Permission to grieve, please

It's been a year since I've felt brave enough to put any of my thoughts in writing. I've been floundering in a turbulent ocean of emotions. I apologize in advance for the inarticulate ramblings below.

When I try to reflect on the past year, there is a haze. I think I am probably still in that haze. I'm in the middle of an ocean; I can't see solid land. On rare, sunny days, I enjoy riding the waves, it feels exhilarating, I try to convince myself to be excited for where they take me. But many days are grey, I am treading water, just trying to conserve energy. And suddenly the past week, I feel like I might be drowning again, looking up from the bottom of the ocean. I know there is light above, but it is so far away.

Last year was one of the darkest periods I've experienced since attempting suicide at 14. Therapy wasn't enough. I started an anti-depressant for the first time in my life. As weeks passed, I slowly floated up, I thought I was riding the waves pretty well. I ended my regular therapy appointments. We talked about having a second child, and I felt confident enough to slowly wean off my antidepressant. (Just because I'm Asian, doesn't make me smart.)

You know how they say you should consult with your doctor, you should pair therapy with medication, blah, blah, blah.

I'm that idiot who never listens.

And now I'm sunk again, feeling stupid and sad and angry and numb and confused and lost and alone. I know I need to ask for help. But it is so hard. And so humiliating because I feel like it is all my fault I am here.

This last plunge seems to have started with the Baby Veronica case. On one hand, it spurred me to advocacy. I felt brave enough and strong enough to begin posting about the case on my personal Facebook page. I started talking to my broader circle of friends about adoption, and being more "public" about my thoughts and experience. I began to follow and share voices and perspectives in the adoption community. I didn't feel like I needed to hide behind this anonymous blog.

And yet, maybe I was never fully truthful -- even to myself.

I like to think I'm pretty self aware, even if the facade doesn't match the interior. On the outside, I am a successful wife, professional and mother. I am respected for my communications skills, my ability to work with others, my intelligence, my get-it-done (nicely!) attitude.

When it comes to the ability to perceive emotions in others and manage them, I'm a straight A student. [My latest therapist suggested this was actually a survival skill developed in childhood. Hypervigilance, perhaps.]

And yet, when it comes to my own emotions, I am flunking out. I have been able to compensate, to hide this weakness, somehow, in my professional life to date. (In my personal life, well ... I have a very patient and accommodating partner. Those who know my dark side might suggest he is a saint.)

But lately, I feel like the mask of control, of promise, of perfection, is about to fall. I cannot sustain the act. I am about to be revealed for a fraud.

Triggers are a bitch.

I heard Eminem's song "Headlights," featuring Nate Ruess, on the radio for the first time Wednesday. I started crying in the car, but I didn't understand why. I brushed it off, picked up my daughter from preschool, and pushed the song (and my reaction) out of my mind.

Thursday, I read Deanna Shrodes' conversation with Rebecca Hawkes, "Adoptees and Anger Toward Our Natural Mothers (And Others)." My initial response was, "Amen!" I wanted to share with my friends, but couldn't figure out exactly what I wanted to say about it, so I tried to push it, also, out of my mind.

Yesterday, I heard a nationally-known rape survivor speak. I was there for work. Before she spoke, event organizers made a point of saying the event was a "safe space." They acknowledged the speaker's talk might be triggering for some people, and they had trained crisis-intervention counselors on hand. Professional hat on, I was thinking how that could make a great angle for a story. How we support each other? I suppressed any personal feelings; after all, the professional me is still in the (nutcase) closet..

Today, I am wishing I had never heard her speak. Instead of feeling inspired, I left feeling confused and, today, depressed.

She spoke of how we all have problems, and when we have hard times, we always have a choice. We can stay in bed feeling sorry for ourselves or we can get up and "do what has to be done." She talked about not living in the past, not wallowing in self pity, punishing your abusers by being happy and moving forward.

On a good day or week or year, I can get on the empowerment bandwagon. In fact, times when I have come out of the nutcase closet, revealed some of my personal struggles, and been complimented for my "success," I'm pretty sure I've said those exact words.

But I had trouble finding comfort in those words last night. And that wasn't the worst of it.

Over and over, the speaker emphasized her family's love, and how it helped her survive. That no matter what happened to her, she knew her family would always love her. She focused on the sound of her mother's voice, memories of her father and brothers. She was so secure in her knowledge of their love for her.

