoptees. There are plenty of super podcasts out there. Two of my favorite adoptee podcasts are Adoptees On,Adapted, and Born In June Raised in April. The Rambler was also a favorite, but the show closed earlier this year. All of these podcasts are available on iTunes – listen in – it’s totally worth it.
I sure learned a lot while producing my podcast and am super grateful for those adoptees that I had the opportunity to connect with. Adoptee voices are truly making their way to the forefront of discussions on adoption, as they should. Let us continue to build a strong and vibrant community, inclusive and respectful of all adoptees and their unique stories.
Past episodes of Global Adoptee Talk are available on Soundcloud
Mrs. Guinn placed the clunky brown headphones snuggly over my head, the giant earpieces squeezed my temples. A long, coiled cord snaked across the shaggy green carpet to a stereo where she stood, ready to drop the needle. I had no idea what I was in for. Mrs. Guinn had never offered to play music for me at any of my other piano lessons. Mandi, my friend next door, and I took weekly lessons at Mrs. Guinn’s home. I loved going to Mrs. Guinn’s for my piano lessons and looked forward to them every week. She lived in a quiet neighborhood in Shady Grove and was a white, 30-something year old woman. She had short brown hair in a long pixie style, a pretty face, and was always dressed in jeans and a nice top. Mrs. Guinn was married to an officer in the Air Force. I remember her as having a quiet and gentle demeanor. She reminded me of Toni Tennille of Captain and Tenille. The front living room where Mrs. Guinn taught had an upright piano on one wall and an organ against another, a large window overlooked the street. Her house was always meticulously clean and smelled good. “I have something I want you to listen to today,” she said as she guided me into the den. The headphones felt heavy against my ears as she adjusted them. I sat silently and settled into Mrs. Guinn’s plush black couch, waiting for the music to begin playing.
“Da-da-da-DUM.” “Da-da-da-DUM!” Those first four notes of Beethoven’s all too famous Fifth Symphony bellowed in my ears. The music accelerated, and I was completely enraptured, magically swept away. The pulse of the bass vibrated in my chest. I was only 9-years old at the time, and yet that was such a defining moment in my life. The rest of the world fell away in those brief eight minutes or so of that first movement. I was an extremely shy, introverted kid, but at my lesson the following week, I mustered the courage to ask Mrs. Guinn if I could listen to that recording again. Of course, she obliged. Little did Mrs. Guinn know how much that recording influenced me. I discovered I had a love for classical music. One of the other things I enjoyed while taking lessons from Mrs. Guin was the monthly gatherings she held at her home where all her students performed. The best part was when she performed for us on her organ. I loved watching her feet fly across the pedals. It was certainly a treat.
Mrs. Guinn was a member of the National Federation of Music and entered me into my first music festival where students performed and were adjudicated. I received a superior + and was selected to perform in the Honors Recital with many other students. Kabelevsky’s, The Clown, Op. 39, No. 2, was my first performance piece ever. As I climbed the stairs the night of the recital towards the concert grand piano, it felt as though I were having an out of body experience. Somehow, I got through my piece without any fumbles and took my bow to the applause of the audience. I would perform in many other recitals, each one causing more anxiety than the last. It was something I continuously struggled with.
Mrs. Guinn moved within a year or two. I was deeply saddened when she told me her husband had received a military transfer to Texas, as I had become quite attached to her. It was very hard to say goodbye, and I remember having a hard time sleeping the night before my last lesson. I probably shed a few tears, too.
My mom found a new teacher, and I began taking lessons from Mrs. Ellis, whom I didn’t like very much. The music she gave me to play was “old” and not very fun. Mrs. Ellis was older than Mrs. Guinn and had short, reddish hair and a southern drawl. I didn’t feel the same connection with her as I had with Mrs. Guinn and dreaded going to my lessons where very often, her daughter, about my age, invited me to play while I waited for the kid’s lesson before me to end. She had what seemed like a million trophies from beauty pageants stacked in her room, and I remember jumping on the trampoline with her in the backyard. I felt awkward next to her, as she seemed so accomplished for a kid our age. Eventually, I moved on and studied with Mr. Robert Buckner during my high school years. Mr. Buckner lived in Shreveport and was quite a colorful character. He had a piano studio behind his house and a dachshund named Angie. Mr. Buckner’s gray hair was always disheveled and seemed to stand on end to one side. I began every lesson with major and minor scales to warm-up, or Hanon exercises. I felt comfortable with his teaching style and sense of humor. Mr. Buckner was bit of a stout man with a laugh that welled up from his belly, which was quite infectious. A couple of times, I caught Mr. Buckner sleeping while I played. His snores always gave him away.
I decided to major in music and attended Centenary College of Louisiana where I studied piano performance, primarily because it meant I didn’t have to take a single, damn math class. I was beyond horrible in math or anything that had to do with numbers. Initially, I felt terribly inadequate compared to my peers who seemed to have much better training musically than I did. I struggled with ear training and theory and loathed sight singing, but loved composition and piano literature. It wasn’t that I couldn’t sing, it’s just that I had never been taught sight singing, and it terrified me, especially when made to sight sing in front of all my peers. That was a very joyless experience. I studied with Constance Knox Carroll and absolutely adored her. She was an inspiring teacher and incredible pianist. I’m sure, however, that I was one of her least favorite students, as I was not very disciplined and did not practice as I should have, especially during my senior year when it was expected to perform a solo recital of full repertoire. I got distracted with theatre and dance and remember her scolding me at one particular lesson for my lack of practice. I hadn’t memorized all of my pieces, and my recital loomed near. I just sat there unable to say a thing. No doubt, part of her concern was that a poor performance would reflect badly on her. She said that it seemed like I liked theatre and dance better. She was right. What did I know at that age? Not a whole lot, except there was much less pressure when you were having fun, for God’s sake.
I wasn’t exactly lazy, but discipline was not my strong suit. Practicing was such an isolating, arduous endeavor, and yet in those days, I didn’t always mind it. I typically hit the practice room four hours a day, sometimes six on the rare occasion that I was super inspired. There were times when it was such a rewarding experience to sit at the keyboard and just play without anyone listening. The freedom from judgment or making mistakes, the connection to the music; it was magical. Those were the times when I performed the best. But in front of an audience, I lost all sense of composure. Performance anxiety plagued me. I could not control my hands; they became leaden. Adrenaline rendered me helpless, and memory slips haunted me. On one occasion, several students were to perform with the Shreveport Symphony in a special recital. I was performing the first movement of Mozart’s Piano Concerto in A, K414. I can’t describe how exhilarating it was to perform with a live orchestra. Connection to other musicians performing together was something I had never experienced. It was like flying, but without the motion sickness. Unfortunately, performance anxiety got the best of me, and my memory lapsed somewhere during the development. The orchestra continued to play as if nothing happened while I sat frozen, paralyzed. Eventually, I wove my way back in, but the damage had been done. I barely made it through the cadenza. Instead of enjoying such a performance, I was relieved when it was over. My legs were so shaky afterwards, I could barely stand.
