Motherland, Day 11: A homecoming, part 2

This morning I felt so connected, grounded, hungry to spend more time in Hualien. This afternoon, I couldn't wait to leave. Despite my desire to stay this morning, this evening, I feel homesick. I yearn for the comfort of my husband's arms, my daughter's voice. I yearn for the home I have made, an ocean away from the island where I was born. I yearn to belong somewhere, and I just don't feel it here.

No news from the intermediary, which is disappointing. I guess over the past few days, as I thought about how I might respond to the opportunity to meet a biological relative, I started to think it could be possible. I needed to envision it in order to prepare for it, to gain the nerve to say "yes" when my brain is screaming "no!" I can't afford to have any regrets after this trip. I don't know when or if I will be able to return.

Today, I crossed a rope bridge between two sides of Taroko Gorge. It was the scariest thing I've ever done! Adrenalin kicked in, I focused only on making it to the other side. On the way back, I paused to try to take in the view. I wish I had not left my camera on the bus. I hope I never forget that feeling of accomplishment.

No regrets. No regrets. No regrets.

Motherland, Day 10: A homecoming

Words cannot describe the beauty on the coast of my birth place, Hualien. As I type, it is 6 a.m. of Day 11, and the sun is beginning to rise. The ocean's tide, ever consistent, is calming. To my left, shadows of mountains are beginning to emerge. Below them, city lights twinkle. Several photographers are already positioned on the beach. We are all waiting for the sun to illuminate the clouds that rest upon the sea.

I am in awe. I wish to never leave. I cannot stop wondering what might have been.

A buoy flashes. Two walkers pass by. In the distance, trucks are waking up. The horizon begin to pink.

6:15: The ocean is gleaming. A rolling, shimmery skin. Waves roll in, cresting blue-green before crashing to the beach in a white foam. A black, wolfish-looking dog trots by.

What could have been, had I never left Hualien? Would I be working the graveyard shift at the Family Mart, selling vodka juice to American tourists on a Monday night? Would I be serving clam soup in a lonely seaside restaurant? Could I have attended Tung-Wa University just north of the city, a quiet haven with palm trees and mountain views? Could I have become a writer? A wife? A mother? Would I have escaped to Taipei, or ventured beyond Taiwan's shores?

A spry elder walks by, slightly bowlegged, but moving at a brisk pace. Could he be my Taiwanese grandfather?

6:30: The mountains stand proud, firm, unmoving, while the ocean rolls below. It shimmers green against the blue-black mountains; shines blue when contrasted with the lush green of the landscape. Another old man trudges by me with a bicycle. Perhaps he is my grandfather. Or great-uncle. Or really, just a stranger in this land as I am.

7 a.m. The top of the mountain is illuminated, hugged by a wispy cloud. The sun's rays beam through a break in the clouds to the east. Fishing boats make their way to their nets. A bulldozer drops a small boat on the sand - it looks like a raft with curved edges. Is it my imagination, or do the waves crest higher? Rolling, crashing, rolling, foaming. The beauty here is indescribable. As is the loss.

My eyes are hungry. My head is full. The rocks in my pocket are as heavy as my heart, knowing I must depart. Again.

Motherland, Day 6: Solace in solitude

I've been trying to figure out why I react the way I do to learning information I have actively sought out. Yesterday, sitting in the adoption information center's waiting room trying to absorb all the new information, I felt a mix of numbness and sadness. This morning I cried in the shower.

Some have compared the adoption emotional journey as one of grief and loss. Just yesterday I asked someone, "How do you grieve what you don't know?" And this morning it hit me. Every piece of the puzzle that I find -- every detail I didn't know that I now know -- is one I must grieve. Learning of new, or more vividly described, family members makes me wonder what might have been. It makes the loss of family and culture more acute. It makes me sad to think of people with whom I will probably never have a relationship. Uncles Miss M may never know. Grandparents I never knew.

Understanding how I feel is also what prevents me from pulling out all the stops to find these family members. Just as I grieve to learn of them, surely learning of me could cause them some sadness. Or maybe not. Maybe they will assume I am so lucky, they did me a favor, I should be grateful, or -- worse -- I owe them. Yet another reason to be cautious in my search. I have a family of my own to protect.

Motherland, Day 5: Thankful and thought-full

Today was intense.

It started with a provoking process session that focused around inequity and privilege and the guilt that some of us feel about it. It is clear in Taiwan that many (but not all!) people idealize, and even idolize, America. For example, the field of counseling psychology in Taiwan is modeled after American programs and studies. "Indigenous" research is an emerging area. It is important to build a body of research that reflects Taiwan's cultural perspective.