As I'm taking notes, I'm trying to ignore the emotions that begin welling from that strange, uncomfortable place in my gut. I'm having flashbacks to my childhood with a mother who convinced social workers, ministers, teachers and reporters that she was Maria von Trapp instead of Joan Crawford. I'm remembering sadness and fear and hurt and ... oh my god, I used to be so angry. Must. suppress. anger.

At this point, had my head been anywhere besides my ass, I should have excused myself. Or at least put down the pen, stopped listening to the speaker and tried listening to the sad little girl inside me.

But I didn't. So I was still writing when I heard her say she was grateful for what happened to her. Whoa. What? I looked up. She repeated, "I am grateful." My fingers suddenly clumsy, I struggled to record her exact words, but I managed to scratch out "grateful ... for experience ... for what allowed me to do ... people allowed me to meet."

I don't have to explain to "angry" adoptees and our allies why I have an immediate reaction when the concepts of gratitude and opportunity are connected with trauma.

I believe we should accept and validate each other's feelings, and even the speaker was careful to note that everyone's experience and feelings are unique. Rationally, I know her truth is not mine, and that is OK. But emotionally, I can't help wondering, what the eff is wrong with me?

I want to get to that place where I can choose to "move on." Where I can be grateful, not sad and angry about what has happened in my past. Where I can be sustained by the love of the family I have created. Where I can focus on what I have, not what I don't.

But I'm hurting.

The raw pain in Marshall Mathers' voice when he raps about his absent father: "Oh, what a tangled web we have. Cause one thing I never asked was where the f*** my deadbeat dad was. F*** it, I guess he had trouble keeping up with every address. But I'd have flipped every mattress, every rock and desert cactus. Own a collection of maps and followed my kids to the edge of the atlas."

It breaks me.

And yet, I am still so afraid to be angry.

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.

Apologies

It's taking forever for me to post my writings from Taiwan. I apologize. It's just very emotional for me, and sometimes I just don't want to think ... or feel ... about this.

Motherland, Day 9: She sells sea shells

... and squid and octopus and jumping shrimps and wiggly crabs and creepy eels and red fish and white fish and yellow fish and more.

I tried snail/escargot for the first time today at the Wuchi fishing port and market. I also saw a whole lot of sea creatures I've never seen before. We walked around the back and were able to see a little of the processing. Customers were choosing big fish, and the workers would use a saw to slice them.

After the fish market, we headed toward some windmills we'd seen in the distance. It turned out there was a little walking park along the shore, so we stopped and walked a bit. Fresh air, waves crashing, a little rain spray. It was calming.

I made it on the right train this time, transferred to the MRT (subway) and got off at the correct station. I even followed the signs to the right exit. But my most proud moment was orienting once I emerged from the station. I could see the signs for my street, but I didn't know which direction to turn. It's been overcast most days, and without the sun, my sense of direction is handicapped. I was about to head left, when I noticed a slight difference between the street signs: One had an "E" after it, and the other had a "W." I knew my destination was east, so I turned right instead and as I walked, started seeing familiar landmarks.

Tomorrow we head to Hualien, city of my birth. Part of me feels a little numb to my adoption process right now; part of me recognizes this is a pretty momentous homecoming. This weekend I luxuriated in "tourist" mode. Tomorrow, will I feel Taiwanese?

Motherland, Day 7-8: Down the coast, up the mountain

Yesterday, I made my way to the MRT station, rode up to Taipei main station, and got on the high speed rail to Taichung. The high-speed rail is really fast! Apparently, the drive to Taichung would normally take 3 hours. My ride was about 40 minutes.

Today started with a Taiwanese breakfast (pancake rolled up with ham and vegetables). Then we drove into the mountains, where the views were incredible. Lush like Jamaica, clouded and mysterious like a scene from Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, open and delightful like a scene from the Sound of Music -- unique to Taiwan. We ended up at a park called Sun Link Sea (Sun Lin Xi) and took a $40 NT bus ride as far as it would go. Then we hiked up the rest of the way on our own. My Canon battery started to crap out, so thank goodness I had both that and my iPhone. Words can't describe it. And pictures cannot capture the depth of texture, the fresh smell, the cool dampness, the sounds of water falling and frogs calling.