After graduating college, I taught piano for a brief time at St. Mark’s Episcopal in Shreveport and another Christian school before moving to Florida. I didn’t touch a keyboard for nearly 20 years after that. The trauma of it all prevented me. I deeply regret that now. One day, my mom asked if I wanted my baby grand piano, the one they bought me when I first started taking lessons. Of course I did, and a couple of months later, my baby grand arrived at our tiny condo in California. It took up an entire room. I started teaching piano thereafter at a Christian elementary school in Mission Viejo, CA, and eventually taught privately on and off until 2013. My piano skills were sadly more than a little rusty, and I lamented the loss. I attempted to take piano lessons a couple of different times, but just didn’t have the time to commit to practicing with family responsibilities and work. I stopped teaching altogether in 2013 when I went back to school to pursue a Master’s degree in Social Work.
I have now had my baby grand since 1999. It has moved with us many different times in the last several years. It’s sitting in our family room in need of a little TLC – or a lot actually. When we returned to California in 2016, my husband tried to talk me into selling it because all the homes in California are so much smaller! It was more challenging to find an “affordable” (there are no affordable homes in California) home that would accommodate its size. First of all, I silently fumed that he’d ask such a thing that’s so important to me, and second I refused to budge. We were not going to sell my baby grand piano! And so it was and is and will ever be.
Every once in awhile, I sit down to play when things are quiet and I can get away with it. Recently, I felt moved to find Mrs. Guinn and searched for her via Google. Amazingly, I found her, and she wrote back to me immediately. She continues to teach, perform at churches, and accompany choirs in Nebraska. Although she only vaguely remembered me, she said that she looked up old recital programs and located one dated May 23, 1976, that I performed in. She said I played a Schaum arrangement of Yankee Doodle as a solo and again in a trio performance with Mandi, my friend, and another student named Kelly Scott. I was so happy to hear from Mrs. Guinn and that she continues to teach and play.
I trained in piano for many, many years. I wish that I’d continued to play, but there was a part of me that felt my skills were inadequate, so I didn’t play for years. When I decided to study music therapy in 2006, that passion for music rushed back. And now, I long for my piano to be more than just a pretty conversation piece in my living room. One of these days, and hopefully not too long from now, I will get back to playing, perhaps a little at a time. Sometimes, it’s hard to play because I inevitably begin to compare my current level of skill to that of when I played daily for very long hours. People tend to tell me, “you should just play for yourself.” Well, it’s easier said than done. Nevertheless, music is truly part of my fabric. I can’t think of anything more powerful and transformative than music.
So, for your listening pleasure, here is one of my favorite pianists, Murrah Perahia, at the keyboard performing Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 12 in A, K. 414. It always makes me happy to listen to this beautiful piece of music.
To Mrs. Carroll, who inspired me to be a better pianist:
Beyond Two Worlds: A Taiwanese-American Adoptee’s Memoir & Search for Identity is now live! If you have not yet purchased your copy, don’t delay. I have a few books left, and signed copies can be purchased right here on my website. Just click on Shop to order. Kindle and hardcover editions are available via my author page at Amazon, and you can also find the book at Barnes & Noble, and Indiebound.org.
If you enjoyed reading the book, please consider leaving a review on Amazon, or wherever you purchased your copy. Unfortunately, I am unable to ship internationally; however, those copies can be ordered through Amazon and Barnes & Noble online. To learn more about the book and to read an excerpt, click here, and to read reviews, click here. Thank you for supporting Beyond Two Worlds.
It’s always hard to say goodbye. My daughter and I spent a weekend in Seattle, Washington, for the annual Taiwan ROCKs event where adoptive families who have adopted children from Taiwan get together, catch up on each others’ lives, and make some fun memories. Each year, the event is held in a different city. There were about 16 families and 25 kids adopted from Taiwan, not including non-adopted siblings, and one sibling adopted from the DRC. We’re now heading back to California. It was a memorable experience, and I enjoyed connecting with so many families.
The event began on Friday night with a pizza fest at Angle Lake, a park within walking distance from our hotel. There were water features and playground equipment, and the kids looked like they were having a lot of fun. This year’s event was organized by Molly Gleason O’Brien and Kerry Murphy, two local moms. My daughter and I were welcomed, and I was pleasantly surprised when I saw Tien, the very woman who helped me find my birthfamily in Taipei, standing across the way talking to a family. Then it dawned on me that Tien lives in Seattle – I’d forgotten! Almost every family there, if not all, were connected to Tien in some way, as she helped some of the families with their adoptions. We spent the afternoon with Tien yesterday touring the city and eating lunch. It was lovely to spend time with her after our trip to Taiwan together in 2012, five years ago. I have never been able to return to Taiwan since.
On Saturday evening, I talked to the families after a BBQ dinner about my new book, “Beyond Two Worlds: A Taiwanese-American Adoptee’s Memoir & Search for Identity.” I spoke about how much international adoption has changed since the era that I and many other adult adoptees were adopted. I was struck by how many families had already taken their kids back to Taiwan, as it’s not common for adoptive parents to do so. Some adoptees had the opportunity to meet their birth mothers and extended birth family members. The trips were prompted by the kids’ curiosity about their early beginnings. It was unheard of years ago for adoptive parents to encourage their kids to explore their birth culture. I found that the parents at the event were sensitive to the importance of connecting their children to their birth culture. They appeared to understand the importance of open dialogue with their kids. I was very inspired by the support the families provide to each other and to their kids as they continue to ask questions around birth heritage. One mom told me that her daughter, age 11, wrote an essay about her adoption and birth family and loved to write. Most of the adoptees fell between the ages of 6-10. It was a pleasure to talk with these kids and learn their stories. Truly, the highlight of the trip was connecting with the young adoptees.
Taiwan ROCKs has approximately 400 families within its network. I was told that the Seattle ROCKs event was one of the smallest compared to past years. Nevertheless, I enjoyed every minute of it. Tien told me she believed that approximately 1,000 Taiwanese adoptions have occurred since the 1990’s, and most likely more, including adoptions that were private, or occurred without the assistance of an agency. Adoptions from Taiwan have declined significantly, as have international adoptions across all countries. There is a whole generation of young Taiwanese adoptees who I hope one day will support one another and perhaps even write their own memoir.
Yesterday, I had the great pleasure of attending the first annual Taiwanese American Film Festival at the Downtown Independent Theatre in LA. It was super fun, and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. The purpose of the festival is to celebrate the achievements of new and rising Taiwanese American and Taiwanese international cinema artists. It was established by the Taiwanese American Professionals of Los Angeles. The event showcased film screenings by filmmakers from all over the world. It gave me a sense of pride as I reflected upon my own ever growing exploration of what it means to be Taiwanese American. The festival offered morning, day, and sunset sessions with an industry panel and a night block featuring an awards ceremony and closing feature. There was a closing party afterwards (which I didn’t attend, but am sure was loads of fun).
My friend and I arrived just in time for the Opening Shorts Block. These films ranged from stories that focused on family, culture, and the past. As audience members, we had the opportunity to vote for our favorite film afterwards. I enjoyed all eight, but one in particular really resonated with me, “My Adoption.” The director, Chuang-Chieh Liao, discovered he was adopted in his adult years, and his film explores this newfound knowledge in a conversation with his adoptive mom. Interestingly, Chuang-Chieh was adopted by a Taiwanese family in Taiwan. He wrote the film as an international student during his first quarter at DePaul University in Chicago where he was pursuing a MFA. He stated about the film, “I just wanted to face the fear that was always in my mind. I had lost part of childhood memory. Three years ago, I found out that I was adopted. That’s when the memory came back to my brain. After I came to Chicago, I decided to call my mother and ask the details about my adoption for the first time.”