Another example: I stopped in a night market shop this evening that looked cheaper than a dollar general but had American clothes: AE, random university-branded attire, etc. I saw a pair of infant Jumping Beans sweatpants for the equivalent of $8 USD, twice what they would cost at Kohls! And all of the attire looked like rejects from a 75% off sales bin.

For me, while I can say that I understand I am privileged, I don't always know if I feel or believe it, because I never felt privileged growing up. However, when I am here, I cannot disregard or be ignorant of the fact that many Taiwanese perceive me as coming from a place of privilege. So for me to complain about my struggles may seem ungrateful.

After process time, I listened to a presentation from a professor on gender issues and career counseling. The most interesting part was that she shared her personal experience building a career, becoming a mother and juggling work and life. While I admire her accomplishments, maybe even envy her a bit, I couldn't overlook the sacrifices that she and her family have made because of her career. Her husband worked two hours away for awhile, leaving her in Taipei with two sons. She also spent two years in the U.S. with her sons, while her husband remained in Taiwan. Yes, it was hard for her, but I couldn't help wondering how it affected her sons to be without a father for so long ... and how her husband felt about it.

After lunch, I met my two new Taiwanese friends, and they accompanied me to the Child and Juvenile Adoption Information Center. At first, it seemed like the intermediary didn't have any new information. But then it all started tumbling out. It's crazy how small details -- like my birth mother's birth date -- can fill in blanks in my history, such as how old she was when she had me. I need to time absorb all the new information, but it includes learning I have not one, but two half brothers.

There was also more today: the reflexologist and dinner at a place famous for beef noodles. All good stuff, but my head is full, and I need to just think awhile. I will try to write about the other stuff tomorrow.

My final thought is one of gratitude for the new Taiwanese friends I have met. It helps me feel connected, even though I don't quite fit in. I hope one day to be able to repay their kindness and generosity.

Child and Juvenile Adoption Center

Retail therapy

Comfort food: Beef noodle soup. 

To Whom It May Concern

For as long as I can remember, I have wondered where I came from. My olive skin, almond eyes and black hair never quite fit in — whether at home with my Caucasian adoptive family, or at my rural (read: white) elementary school. That sense of not belonging followed me into my teenage years. I will never forget the man who told me, as I rang up his groceries, “Your people are such hard workers.” It was a harsh reminder that, despite my American citizenship, some people would never see me as one of “theirs.” The irony, of course, is that neither he nor I actually knew who “my people” were.

Over the years, I’ve attempted to sate my appetite for answers through primarily academic methods. I took a History of China course in college. On my own, I’ve read books about the history of Taiwan. I subscribe to a monthly electronic newsletter from the Taiwanese government, and to another from the Evan B. Donaldson Adoption Institute. I’ve followed twin studies (most recently the cover story of National Geographic) that examine the forces of nature and nurture. I’ve purchased adoption-related memoirs and watched documentaries about the subject. A trained journalist, I’ve interviewed and told the stories of other adoptees.

But the more knowledge I gain — about adoption, about my country of origin, about the political and economic forces that likely contributed to my being sent to a foreign country at a mere 3 months of age — the more questions I have.

Last year, I gave birth to a daughter. She filled a void I couldn't articulate prior to that day. For 30 years, I lived with an absence of a history, of roots, of a biological connection to any other human being. Realizing my daughter has my hands, for example, was a profound experience. Her palms, her knuckles, her fingernails … they're just like mine. She scrunches her eyebrows like me. She is goofy and opinionated like me.

I know my daughter is different from me in at least as many ways as she is similar, and yet it amazes me to see myself in her — traits I now realize I inherited, not learned.

And that brings me to my current quest. To learn from whom we inherited our hands, our eyebrows, our personalities. To discover the boundaries of nature and nurture. To understand, truly, what circumstances brought me to here, to be raised by people with whom I never quite meshed.

There are more practical reasons, as well. The lack of a family history creates a hole in the medical records of not only me, but also my daughter. What genetic landmines lurk around the corner?

I have been in touch with Taiwan’s Child and Juvenile Adoption Center, created in 2005 to assist adoptees in finding answers. Unfortunately, I have not yet been able to provide them enough detail to initiate a search for information overseas.

Prior requests for my adoption paperwork have been unsuccessful. My adoptive mother told me, “It’s all Chinese. You couldn’t read it anyway.” The orphanage that facilitated my adoption is more concerned with my spiritual salvation. I would prefer not to have to contact them again. The lawyer who served as my guardian ad litem said the records were lost due to water damage. (I pray he was referring to his own records; not this court’s.)