I thought we might never get out of the park because every minute, I felt compelled to take more pictures! But finally we headed down the mountain to make our dinner reservation: a hot pot restaurant called Shabu Shabu. Seriously, I cannot believe we do not have one of these where I live -- someone could make a lot of money off it. It's like Hu Hot meets Chinese buffet meets teppanyaki dinner. You order your broth of choice, and it fits into a burner on the table. Meanwhile, you choose whatever you want to put in your hot pot -- vegetables, tofu, meat, dumplings. While you're waiting for your hot pot to cook, you can enjoy a variety of buffet dishes. Fruits, vegetables, sushi, dim sum, dumplings, soup, hot cooked food ... the choices seem endless. Like any good Chinese buffet, ice cream is included. This one also had a chocolate fountain and display case of fancy desserts. Simply overwhelming.

Originally we planned to go to an outdoor concert, but it seemed awfully chilly for that. So instead, we headed back to my buddy's house, and she took me on my first Taiwanese motorbike ride! It was so fun! We stopped at a fruit market and then a pet store ("fish middle fish" was the literal translation of the characters, but I think it means something like the best fish of the best). Now I know where all the Taiwanese get their dog sweaters. And dog strollers. And fish. And shrimp. And frogs. And turtles. And hampsters. And ferrets. Yes, ferrets.

Of course, on the way home, we stopped for bubble tea. Any weight I gain on this trip is totally in bubble tea. I mostly get it without milk to cut some calories, but I just cannot resist. It's soooooooooooooo good!

Tomorrow, we are headed to some fishing area. It will be neat to see the coast. Then back to Taipei. I am having an amazing time. Conquering so many fears -- of heights, of strange foods, of new people and experiences. It's exhilarating.

 

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. 

Motherland, Day 4: Drama and a 10-course dinner

Well, you can't stick a group of women together without some drama, especially when they are crammed three to a room. I think because I am somewhat an outsider, some people have felt more comfortable confiding in me. It's flattering but also frustrating because I am anti-drama in my own life.

Anyway, everything worked out. We got a new room and now I only have one roommate (woo-hoo!). It was just a lot to take care of today.

The reflexologist came and presented to our class this morning. I have an individual appointment with him tomorrow evening, and now I'm freaked out. They call it foot "massage," which might be a stretch. There is a three-pronged tool involved and a lot of poking and knuckles pushing into spots in the foot.

Tonight, we were treated to dinner at a Japanese restaurant, Ichiro. It was the fanciest, most beautiful and amazing dinner I have ever had. The hospitality and generosity of our Taiwanese hosts is humbling.

I also had a chance to talk to the woman who organized our trip. She asked my story, and I shared. She seemed particularly interested when she learned I was descended of native Taiwanese; specifically the Amis. She said I should be proud of my Amis heritage. She said the culture is matrilineal -- run by women :) So it is unlikely, she thought, that I would have been placed for adoption because of being a girl. She did mention that back in that period, sometimes young Amis girls were sold into prostitution by family members. That could jive with information someone told me long ago that my birth mother may have been a prostitute.

Tomorrow, before I visit the foot doctor, I am headed to meet the intermediary who works for the Child and Juvenile Adoption Information Center. I feel so spoiled and flattered at the same time -- two new Taiwanese friends are going to accompany me to this meeting. I don't know if there will be any new information, but maybe she will give me names or something.

All in all, another good day.

Motherland, Day 3: Solo exploration

Yesterday was so draining, I opted to indulge in alone time today. The architecture in Taipei is an eclectic mix. Slums next to condos that look like they could belong on the Champs Elysee, art deco here and there, along with sleek high rise businesses.

Wandering on foot, I ended up on a main roadway that had mechanics shops and even a gas station. Eventually, I ran right into Dongmen Station, which happened to be featured on the cover of my tourist map. It abuts the Yongkang Street commercial district. I stopped in a tea store and an antique store and a little snack market. The best find, though, was a bookstore. I enjoyed browsing the magazine section.

A funny thing happened when I stopped to order bubble tea. The sales person, upon figuring out I didn't speak Mandarin, began to speak English to me. He raised his voice and exaggerated the sounds -- like you might do for a hearing impaired person. I have observed that in the U.S., for example, when people speak to individuals for whom English is a second language. Not sure how yelling improves comprehension, though .... especially when you're yelling in my language.

I tried to get a phone today. Huge disappointment. Long story short -- AT&T and Apple blow. My iPhone is locked and won't work with a pay-as-you-go Taiwan SIM card.