I don’t want to give too much of the film away, but the emotions behind the question that Chuang-Chieh asks his adoptive mother are quite tender, and we see how deeply he struggles to grasp at answers. Some members of his family were very conservative and opposed his adoption. As a result, he grew up without their love and support, and his adoptive parents were blamed for their inability to have a biological child. Especially poignant, we see childhood pictures of Chuang-Chieh with his adoptive parents in flashes as he converses with his mother over the phone. His parents loved him – it’s obvious, and we learn why they withheld sharing his adoption for so long. As I sat and watched this film, I was reminded that whether adoption occurs domestically in the US/abroad or through inter-country adoption, adoption is complex. But also, adoptive parents love their children. I’m not talking about abusive parents, neglectful parents, or parents who adopt for the wrong reasons. And this post doesn’t address the corruption that exists in adoption. Adoption is just complex on many different levels. It’s a tangled web of emotions and discovery across the lifespan that takes time to unravel, and it’s certainly a life-long journey for the adoptee, biological parents, and adoptive family. I”m sure that Chuang-Chieh continues to process the decision his adoptive parents made to adopt and love him despite such opposition from their own family in Taiwan. There is a social stigma that exists in Taiwan (and other Asian countries) towards adoption, especially if the child has a special need.
I wanted to know more after watching this brief, yet powerful film. It was one of the shorter films, approximately 4 minutes, and subtitled in English, as most of the films were. Unfortunately, Chuang-Chieh wasn’t present at the festival. I would have loved to talk to him about his experience and film. How cool it was to see a Taiwanese filmmaker explore his own personal experience of adoption.
My friend and I missed the Centerpiece Shorts Block, as we had lunch with some of her friends at a nearby restaurant, but some of the shorts are available to watch on Vimeo. Click here to see a listing of all the films and synopses. We did attend the Industry Panel featuring 5 actors/producers/writers: Lynn Chen (actress) of “Saving Face,” by Sony Pictures, Alan Pao (Producer) founder and CEO of Tunnel Post Production, Kai Wu (Writer), Charles Yu (Writer) and Kelvin Yu (Writer/Actor). Kai writes for the NBC TV series, “Hannibal” and CWs, “The Flash.” Charles writes for HBO’s “Westworld” and has authored multiple books. Kelvin currently writes for the Fox animated series, “Bob’s Burgers” and the Netflix comedy, “Master of None.” Very interesting and entertaining to learn how each of the panelists began their careers.
I hope that you’ll take a few minutes to watch, “My Adoption,” by Chuang-Chieh Liao. I’m linking his short here via Vimeo. Thank you, Chuang-Chieh, for making such a meaningful film that will surely resonate with other adoptees.
Hello folks! It’s Sunday morning, the skies are gray in my lovely locale. Nevertheless, I’m enjoying the weekend, despite the clouds. It couldn’t have come sooner.
Today, I wanted to talk about adoption…well, duh. I have something more specific in mind. For the past 7 years, I’ve actively searched for and read blogs, books, scholarly research, adoptee group sites, birthmother sites, and adoptive parent sites seeking connection, knowledge, resources, and validation. There are as many views on adoption out there as the colors of the rainbow. As an international and transracial adoptee, my own perspective on adoption has evolved. I don’t think it uncommon for our views to change as we experience personal growth and for lack of a better term, mature. Adoptees have strong inclinations regarding adoption rooted in their own life experiences, and multiple factors shape those attitudes. I’ve spoken with adult adoptees who are not terribly interested in connecting to their cultural roots or birth heritage, nor searching for their birthfamilies. Perhaps there’s a glint of interest, but there is not yet a compelling enough reason or desire to follow it. There are other adoptees who speak strongly against international adoption and for reasons that are quite justified. International adoption has a jaded history, and there are countless adoptees who were adopted illegally, through unethical adoption practices – in some cases both the agency and adoptive parents were plainly aware of the falsification of information. These deplorable practices still occur around the world. There is evidence, and though the U.S. attempts to keep the public aware of these dark practices, they continue.
I have several friends who are adoptive parents and have adopted children internationally from China, India, Africa, Ethiopia, and Russia. They also have very strong opinions and attitudes about international adoption. Sometimes – maybe even frequently – my friends and I do not see eye to eye; nevertheless we remain friends. I strongly believe in family preservation and the support of services to keep children with their biological families. As an adopted person, I cannot see past that. And yet, we live in a world where adoption is still thriving, although in decline internationally. I feel conflicted at times because I have my own very strong attitudes about adoption and yet I am supportive of my friends and other adoptive parents, and that will not change. I am for the welfare of children whether adopted or not.
What I particularly struggle with across the landscape of adoption is judgment and how we judge one another based on our attitudes and opinions towards international adoption. I know that I am judged by others for what I believe and support. I don’t necesarrily like being judged; the word ‘judge’ itself is so harsh. And yet I also judge – it’s inevitable. We all do because it’s human nature. I have no control over what others think and say, but I can temper my own thoughts, words, and actions. I’ve gone through the gamut of emotions related to my own adoption/identity and international adoption in general, from curiosity and awe, to self-loathing and anger, to grief and loss and depression, to acceptance. Like so many adoptees, ignorance makes me angry. It’s complex. There’s a lot of ignorance surrounding international and transracial adoption – adoptive parents experience it, too, and people can say some really dumb things. Sometimes I laugh it off, and other times I get angry and vent to a trusted friend or another adoptee who gets it. There is healing and validation in sharing our experiences.
And what about birthmothers? Of all involved in the adoption ‘triangle,’ their voices and stories are the least heard. And yet, I am certain that they have also experienced trauma, separation, grief and loss, and judgment. We know that women throughout the world have been forced to ‘give up’ their children through coercion for generations (Australia, Brazil, etc). And their children were later adopted by families/individuals from other countries. Societies often judge unwed, single pregnant women who are then stigmatized and left with few options.
What to make of all of this? I will be judged by what I say and do. That’s life, and I can accept that, as painful as it may be. There are a lot of adoptees and other folks out there with some very strong voices and opinions about how things should be. What I won’t accept is bullying by others who believe that everyone should share the same attitude and carry out the same actions. That’s just unacceptable. Adoptees do not all share the same points of view. Similarly, adoptees, adoptive parents, and birthmothers have vastly different experiences. Sometimes what we see on the outside is not what’s on the inside. I realize that we may not always agree, but we can certainly respect one another and our own personal and matchless journeys. We can look for ways to inform others who have not walked in our shoes. I’m speaking as one adoptee to another – I hope to support you wherever you are in life and wherever life takes you. I do believe that collectively, we can make a difference.
Hello out there! I’m very happy to announce that you can now pre-order your copy of my new book, Beyond Two Worlds: A Taiwanese-American Adoptee’s Memoir & Search for Identity. Please spread the word and encourage your friends and family to purchase their book on the Beyond Two Worldswebsite. Just click on the “Shop” tab above, which will direct you to PayPal. All books purchased through my website will be signed and autographed.
About the Book:
Born in Taipei, Taiwan, Marijane was adopted by an American military family at four months old. She grew up in a middle class neighborhood where hers was the only Asian face amongst a majority of white.