This letter serves as a formal request for the release of nonidentifying and identifying information, to the extent permitted by law. An original birth certificate with Chinese names would greatly assist the effort by the government office in Taiwan.

Thank you for your consideration.

10 reasons to not get pregnant again

I used to think women who had children close in age were crazy. Until I had Miss M, in all of her perfect-ness, and immediately felt a desire for another. What could be better than Miss M? Two of her, of course!

Lately, that urge has become so strong, it's all I can think about. So in an effort to restore my sanity, here is a list of all the reasons I should NOT have another baby right now.

1) Poop. Let's just say it's nice to be regular again.

2) Bridesmaid dresses. One of my dearest friends has asked me to stand up with her next fall, and it would be nice to fit into a normal-sized dress. (Because her wedding is all about me, of course.)

3) Fun with friends. It would be more fun if I was neither nursing nor pregnant for any of the four weddings being planned for next year. And I could throw myself one helluva 30th birthday bash. (Who cares if it's two years late!)

4) Sex. It's nice to want it again. I'm sure my husband agrees.

5) My dear Miss M. I want to treasure every moment with her. A new baby would be a distraction.

6) Morning sickness. Momnesia has successfully dulled my memory of this, but blog entries attest to what was apparently a miserable first half of my pregnancy.

7) Pregnancy brain.

8) Waking up six times a night to pee.

9) My already aching back.

10) Post-partum recovery.

What am I forgetting?

Fathers, be good to your daughters

"Any man can be a father. But it takes a special man to be a dad." So read the plaque on my father's dresser. Ironic, considering we have been estranged for nearly 15 years. By my choice, not his. Recently divorced, he reached out to me via my sister, the only member of my adoptive family with whom I have stayed in contact. She reluctantly informed me that he requested my presence at a family dinner for father's day.

My initial reaction was to think of as many excuses as I could to justify not going. For one, this is my husband's first father's day, and I intend to make the day about him. I'm in a good place, I have my own family now, and I want -- need -- to protect that. Then there's the the impossibility of showing up and pretending like I grew up in a "normal" loving family. And the fact that I have no desire to have a relationship with anyone from my adoptive family, including him.

Then, the more I tried to justify my feelings, I got angry. Why, after 15 years, do I still feel like I have to justify my decision to define family as the people with whom I choose to surround myself? And who does he think he is, asking me to recognize him on -- of all the holidays -- father's day? Suddenly, I am 16 years old again and seething with angst.

The day I moved out of my parents' house was the day my father pinned me to the dining room floor and hit me repeatedly. It wasn't the first time things got physical, but it was the last (at least with him. I wish I could say he was the last man who ever hit me, but that's another story for another time). There is no way to justify how something so stupid as a radio playing in the morning escalated to that. My mother picked the fight, there were heated words, and suddenly my dad got involved. It shouldn't have been a big deal, but that was just one of many incidents over years of feeling marginalized within my own family. The irony is that it was my mother who initiated most of the abuse. But it was my father who refused to stand up for me. Refused to protect me. And occasionally became the aggressor himself.

Both mothers and fathers are supposed to love their children unconditionally. But fathers, especially, have a responsibility to protect their children. To stand up for their children and themselves. To show their daughters what a real man is made of, so that their daughters will know to settle for nothing less in a mate.

Well-meaning strangers have attempted to give credit to my parents for the fact that I appear to have "turned out" all right. What they don't know, what my close friends don't know, what even I didn't realize until now, is that maybe I'm still not all right.

Once in a lifetime ...

Eiffel Tower, check. Champs-Élysées, check. Notre Dame, Versailles, Moulin Rouge. Check, check, check.

What an amazing trip this has been. And what an amazing international traveler our not-so-little tax break turned out to be. Of course, I hope I'm not jinxing us. We do still have to get back to the U.S. with our sanity intact.

Yesterday, we braved Paris without our hosts and tour guides (my best friend and her husband). We took the RER into the city and hopped the Metro to the Louvre. It took some creativity to get the stroller out of the Metro station; the exit we ended up at wasn't wide enough, so we had to break it down and squeeze through the gate.

After a wonderful lunch of pasta, scallops, wine, beer, coffee and people-watching, we walked over to the Louvre and were surprised to see the Eiffel Tower again in the distance. We took in the scenery for quite a while, and when we were sure we were done marveling at the magnificent surroundings, we walked over to the museum entrance ... only to discover it's closed on Tuesdays.