I walked off my disappointment, heading east and then turning south down a main thoroughfare with wide, tree lined sidewalks. I saw rows and rows of bicycles that turned out to be in front of two schools. The bikes got progressively smaller in front of the elementary school. Then I realized there was a huge beautiful park across the street. Even though I was getting pretty tired, I really wanted to check it out. I'm glad I did. It was such a peaceful oasis in the middle of the city. No rushing. People just strolling or sitting on benches. I saw several professional-looking photographers; I wonder if it's a popular spot for shoots.

At our "process time" this evening, we talked about sticking out. Today I made tremendous progress in feeling comfortable here. When I wanted to blend in, I would simply respond to the sales people with "hi," which is common here. When I wanted to avoid the awkward one-sided Mandarin exchanges, I would say "hello" when I entered a store. That is not common, and let them know immediately I did not speak their language. This helped me feel more in control of my identity -- at least helping to manage people's expectations of me.

Today I stretched my legs -- literally and figuratively -- and it felt good.

Yongkang Street

Children at Da'an Park

Motherland, Day 2: Making friends

Today started kind of slow for me. Even on the other side of the world, I am still not a morning person. And being a non-morning person in a group of 20 up-and-at-em types was pretty overwhelming. We went to the National Palace Museum. The museum was crowded. The artifacts were interesting, but it was hard being part of a group tour and not being able to browse like I would prefer. The crowds were not as bad as Versailles, but it was enough to discourage me from staying the rest of the afternoon.

Instead, I joined a group headed to Tamsui. Best decision I could have made! We had five Taiwanese student escorts -- they were delightful. I didn't catch all of their names, but their accompaniment was so comforting -- and entertaining!

My first impression of Tamsui was that it was beautiful -- perhaps even more because of the misty day. The river runs along one side. The mountains on across the river were capped by clouds. On the other side is a huge market! I tried so many new foods today. I had quail eggs, fried squid, candied tomatoes, fried mushrooms, and a couple of Tamsui specialties: Ah Gei and iron eggs.

On the train from Tamsui back to Gutang, I ended up standing with all the Taiwanese students. It was interesting to learn about their families -- how many kids, what their parents did, where they grew up. Somehow the discussion evolved to gender roles and cultural expectations in Taiwan. It was really fascinating to dig a little deeper, to find out what their hopes were -- particularly the female students.

Walking back to our lodgings, someone pointed out a chops shop. The next thing I knew, I was whisked into the shop and five people were helping me choose a name and chop for Miss M! I chose a name that sounds like Mei Rei. Mei is "plum," literally, but it means resilience -- it's the national plant for the country and is apparently able to grow in many conditions. The particular Rei I chose means "heart of the flower." My daughter completes my heart, and I look forward to seeing how she blossoms.

I thought choosing a name would be the hardest part; I didn't realize how many other choices go into selecting a chop. I could not have done it without the guidance of my new Taiwanese friends. If only I could remember their names! Tomorrow I will have to ask them to write them down for me. I just cannot remember things I hear, particularly in a different language!

Candied strawberries and tomatoes

Tamsui market

Motherland, Day 1: Foreign and familiar

We landed at midnight after 30 hours of travel. In the dark, Taipei didn't seem too different from other cities, except that the signage was in English and Mandarin. It's interesting that my eye was drawn to the English, which made the Mandarin characters seem like decorative graphic elements, instead of the primary navigation they were intended.

We awoke to an overcast, rainy day. More mist than rain. It is damp here.

I couldn't be traveling with kinder people. All of these counselors-in-training are so attentive to other people's feelings. I feel selfish whenever I share; like I should be drawing them out instead. The journalist in me wants to get everyone else's story, but I can't deny how powerful my feelings about this trip are.

This morning was so exciting. Something about big cities invigorates me. We walked several blocks trying to find a bank to exchange money, but they were closed because it was Saturday. People try to talk to me in Mandarin, and I don't understand it. I feel out of place and nerdy and fat ... very uncool. I have never seen so many hip Asians!

All my life I've felt like I stuck out. Browner, shorter, rounder-faced ... Finally I am in a place where I blend in. But I still don't fit in. It's a strange feeling.

I had a lovely conversation with a young man at the CD store this morning. As soon as he realized I didn't speak Mandarin, he said he would try to speak English with me. It was clear he was a little nervous about his English, but we both soon relaxed, and I really enjoyed chatting with him about his studies (which included reading about FLSA in English!). He picked out four CDs for me. The first was his favorite, the second was what was playing at the time, the third was an aboriginal singer from Hualien County, and the fourth is for Miss M.