Raised to believe she was Vietnamese and Japanese, she never doubted what her adoptive parents told her, until one day, she found her lost adoption papers. This discovery unloosed secrets that had been buried for decades, causing her to question her own identity and origins. With brave determination, Marijane set out on a journey to reconstruct her past and resurrect a birth heritage that had long been forsaken. Her journey took her halfway across the world to eventually reunite with her birth family.
Beyond Two Worlds is a poignant telling of one woman’s quest for identity and belonging despite insurmountable odds, and will be of help to those seeking connection to their original families.
I’m excited to share with you the cover of my first book, Beyond Two Worlds: A Taiwanese-American Adoptee’s Memoir & Search for Identity! We’re in production, and after reviewing the proof, my manuscript will go to print. We are looking at a summer release for Beyond Two Worlds! What a thrilling experience it’s been. I hope to hold book eventsin Arizona and California and especially look forward to reconnecting to friends in Arizona! The book will be available through Amazon and B & N online in hardcover, paperback, and e-book. I already have thoughts for a second book and look forward to developing those ideas further. More to come…
Greetings from sunny Long Beach, California! Hope you’re enjoying the holiday season. This morning, I wanted to share a very touching video posted by adoptee, Brent Silkey, who was born in S. Korea and adopted by an American family. Brent is currently searching for his birth mother. I saw the video below posted on an adoptee-only Facebook group page, Adoptees from Asia, and knew I had to post it here. The video has received around 136,000 views worldwide so far and close to 3,500 shares.
Brent’s birth mom and dad met through mutual friends and started dating. They enjoyed things like camping together with their friends. After their relationship ended, Brent’s birth mom found out she was pregnant. She had no way of getting in contact with his birth father. She came from a family that didn’t have a lot of financial means and dropped out of school after her second year of middle school (the US equivalent of 8th grade). Brent believes his birth mom helped her family cleaning homes, and she was the eldest of three girls. She lived with her father and father’s parents.
When Brent was born, his birth mom was just a teenager (19 years old in Korea, which is equivalent to 18 in America). He was a full-term baby and was placed for adoption immediately.
Brent expressed: I don’t know exactly why, but I would imagine that she wanted to give me the gift of life, but knew she would have been unable to take care of me with the other demands of her life and family.
I am SO thankful for her. I love her. I want to tell her how thankful I am for giving me the opportunity to be taken care of by such a wonderful foster family and then to be adopted by my parents in America. I have had such a blessed life and I want to give my birth mom a hug and thank her for being courageous enough to have me and to give me a great opportunity to have a wonderful life.
It is my dream to meet her in person, to share with her my life’s journey, and to tell her how my life has been forever changed by the love of God through Jesus Christ.
I would be incredibly honored to introduce her to my beautiful wife and two daughters (her granddaughters!!). We would do whatever we needed to in order to have the opportunity to meet her and to have relationship with her if she would allow us to.
I have only feelings of love, respect, and gratitude toward her.
I hope she has not carried around a sense of guilt or shame for the last 30 years. That is why I want to give her a hug.
I’ve been working with my adoption agency, but we continue to hit road blocks regarding the search.Her name is a very common name and “they don’t have the man power” to search for her.
I hope you’ll join me in supporting Brent and passing this video along. I’m certain that his birth mom never forgot him.
2016 is quickly coming to a close, and what a year it has been! We arrived in southern California late Friday afternoon where we’ll take up residence indefinitely 🙂 It’s rainy and cool in Seal Beach, not so typical So Cal weather, but the rain is much needed considering the drought. Our daughter was born in Anaheim, the home of Disneyland, but was raised primarily in Chandler, Arizona, where we lived for just over thirteen years. As we departed Phoenix, I thought about what we were leaving behind- somany positive and significant milestones were achieved while we lived in Arizona. I’ll miss Chandler very much, our friends and my old stomping grounds – Tumbleweed Recreation Center where I worked out with a very friendly and lovely group of women and fitness instructors, Pomegranate Cafe, my favorite vegan restaurant, Peixoto Coffee, where I enjoyed many a seasonal coffee special, and Chandler Whole Foods because the employees were so darn friendly. I’ll miss the less jammed freeways for sure. Change is scary, too. Moving to a new city and finding the right job and home is certainly anxiety provoking. We’re looking at homes in a region of So Cal that we’ve never lived before, but have close friends in nearby Los Alamitos. Home prices are outrageous. Nevertheless, the best part of our move is being closer to our daughter, who’s attending college here. As I’m writing this post, we’re eating cookie dough in bed and watching old episodes of Modern Family, one of our favorites!
The Faulkenberg Family
The last few weeks prior to leaving AZ were hugely chaotic. I was writing quite a bit and trying to organize our house for the moving crew. I’ve hardly had time to process our departure. I spent a weekend in Louisville/Middletown Kentucky where I visited with Carmen Faulkenberg Seitz, another adoptee from Taiwan. Carmen and her husband, Courtney, were beyond hospitable, and Kentucky was absolutely beautiful! The fall weather was gorgeous and a welcome change from Arizona’s warmer temps. Carmen and I had so much to share. There’s a connection between adoptees, and maybe even more so adoptees from the same country, that’s undeniable. I learned from Carmen that she was abandoned as a baby. She was taken in by a group of nuns at a Catholic organization, St. Benedict’s Home for Children, in Taipei, now a Catholic monastery. Carmen returned to Taiwan with her husband in 2008 and reconnected with the same nun who signed her adoption contract and helped facilitate her adoption. She was able to take a tour through the old orphanage, currently headquarters to the monastery. We were adopted from different orphanages in Taipei, but in one of my mom’s diaries, she wrote about visiting St. Benedict’s. I wondered if she had hoped to adopt a baby there. My parents adopted me from The Family Planning Association of China. Carmen’s date of birth is unknown, but was presumed to be around 1962. She was adopted in 1965 by Clarence and Janice Marie “Mickey” Faulkenburg, just a year before my adoption. Carmen found out from her father before he passed away that he and my father were close friends in Okinawa and made a verbal agreement making my adoptive parents Carmen’s godparents. Both our fathers served in World War II and at Kadena AFB in Okinawa where my parents lived when I was adopted.
It was heartbreaking to learn about the difficulties Carmen experienced as a young girl. Her adoptive mother was physically and emotionally abusive often leaving her and her younger brother, a biological son, alone for long periods of time while her father was serving overseas in Korea. She and her brother grew up in Indiana and would leave the house frequently unaccompanied wandering off into the city and asking strangers to take them back home. Carmen said she protected her brother as best she could and assumed care and responsibility for him. Carmen’s brother was never abused. Carmen felt unwanted by her adoptive mother and said she believed it was her father who wanted to adopt her. Unfortunately, Carmen’s history of abuse is not uncommon among intercountry adoptees. I hear stories from other adoptees I connect with who were abused by one or both of their adoptive parents. Carmen, despite such a difficult childhood, is one of the most uplifting and energetic people I’ve ever met.
Carmen and I both have many questions about our adoptions and how our adoptive families crossed paths. We wonder how our dads originally met and what their relationship was like. Did they work together, were they drinking buddies, why didn’t they keep in touch? My dad never mentioned Carmen’s father or any other friends he may have had during his service in the Air Force. Neither of our parents are living, so our questions will probably never be answered. In any case, I’m thrilled to have connected with Carmen and Courtney. We talked about how cool it would be to form a gathering for Taiwanese adoptees one day to connect and share stories. That would really be something.