So, we decided to check out the Moulin Rouge (one of my favorite movies) instead. We bought some gelato and asked for directions. Two trains later, we emerged to a scene that juxtaposed beautiful French buildings with seedy signs for sex shops. It looked like the right area, but I couldn't see the red windmill. We took a guess and walked down the parkway where it looked like lots of other people were going. Then we saw a street headed up a steep hill packed with tourists. I figured we must be getting close. When we got to the top of the street, instead of the cabaret, we saw a gorgeous church! We had stumbled instead upon the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur at Montmartre. The steep stairs were impossible with a stroller, but then we saw a lift ... and it took our Metro tickets. Voila!

After admiring the view, we rode back downhill, bought a Coke and asked for directions to the Moulin Rouge. First left and second right, he said. That put us back where we came from, just headed the opposite direction. So we bought a postcard and asked again. It turned out we had just gone the wrong direction when we emerged from the subway. I should have guessed when the sex shops faded out that we were getting colder!

We continued down the parkway, and sure enough, there it was. Just like the pictures. But real. By this time, we were tired and Miss M was hungry. So we sat at a bar and fed her.

Did I mention I've become a public nurser? Something about the anonymity of the big city makes me more comfortable nursing in public. I never thought I would be one of "those" women, but when you have no private place to go and your child is hungry, you do what you have to do! I always use a cover -- I finally splurged on one I really like, and I think that helps my comfort level, too. (Before I was using a hand-me-down.)

Armed with my Hooter Hider, I nursed Miss M on the Champs-Élysées, on a bridge overlooking the River Seine in view of Notre Dame, in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, at the gardens of Versailles, in the Louvre, and outside a bar steps from the Moulin Rouge. Where we saw, she nursed.

Tomorrow we fly back to reality. I'm sad to leave my best friend and sad to end this exhilarating experience, but grateful to have had it.

Overwhelmed with love

Today was my baby shower, and words cannot describe how grateful and appreciative and loved it made me feel to be surrounded by so many people who care about us. Yes, we need stuff, and the generosity of friends and family far exceeded anything I could have imagined. But above all, I was overwhelmed that so many people would take the time to even attend a party just for me and the baby. Amazing.

I can only hope this baby grows up to have friends even half as wonderful as mine.

A new dog toy

I didn't want my mother-in-law finding used pregnancy tests in her trash, so every time I took one, I put it back in the wrapper, and put those in a plastic baggie that went into my suitcase.

Today, my dog found those used pee sticks fermenting in the ziplock, still in my suitcase because I hate unpacking. And what did he do? He chewed them!

It is gross and funny all at the same time.

TGIF.

All I want for New Years is ...

... a drink. Believe it. I'm normally only a 1-2 drink girl. Love to throw down a couple with friends, but on a day-to-day basis, I could take it or leave it. I'm all talk, no tolerance. And now since I'm not drinking (just in case, you know), of course I'm craving alcohol.

To top it off: We're headed to the in-laws for a week's vacation starting New Year's Eve.

No, it's not what you think. I love my in-laws. But I once found my mother-in-law at 9 in the morning with a large coffee cup ... and a gallon of vodka. And my father-in-law retired from a national brewery after 30-plus years. These two like to booze, and they like their company to booze with them.

So how to handle the inevitable drink offer without raising suspicion?

At Christmas with my family, I accepted a glass of wine with everyone else. Took a couple of sips, and midway through dinner whispered to my husband that he needed to help me. I meant discreetly. He heard, "Chug down your glass, and grab mine."

So we've talked about how, what I really intended, was for him to discreetly drink his down a little more than mine so I could discreetly trade glasses with him.

Man, I could use a drink. Wish me luck.

Who am I?

I'm that girl who never dreamed of getting married, settling down and having children. In fact, I dreamed the opposite. I dreamed of traveling the world, of writing, of wielding my sexual power over as many men who would fall for it. Of loyalty to friends first, all others after. Of complete and total independence, unfettered by man (or family) drama.

Then, in full-on prowl mode, I met a boy. A nice boy. At a bar. And I felt a connection like nothing I'd ever allowed myself to feel.

He stuck with me when I went back to college, with all those life-changing, eye-opening, "aha" moments that define the liberal arts experience. Revelations that change your world view, and elevate your self awareness.

Ultimately, he followed me to three states. And finally back to the state (and city) where it all started.

Five years into our marriage, we have the house. The dog. And the careers. Now what?