I left the CD store feeling invigorated and excited about Taiwan. But I started wearing down that afternoon. I walked down Shi Da and stopped in a few stores. Each time the salesperson tried to speak Mandarin to me. When I indicated I didn't quite understand, they would repeat themselves. I tried smiling and nodding, but it only seemed to encourage them to keep going! I felt so dumb. I don't know why I felt ashamed to tell them I was American and didn't understand what they were saying. So many people here speak English, and I couldn't even remember how to say "excuse me" in Mandarin.

This evening, we encountered a housekeeper. She informed us she is Venezuelan and has been in Taiwan 25 years. I felt a surge of elation, and said "hola!" It was so exciting to be able to communicate -- minimally! -- with someone. Then she was talking to me more, and I couldn't understand a word of what she was saying. There was a lot of background noise, and I thought she was speaking Spanish. I just smiled and nodded. She leaned closer and repeated it. I smiled and nodded, even though I still couldn't understand. It was only later, when she said "Chinese OK?" that I figured out she had been speaking Mandarin, and she realized I didn't know the language. It was embarrassing to have to explain.

Walking around, I was surprised to see so many American brands. I knew Starbucks was everywhere, but I didn't expect to see a Pizza Hut with insulated cases on the backs of delivery scooters. I also didn't expect to see so many stores selling Converse, Eccos and even Clarks.

Tonight in our group therapy (aka "process time") we talked about wanting to fit in/not wanting to stand out, and accessibility (i.e. finding a restaurant with pictures you can point to). It's nice to know I'm not the only one who wants to be cool in a foreign place. It's something to think about when I return home -- how can I make visitors, especially international ones, feel welcome in my world?

Dear Miss M

This week, you learned how to climb out of your crib. Actually, I'm surprised it took this long. You've been physically able to do it for awhile (throwing your leg over the rail and threatening to escape), but you have a healthy sense of caution that, I think, prevented you from taking the plunge sooner.

I'm thankful for your caution, as I hope it will save us trips to the emergency room as you get older. But I also hope that, as your mother, I can create a strong enough sense of safety and security so that you are not afraid to take risks in life.

Next month, I'm taking one of the biggest risks of my life to date. (Marrying your father and choosing to be your mother were probably the other two, but those are stories for another day.) In the new year, I will travel to Taiwan. I want to learn more about the people and the culture and the food, of course. But also, when I arrive, I will be meeting with a woman from the Child and Juvenile Adoption Center, who I hope may have more information about the circumstances of my adoption.

Choosing to search for information has been so scary, and yet, it is from you that I have gathered the strength to proceed. I've never felt connected to anyone the way I feel with you. Through you, I am learning to love myself. I see myself in you, and I am endeared to you. And I can't help wondering from whom we both inherited our eyes, our hands, our goofiness and our love of music.

I know as you grow up, you will become different from me, despite our shared genetics. It's a certainty not only because I see my strong-willed, independent nature in you, but also because I am determined for your childhood to be different from mine.

Of course, half of your genes are inherited from your father, who also couldn't be more different from me. We opposites attracted and, somehow, we were gifted with you. I hope you will inherit his ability to enjoy life in each moment. And I hope you inherit his ability to love because his unconditional, accepting love transformed my life and created yours.

In a few years, when you're old enough to understand, I hope that your dad and you and me can travel back to Taiwan as a family. I want you to be proud of me and where I came from. I want you to feel secure in your identity. I want you to have roots and, most important, wings.

What's in a name?

Oct. 17, 2012

I was so excited to read about chops and calligraphy. When we go to Taiwan, I definitely want to get a chop made. I would also love to learn how to write my original Chinese name. I don’t even know how to type it.

I have always been OK with my first name. But I’ve always hated my middle name — it seems too stuffy and European for a Taiwanese baby. I can’t imagine why my adoptive parents chose it.

When I married, I considered changing my middle name to my original Chinese surname, Lin. But I chickened out because at that time, and even now, I was not sure what that name meant to me. I couldn’t really feel a connection to it, either.

Given my adoption and history with my adoptive family, you can probably understand why I couldn’t wait to lose my maiden name. It was a name I had no connection to, or so I thought. But I remember being surprised at my emotional reaction seeing my married name on paper. It didn’t look or feel like me, either. Eight years later, I am more comfortable with it.