So, here we are in California. Who knows what the future will bring. We continue to house hunt, hoping to find a home we like and can afford. I continue to send out new apps and resumes. We’ll be spending the holidays in temporary housing, but at least we’re here. I’ll finish writing my book, Beyond Two Worlds, by the end of the year. It’ll be submitted for publication by the end of January 2017 with a release date of Summer 2017. Lots of change on the horizon. It doesn’t feel quite real yet, that we’ve moved to California. It kinda feels like we’re vacationing as we’ve done so many times before in California. I’m sure in time, everything will fall into place as it should be. Until then, I’m gonna do my best to enjoy the ride.
Happy November! This is my absolute favorite time of the year. With the holidays fast approaching, things are amping up. Since my last post, we sold our house and are now in escrow. My husband and I will be moving to California on November 18th where our daughter is attending college. We’ll be renting for a while until we can buy a home somewhere in the Long Beach area.
Instead of packing and organizing for the move, I’ve spent the majority of my time writing. I mentioned in my last post that I’m working on a book, a memoir. I’m thrilled to announce that the title of my book is Beyond Two Worlds, so named after my website. My editor, Allyson, and I have explored a number of different titles for some weeks now, but decided on Beyond Two Worlds because of the special meaning behind the title. The title is symbolic of the difficulties and joys I’ve experienced in accepting who I am as a Taiwanese American adoptee and speaks to the complexity of navigating two cultures and identities, one of which I tried very hard to forget for many years. The story is of my adoption and search and reunion with my birthfamily in Taiwan, by far one of the most meaningful events of my life. Ironically, the reunion with my birthfamily occurred just around the Lunar New Year (or Chinese New Year) in 2012, and we’re shooting for submitting my manuscript to the publisher around the Lunar New Year next year (end of January 2017). The timing has great significance in more than one way. If everything goes as planned, we hope the book will be out by Summer 2017.
Writing this story has been very special. It began one morning when I was sitting at home, praying. Interestingly, I was feeling like a loser that morning- I had no job, I wasn’t doing anything of much importance, our daughter was off to college, it seemed as though our house would never sell- and I asked God, “what should I be doing?” I was suddenly overtaken with an urgency to start writing, and I haven’t stopped since. The words sprang to life. I believe strongly that this book is inspired by God and by the ties I have with my two sisters in Taiwan. I feel a connection to them that goes deeper than DNA. My sisters have inspired me beyond words. I began writing about five months ago, and I’m currently working on the final chapters.
There is much to do between now and the end of the year. Packing, organizing, moving, and finishing my book. I’ll be posting updates along the way and cannot wait to share my book with you!
I’s my favorite time of the year! I know that fall doesn’t really pick up for another month, especially in Arizona, but the mornings and evenings are gradually cooling off. And thank goodness. I’m about sick of triple digit weather.
I’m writing from beautiful Orange County, California, this morning. We’re here visiting our daughter, who just began her freshman year of college. Whoopee! Her 19th birthday is on the 10th, so of course, a celebration is in order. Those initial feelings of loss that first overwhelmed me have mostly subsided, and the new normal is beginning to feel – well, normal. That first week was rough though, I ain’t gonna lie. We’ve had our home in Arizona on the market for quite a few days in the hopes of moving back to California. Our daughter was born in Anaheim, and our family lived in Orange County for close to fourteen years. We want to be nearer to our daughter, but also talked of moving back to California to retire long before our daughter took off. In the past, we had considered settling in San Diego. Now seemed as good a time as any to make a move since we don’t have any other familial ties in Arizona. Alas, the housing market is dreadfully slow, and our dream of moving to the sunshine state is beginning to become just that. A dream. We spent the good part of yesterday looking at homes in Los Altos that were quite out of our budget. It’s California, though, and no surprise, everything is overinflated. After driving five hours, house hunting was kind of a drag and exhausting. I’m not sure if the house hunting itself or the tension was more exhausting.
Autumn brings new things to hope for, however. In early November, I’m heading to Kentucky. Never been to the great state of Kentucky and am greatly looking forward to it. It’s sure to be an especially memorable trip, as I’m meeting another Taiwanese adoptee who was adopted in Taipei from from another orphanage, St. Benedict’s. We have so much to talk about! Carmen’s adoptive parents were friends of my parents in Okinawa where both our fathers were stationed. Our families lived at Kadena Air Force base. Apparently, our parents had close ties, and my parents were Carmen’s godparents. I found Carmen’s adoption papers among the items in an old box that contained my original adoption contract. Carmen and her family once visited us in Louisiana when we were very young children. I must have been around kindergarten, or possibly pre-school age at that time. It’s really hard to remember. I set out to find Carmen almost five years ago and finally located her via her adoptive brother on Facebook. Since then, we’ve kept in touch through social media and by phone. I can’t wait to meet her and her husband in person!
Last week, I also spoke to another Taiwanese adoptee by phone, Michael. Michael lives on the East coast and was adopted from the same orphanage where my parents adopted me, The Family Planning Association of China in Taipei. A close relation to Michael found my blog and introduced us via email several years ago. I contacted Michael recently to talk and exchange stories about our adoptions. Michael traced his ancestry through 23andMe, an organization that provides DNA testing and analysis. He has a Taiwanese sister who was also adopted from the same orphanage and presently lives in England with her family. Their adoptive father was similarly in the U.S. Air Force. Michael, Carmen, and I were all adopted within years of one another. I would really like to build a yearly conference for Taiwanese adoptees one day, kind of like KAAN. It would take a team of folks to make that a reality, but it’s not impossible.
Lastly, I’m writing a book, a memoir of sorts, about my reunion with my birth family in Taipei. I’ve been working with an editor, formerly of Sage Publications, and am extremely excited about this project. It’s been a roller coaster of emotions as I’ve reached back into my memory, heart, past blog posts, and journal to recapture those years of searching, and ultimately, the reunion with my birth family in Taipei. My editor, Allyson, collaborates independently with writers who wish to self-publish and is considering making this a full-time occupation. She worked at Sage Publications for many years before deciding to leave her busy career there to focus on raising her family. My first draft is tentatively scheduled for completion by year’s end. Much of my time lately has been spent writing in between completing job applications, writing cover letters, and sending resumes to multiple agencies in California (no luck yet). It’s nice to have so much time to write, although this time will become much more limited once I start working again. I’ve completed roughly seventeen chapters thus far; however, there is much to be refined. No publication date set, but sometime in 2017. I’ll keep you posted!
I’m signing off to hang with our friends, the Pokorny’s, who generously allow us to stay in their home every time we visit California. Then off to pick up our daughter for a birthday shopping spree. Maybe staying in Arizona isn’t such a bad thing after all. It’s been very disappointing that our house hasn’t sold, but perhaps there is yet a better plan that we’re unaware of to be revealed.
I enjoy meeting and talking with other international and transracial adoptees. That we are adopted persons gives us a social identity that is unique. The environmental contexts in which we grow up are doubtless very different, and our adoption journeys are unique; however, when I talk to other internationally adopted persons, there’s a connection. It’s like, he or she gets me. We get each other.