Some Taiwanese have told me my Chinese name is pretty. It will be neat to explore it further.

Race and ethnicity

Oct. 3, 2012

Reading about yin and yang reminds me of the balance I need to find in my own life. Becoming a mother threw all of my roles out of balance — wife, sister, friend, professional. But the biggest challenge is internal. It’s a lack of balance between my small self and my big self, my emotions and thoughts, my inner child and outer adult. Some days I feel I know neither who I am, nor who I really want to be.

I looked up Richard Lee, and I searched the library online to find a handful of his research papers. So far, the most informative is a 2003 article from the journal The Counseling Psychologist, “The Transracial Adoption Paradox: History, Research, and Counseling Implications of Cultural Socialization.” It is 35 pages, and I’ve only gotten a third the way through it.

“Cultural Socialization in Families with International Adopted Children” (Journal of Family Psychology, 2006, Vo. 20, No. 4) was also interesting and helped me answer a question someone posed Sunday. I can’t remember her exact phrasing, but she essentially asked why I am still interested in Taiwan. The question surprised me. I think I said something about how I wanted to learn about the country of my birth. But it got me thinking, why do I care about it?

A few statements in Lee’s second article grabbed my attention:

1) “McRoy and Zurcher (1983 … observed that White adoptive parents of African American children who were color-blind (i.e. did not perceive racial differences and racism as salient issues) were less likely to live in racially integrated neighborhoods and to make an effort at teaching their adopted child about what it means to grow up as Black in the United States.”

2) “Enculturation refers to both the belief in and practice of promoting ethnicity-specific experiences that encourage the development of a positive ethnic identity, which has been found to serve as a protective factor against racism and discrimination (R. M. Lee, 2005).

3) “… racialization refers to both the belief in and practice of promoting race-specific experiences that help children develop coping skills to protect them from racism and discrimination (Crocker & Major, 1989.)”

The impact of growing up without a positive ethnic or racial identity lingers. It seems quite obvious to see that on paper, and yet I don’t think I grasped until now how learning about the country and culture of my race helps overcome my own negativity toward it. It’s hard to acknowledge the negativity I have felt, off and on — it’s a reminder of racism I’ve personally experienced, and I feel ashamed of my own prejudice. Knowledge of Taiwan is knowledge of myself. Pride in Taiwan is pride in myself.

Taiwan on the mind

Sept. 26, 2012

It was nice to hear from native Taiwanese about the country and culture. The only frustration for me (and surely for them also) is the language. Communication is so important for me — something that’s come naturally, and then been honed through my education and work experience. So to not be able to feel I’m being understood completely, and to not fully understand what someone is trying to tell me, is incredibly frustrating. Both of our cultures convey much through nonverbal communication. It’s as much how a person says something as the actual words they say. And even English words have multiple meanings — explicit and implied — just like Mandarin sounds have multiple tones. Sometimes take for granted how much we communicate beyond words. Experiences like this make me appreciate my ability to communicate clearly.

This may sound shallow, but I’m really looking forward to the food aspect of our trip. Despite different tastes, there’s something universal about the experience of enjoying a good meal. Maybe I was born with an Asian palate — I have always loved soy sauce and vinegar, salty and sour flavors. I would gladly pass on pastries for an extra helping of salt-and-vinegar chips! I’ve also always preferred rice and tofu to pasta or bread. The only part I’m nervous about is unfamiliar proteins. I grew up on a small farm, so I know where meat comes from, but I don’t enjoy being reminded of that. Today, I prefer my meat rendered unrecognizable from the source! It will be helpful to know in advance if the night markets will have whole chickens hanging for sale, or if our fish will be served fully intact. Just so I can be prepared.

Once adopted, forever a child

Sept. 19, 2012

I’m trying so hard to keep my mind open to exploring and understanding this different culture, but I feel my brain shutting down. I’m trying to wrap my head around how to understand Taiwanese culture without comparing it to what I know, but I can’t break through. Perhaps it’s mental exhaustion, or emotional wariness, or some combination.

This week has been tough. Throughout my life, there have been people who have hurt me in various ways — directly and indirectly. To get to a safe and stable place today, I have ceased contact with those individuals and people connected with them.

Friday, one of those individuals attempted to email me. Since they did not have any personal contact information for me (by design!), they instead emailed my boss. My boss then printed the email and called me into her office to sit down and discuss what is an immensely personal and private topic.