Towards the end of my last semester of grad school, I learned that the student who sat right across from me in my Advanced Practice class was also an adoptee. She was adopted from Korea and grew up in Michigan. She is some twenty years younger, yet I immediately felt that kinship with her. We met for coffee one afternoon after class to commiserate over school and swapped stories about adoption. We laughed about stereotyping and how we have managed to live in a predominantly white world. It felt good to connect with another adoptee who also happens to be a social worker!
Earlier this month, I met with another adoptee, a friend. She, too, was adopted from Korea. We met for lunch at a Vietnamese sandwich shop to catch up. During our conversation, she asked me about my feelings towards international adoption after having completed my thesis and if I had an interest in working in international adoption. It is such a difficult question to answer, and I don’t think that I have a definitive one. We talked about our conflicted feelings towards international adoption. On the one hand, orphans need permanency and loving families. On the other hand, the complexities of international adoption are significant, and there is a great need for others to be educated. There is still so much to learn about international adoption, how it impacts the psychosocial development of adoptees, and how to help prepare and support adoptive parents, as well as adoptees – not that any parent regardless of adoptive status or not could ever be fully prepared for parenthood. But there are ways to better educate the general public and adoptive families and to offer a more realistic picture of this process.
My journey through adoption continues to evolve. Although I have experienced incredible personal growth through the years, I’m not sure that I could work in international adoption, at least not in the capacity of a caseworker. I’m sure that my own personal challenges as an adoptee have much to do with these conflicted feelings. I can help educate adoptive families, provide cultural training and support, try to impact international adoption policy, but don’t think I could manage the actual adoption process. I have several friends who have adopted children internationally, and I always think in the back of my mind that international adoption is a business. I would support greater efforts to prevent the need for adoption altogether…preventive services and services to keep families together.
While we were sitting and conversing, an older white gentleman walked over to us and interrupted our conversation to ask if either of us knew of a good Asian salon where he could get his hair cut. He told us that most of the Asian women he encounters don’t speak very good English and upon hearing our conversation and ability to speak “good” English, felt like we could point him in the right direction. I felt completely annoyed. I told the man that I did not know of any Asian salons as did my friend. The look on his face was one of complete shock. It told me that he assumed we knew the right salon to direct him to. We did not tell the man that we were both adopted and knew as much about Asian salons as the man in the moon. Instead, we watched him walk away, perplexed, and returned to our conversation. I could not shake off how ruffled I felt. Although this man was completely unaware, he had committed a microaggression that was just plain annoying.
I’m glad to have visited with my friend. It was encouraging to hang out with another adoptee, someone who has walked in “my shoes” in many ways. I didn’t ask her if she felt as annoyed as I did by the man who asked us about a hair salon. She seemed to brush it off and was so polite. I took her lead and decided to be polite, too, despite my feelings.
When I was growing up in Louisiana, one of the questions I was most often asked by others upon learning that I was adopted was, “so who are your ‘real’ parents?” It was fairly obvious that I was adopted, as I looked nothing like my white parents. I had straight black hair, almond shaped eyes, and skin the color of my dad’s morning cup of coffee. I was usually annoyed by the question each and every time it was asked. My typical response was, “well my parents are my real parents.” My adoptive parents were the only parents I knew. The only parents I would ever know. I have no doubt that other adoptees encounter the same question and perhaps feel the same sense of annoyance.
What baffles me is that I was never curious about my birthparents or place of birth until about two years ago after finding my adoption papers, 40 years after my adoption. This ambivalence was perpetuated by the secrecy surrounding adoption at the time. My adoptive parents never ever talked about my birth heritage or birth family. Hell, I had never even heard the term, “birthfamily.” When I was placed for adoption, it was the beginning of the end of any connection to my birth country, to my birthfamily, to my cultural roots. After my adoption, all cultural ties were severed. I would never know that my birthparents were from China, but forced to leave the country and build a new life in Taiwan, that I had two older biological sisters and an older biological brother. I believe that my adoptive parents did everything possible to keep my past hidden from me, and for years, it would remain so. Then one day, the truth came out, or at least part of it. And when it did, it was the beginning of a new chapter in my life.
This afternoon, I went with some friends who are visiting from California to see a movie, “Philomena,” starring Judi Dench and Steve Coogan. It was a heartbreaking movie, although there was some humor between the characters that lightened things up. It is based on the true story of Philomena Lee, an Irish woman who, as a teenager, had a romantic fling with a boy at a carnival and became pregnant. Rejected by her own family, she is sent to a convent where she gives birth to a son, Anthony, and is forced to work with other young girls in order to work off the penance of their “sins.” The girls are allowed to see their children for only one hour a day. What is even more tragic is one day, Philomena watches helplessly as her three-year-old boy is taken away by a rich American couple without as much as a goodbye. The convent was in the business of selling babies to wealthy Americans and having the young mother’s sign contracts that they could never seek the whereabouts of their children. This abominable practice is historical, unfortunately. Fifty years later, Philomena is still tormented by the loss of her son and the desire to find him. She unwittingly connects with dejected political journalist, Martin Sixsmith, portrayed by Steve Coogan, who agrees to help her find her son, primarily for the tabloid possibilities of a human interest story. What follows is a tender story of loss, reconciliation, forgiveness, and ultimately acceptance.
I know some adoptees hated this film, but it really resonated with me, despite the creative license that was taken to make it more dramatic. The story of deep loss and grief was what hit me. The depiction of such a tremendous loss experienced by a woman whose child was taken away from her was so real. I felt the loss as if it were my own. So often adoption is portrayed as a happy event, yet rarely do we see the other side of adoption from the perspective of the birth mother who is forced to relinquish her child. One of the most memorable lines comes when Philomena decides to go to America with Martin Sixsmith in hopes of finding her son. Philomena says, “I’d like to know if Anthony ever thought of me…I’ve thought of him everyday.”
Since learning about my birthparents in Taiwan, I’ve often wondered if my birth mother ever thought of me. How can it not be so? Philomena answered this question for me. The separation between a mother who is forced to give up her child and the child who is relinquished causes a wound that is easily re-opened again and again. I will never know my birth mother. She and my biological father died before I had the chance to meet them. I have often wondered about her, like what her favorite color was, what kind of music she liked, what kind of personality she had, was she happy, did we bond at all while I was still with her? I was told by my sisters in Taiwan that she was a teacher, she enjoyed learning and classical music. Unbeknownst to her, my birth father, took me to the orphanage and relinquished me without her consent. I often wonder how it all happened, if he felt anything at all when leaving me at the orphanage to languish. My sisters tell me that our mother never talked about what happened, but it deeply affected her, emotionally and psychologically. When we met for the first time in Taipei, they gave me photos of our mother and father. I felt that there was such sadness behind my birth mother’s eyes.
Philomena eventually learns that the life her son attains after his adoption is much more affluent than anything she could have ever provided for him. She recognizes this fact and is happy that he grew up having opportunities that he would not have had otherwise. This is the reason why many adoptees are placed for adoption, including me. It’s quite the phenomenon when you are given everything you could possibly need and want, yet still feel a hole somewhere deep inside you, like there is a part of you that’s missing. It’s still there to this day. I’ve learned to accept it, or perhaps even ignore it so I can deal with life.
I think that many adoptees wonder why they were given up or abandoned. Questions like, “was it because I was unwanted, was it forced, was I ever thought of afterwards?” are not uncommon. Unfortunately, many adoptees will never know the answers because of a lack of documentation, abandonment or falsification of records. Finding my birthfamily brought me one step closer to the truth and to answering some of those questions. Yet, the whole truth is still so elusive. I will always have questions about my birthparents and my birthfamily. Answers are not so easy to come by.
In the movie, Martin Sixsmith quotes T.S. Eliot toward the end of Philomena’s journey,
“The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”
I thought how very apt this quote was. Philemona started her journey at the convent and, in the end, returns to it. My journey began in an orphanage in Taiwan. Two years ago, I returned to the city of my birth to be reunited with my birth/first family. I arrived at the place where it all started, yet only just began to know the place for the first time. Though I will never be able to meet my birth mother, I believe that she thought about me. There is no longer any doubt in my mind.
I’ve been in Taipei just shy of one week now. So much has happened in the past 5 days. As much as I’ve wanted to keep a daily journal, I’ve just been too tired and busy to keep up. It’s a good kind of tired and busy though. Below is a recap of my first day in Taiwan.
The journey to Taiwan begins on Saturday, January 15th. I feel amped up and nervous about leaving my family behind, but once I get to the Seattle airport, I feel a bit more calm. I Skype my husband and daughter, and they seem fine. Around 10:30 pm, I notice a woman who looks like Tien arrive at the gate and immediately go to introduce myself. She’s the miracle worker (with the most effervescent personality) who has been instrumental in helping me find my birth family in Taiwan. We arrange to have seats near each other and get acquainted while waiting to board the plane. At last, boarding begins, and we make our way up to the top deck. I’m glad that Tien is here and that we’re traveling together. It’s around 1:00 am. Once airborne, the flight attendants start a meal service, not a snack, but a full on meal. Really, at 1:30 am? I’m not really hungry, but I eat anyway. It doesn’t take long for everyone to start snoozing. I sleep for most of the flight. Although it’s a 13-hour trip, time seems to pass quickly to my amazement. Another meal is served about 2-hours before we are to land. What bizarre times to eat! The Taiwanese woman sitting next to me strikes up a conversation and from then on doesn’t stop! She is giving me all kinds of advice about Taiwan after I explain to her why I’m visiting. She is leaning in towards me as close as she possibly can without bumping my head and continues to poke my sore left arm where I recently got a tetanus shot. I try to lean away the other way. She and her husband are very nice, but I’m glad when the flight attendants announce that we’re preparing for landing, a welcome distraction. The air turbulence doesn’t even bother me as we begin our bumpy descent toward Taipei. I can’t help but grin as we get closer to our destination; the anticipation of meeting my sisters growing. I gaze out the airplane window at Taipei City below. A thousand tiny specks of light illuminate the curvy highways below.
Finally, we touch ground; it’s around 6:30 am Taiwan time. I want to shout a really loud yahoo, but decide to keep it to myself. We wait impatiently for the plane to come to a complete stop at the gate. Once the signal is given, I gather my stuff and make my way into the crowded aisle. I feel like I’ve been stuffed into a can for the past 24 hours, and it’s nice to stand up. Tien tells me to go ahead of her, as she has to wait to get her carry on. We trudge off the plane and head straight to the money exchange window, fill out arrival cards and wait in the queue for the next available representative. Everything goes quickly and smoothly, and to my surprise, I don’t feel a bit tired. Next, downstairs to baggage claim and to meet my sisters! As we near the airport lobby, I immediately recognize my older sister. She and my 2nd sister are holding a white banner with big blue letters saying, “Welcome, Marijane.” I hurry over as fast as I can despite being weighed down by a set of heavy luggage and give each one a big hug. Our smiles are big enough to light up the entire city of Taipei. Tien and my sisters introduce themselves and exchange conversation, and I get caught up in the chatter of Mandarin and laughter. My older sister shows me pictures of our mother and pa-they’re mine to keep. She has also made a CD of pictures of our pa in his later years and gives this to me. I study my sisters’ faces. They both look so much alike, but do I look like either of them? My second sister tells the other something in Mandarin, and my older sister says to me, “she thinks you resemble our mother.” But after seeing both of our parents’ pictures, I think I look more like our pa in his younger days; same eyes and nose. Wow. Now I finally know what my biological parents look like. Soon, my older sister begins to take photos. I can’t seem to find my camera, but she reassures me that she’ll send me all of her pictures. I’m told that our brother is not physically well and will not join us until the dinner with the whole family on lunar Chinese New Year, January 22nd. I immediately notice the affection between my two sisters; they’re only one year apart in age. Now they have extended their affection toward me, little sister by 10 years. I’m amazed at how warm and welcoming they are, as though we’ve known each other our whole lives.
After a half hour or so of talking together, we decide it’s time to head for my hotel, about an hour’s drive away. My oldest sister first gives me a hand phone in a cute little red case and a diamond studded handle complete with charger for me to keep during my visit. She puts it inside another little case for safe keeping. They have thought everything through and are so organized! Older sister explains how to use it and makes sure that I know which number is hers and my other sister’s. She takes charge and both sisters wheel my luggage outside toward a long line of other people waiting for taxis. They banter back and forth in Mandarin. Once a taxi becomes available, we climb in and my sisters encourage me to close my eyes and rest. I’m too caught up in the moment to go to sleep though. So we talk most of the ride to the hotel. Once we arrive, my sisters help me check in, and we head upstairs to my room. They shower me with gifts, pineapple cakes packaged beautifully, a thermos, an umbrella, and a small knife for cutting up fruit. They insist on making sure I get some rest and leave shortly thereafter only to return to hand me some cash. They don’t take no for an answer either!
At 6 pm, they come by to take me to dinner, a nice Chinese restaurant not far from the hotel. They come bearing more gifts, fruit and specialty cookies famous in Taiwan, which the bell person offers to take to my room. We get into another taxi and head to the restaurant. After a quick drive through the crowded downtown streets, which continually abound with taxis, cars, and motorcycles, we arrive at the restaurant and are ushered upstairs to dine. My 2nd sister orders for us, and we talk about how my search for them first began. The food arrives quickly, one course after another, and is very delicious. Suddenly I feel like I’m 10-years old again as my sisters see to it to keep adding more food to my plate once it appears near empty. I’m stuffed by the time dinner is over. After dinner, we go back to the hotel room, and I show them the photo album that I put together of my adoptive family.They ooh and ah over my baby pictures, and my oldest sister comments on how alike both my adoptive father and our pa look. I totally agree!
It’s been an amazing day, and again I don’t feel the least bit tired. Maybe it’ll hit later on. It’s very surreal to be here in Taiwan, to have finally met the 2 sisters who looked after me at the babysitters after school. They were only 10 and 9 years old when I was born. Both tell me that they used to hold me when visiting the babysitters’. Interestingly, while we are looking at the photo album, my oldest sister recognizes a woman holding me in some of the pictures; it is the babysitter! How very amazing – another piece of the puzzle fits into place. My sisters do not overstay so that I can get some rest. Tomorrow there will be 2 interviews with 2 different newspaper reporters who are interested in our reunion story. My sisters decide not to be in the interview in order to protect their privacy. Before I even arrive, both have been contacted by the news reporters and are quite shocked. I respect their wishes. Tien will be there to translate. Oh, what a day it’s been, a joyous reunion to remember! My sister’s have made a schedule for our time together. It will be like trying to cram in a lifetime’s worth of being apart into 2 short weeks. It’s all an adventure!
As we close 2011, I am ecstatic that the search for my birth family has finally ended in actually finding them. It was in November 2009 that I first began the search. I had gone to see journalist, Mei-Ling Hopgood, author of “Lucky Girl” on November 1, 2009, where she was giving a book signing at the Phoenix Public Library. She was also adopted from Taiwan by a white-American couple and reunited with her birth family at the age of 23. Her book inspired me to forge ahead with my own search and gave me hope that perhaps it was possible to find my birth family. I was referred to Tien, a social worker, around that time by an adoptive mother from FCC (Families of Children from China), and from there the rest is history. I have saved nearly all of my correspondences with Tien and other people who were referred to me over the past couple of years in the hopes of one day, creating a timeline.
The best part of 2011 is now being able to correspond with my oldest sister. I received the first email from her this past Wednesday morning before work. I was overjoyed. My sister’s English is really good, much better than my Mandarin. She told me a little about my older brother and other sister and that they each have grown children. She also said that when they were little, they were good at painting and music. We all share some artistic abilities! We continued to email each other up through Friday. With each email I learned a little more about my birth parents and the circumstances that led to my adoption. My sister tells me that I resemble our mother and that our father was quite handsome. I’ve always wondered if I looked like any of my sisters or birth parents. I so look forward to meeting all of them soon.
I’m happy that this evening, we are joining some friends to celebrate New Year’s. Our friends adopted a little girl at 15 months from China nearly 3 years ago. They were at our home on Christmas Eve and were some of the first people to hear the news that Tien had made contact with my oldest sister in Taipei. All of this seems surreal, and yet I know that I’ll be in Taiwan soon. It’s been difficult to concentrate at work because I’m preoccupied with all the emotions of at long last finding my biological siblings. I’m on cloud nine.
My Mandarin tutor taught me a new word today: Wǒmen yǒuyuán (我们有缘). It means “have fate” or “we are destined.” My sisters, brother, and I are fortunate to have good fate, the kind that brings people together. I feel so lucky to celebrate New Year’s here with good friends and onward to celebrate Chinese New Year with my birthfamily in Taiwan.
It’s Christmas Eve. We have guests staying with us from out of town, and this evening we have a houseful of friends and kids over for dinner. The day has been full of catching up with old friends and running around here and there. Now, our kitchen is a buzz of conversation and laughter as everyone mingles together and loads their plates full of holiday fixings. In all honesty, I begin to feel a little overwhelmed by the houseful of people and noise and decide to steal upstairs for a few minutes of quiet. I log onto my computer to check my emails. Earlier today, I sent Tien an email to wish her a merry Christmas. Tien has been helping me with the search for my birth family. I’m happy to find an email from her in return. Her email begins, I have the greatest Christmas gift for you. As I continue reading, she tells me she has received an email from my oldest sister in Taiwan! I can hardly believe it! “You have two older sisters and one older brother,” Tien tells me. She has corresponded with my sister and has told her that we’ll be in Taipei in January. Tien includes my sister’s email response to her. She tells Tien that she just received letters from the Household Registration Office today learning of my search for her and my other siblings. She writes,
“To my greatest pleasure that my youngest sister(黃筱玲) is now very well in USA. and she will visit Taiwan early next year.
Though we family members missed for almost half century, like a broken kite line. Thank God, we finally find each other in our life time. Isn’t it a miracle?”
I’m in tears and cannot believe that we have found my sister! She mentions that she will tell my brother and other sister about me and my trip to Taiwan. From her email, it appears that she speaks and writes in English, unless Tien translated her email, but I don’t think so. I run downstairs to share the news with our friends and my own family. I’m so happy that my sister wants to meet me! They remember me! I feel the same way she does, thank God that we have finally found each other in our life time. It is truly a miracle.
Without Tien’s help, none of this would be possible. She wasn’t kidding when she said she had a great Christmas gift. Tien has been a miracle worker, and God has truly answered my prayers. I thank all of you who have also sent up prayers!
I send my sister an email back directly, as she included her email and home and hand phone numbers. I wonder how I should begin, how to introduce myself. Finally I just begin by telling her, “I’m your youngest sister” and that Tien has sent word to me that she’s contacted her. I tell her a little bit about myself and family and how happy I am that she wants to reunite. I hope that my email sounds okay and appropriate.
My sister ends her email to Tien with this,
“…And I think we all are happy for the greatest gift of God, our reunion” and sent Christmas wishes to us all. It is the greatest gift of God to have the opportunity to finally reunite with my birth family. I’m still soaking in the news, full of anticipation. I will be able to meet them soon. I’m amazed at how everything is falling into place. Our goal to contact my sister before leaving for Taiwan has happened! Though I was prepared to go to Taiwan with no news about my birthfamily, as I bought my airline ticket blindly, I’m grateful that it did not come to that. It’s nothing short of a Christmas miracle.
This is my favorite time of the year. The cooler weather, the Christmas carols, the food, family, friendships, holiday shopping; the holiday spirit is upon us. Getting caught up in the holiday spirit, I thought I’d change the look of my blog. It all started yesterday when we put up our Christmas tree and decorated the house. Today, I just happen to be home with a sick kiddo who is suddenly feeling well enough to bake a pumpkin pie. The house is beginning to smell like a bakery. It’s actually nice to be home, to slow down a bit and reflect. I realize that I have so many things to be grateful for.
As we move into the busy holiday season, I want to take a moment to thank all of you who have followed my blog, left comments, or just stopped by to visit this virtual space. When I started this blog nearly two years ago, I had no idea where it would all go. Likewise, when I first began the search for my birthfamily in 2009, I didn’t know what to expect. I was almost afraid to expect anything because I had so little information to go on. What I have discovered has gone beyond any of my expectations. I’ve learned more about both my adoptive parents, especially my dad and his service in the U.S. Army Air Corp. I’ve learned some about my birth parents, and unfortunately, both have passed on. I have had my adoption contract translated. Not only have I been able to write about my adoption experience, but I found a connection to all of you. I am so grateful to have found others who have themselves been adopted, or are adoptive parents. I sincerely appreciate your encouraging comments and support as I continue the search in hopes of connecting to my biological sisters. I travel to Taiwan next January. And still, we wait to hear something. Nevertheless, it always brightens my day to connect with others who also have a story to tell. It’s great to be a part of an adoption community. I anticipate one day meeting one of my biological sisters. Now that we have something to go on (an address in Taiwan), I feel that perhaps it is possible to find someone still living from my birthfamily, and I hope to share this ongoing journey with all of you.
I’m excited to share with you the cover of my first book, Beyond Two Worlds: A Taiwanese-American Adoptee’s Memoir & Search for Identity! We’re in production, and after reviewing the proof, my manuscript will go to print. We are looking at a summer release for Beyond Two Worlds! What a thrilling experience it’s been. I hope to hold book events in Arizona and California and especially look forward to reconnecting to friends in Arizona! The book will be available through Amazon and B & N online in hardcover, paperback, and e-book. I already have thoughts for a second book and look forward to developing those ideas further. More to come…
Musings of a Taiwanese American Adoptee 