I am so frustrated and tired and confused. I feel violated. These people who it seems had no care in the past for my physical and emotional well-being now also seem to have no respect for my professional reputation. My mind knows this is an unfair statement — their intentions in the past were good, despite the consequences to me — but my heart feels so hurt and hardened toward them.

This is very difficult, and I have a choice to make. When we travel to Taiwan, do I wish to reach out to them? Or, do I keep that door closed? This individual may be able to answer some of the questions that I have, but at what cost? Which culture’s rules must I follow? An individual-oriented culture that tells me I owe no one anything, that I have a right to personal information and no obligation to provide anything in return? Or a socially-oriented culture that requires a tit for a tat, by whose rules I must earn the privilege to information? Do I really want to open Pandora’s box, anyway?

When we talk about culture and values, all I see are rules that were designed to control a society — to keep the masses in line, to uphold the power of the ruling class. China has one of the longest sustained cultures, and surely that is creditable to its socially-oriented, collectivist values.

The rules of adoption have been set primarily by adoptive parents and adoption agencies. Money always has, and always will, equal power. Even though I am now an adult, when it comes to my adoption, I am permanently treated as a powerless child. Rules prevent me from disturbing the adults who are responsible for my past. “Children should be seen, not heard,” my mother would say. Even today, no one wants to hear me. The rules are designed to prevent me from calling out the grown-ups who were supposed to protect, not harm me. They keep me silent because I am dependent on them for even basic information about the circumstances of my origin. U.S. laws restrict information under the guise of protecting someone else’s privacy. Taiwanese culture restricts my ability to claim by figurative force knowledge that should be mine. Pride prevents me from seeking information from people I would rather pretend did not exist. I am Dorothy, caught in an emotional tornado, wishing to be home. Except I’m not exactly sure where home is.

Quid pro quo

Sept. 12, 2012

I’ll admit, I’m having a little trouble focusing this past week. My excitement about committing to travel to Taiwan is tempered by nervousness (internal) and work pressure (external). The Serenity Prayer has been my mantra.

The idea of guanxi seems similar to building and maintaining social/political capital in the U.S., although I understand it runs much deeper in Taiwanese culture. Personally, I find this type of maneuvering and keeping track of favors exhausting. I don’t have time for high-maintenance relationships in my personal life. But at work, I often have to deal with them. My work setting, in particular, seems so political, I think in part because of the small community from which it draws its workforce. Everybody knows everybody, and so many people have worked together so long, I sometimes feel I’m being punished for the sins of bosses before me.

Reading about other Taiwanese traditions also reminds me of interactions with a Taiwanese friend’s husband. Both were Taiwan-born and emigrated with their families — she at age 5; he in his teens, I believe. When we used to go out to dinner with them, there was always competition for payment, which my husband found frustrating. He preferred to go Dutch so we never had to keep track of who owed whom what and when. I also remember how different my friend’s wedding was — her husband seemed so material-focused (how much would guests give them), but in hindsight, perhaps it was more of a cultural difference than greed. Their wedding was beautiful, incorporating Chinese elements and American ones. I remember climbing narrow stairs in the bride’s aunt and uncle’s house to a tiny finished attic in order for the bride and groom to pay respects to their ancestors. I also observed a tea ceremony in which the bride served her new in-laws. The bride wore a traditional white wedding gown for the ceremony, but she changed into a traditional Chinese red dress for the first part of the reception. She later changed into a third (more comfortable) dress for dancing.

Nature and nurture

Sept. 5, 2012

Last Thursday, I sat in meeting with two 20-somethings, a handful of Gen X-ers and a couple dozen Baby Boomers eager for the presenter to shed light on the mysterious generation that has been named “The Millennials.” Interestingly, the “Strawberry Generation” overlaps the U.S. definition of Millennials.

As a Gen X-er with Millennial sympathies, I find irony in some of the criticisms of the younger generation. “Lack of experience,” “overconfidence” and “questioning authority” seem like characteristics that could be attributed to youth of any generation. (If the ’60s wasn’t a time of questioning authority in the U.S., I don’t know what was! And what was the Roaring Twenties about?) Both Millennials and Strawberry Generation youth are said to have been overpampered by their parents — so it seems Boomers and Gen X-ers should share the blame in creating such an entitled generation.

I was also fascinated with the reading on Chinese personality research, particularly K.S. Yang’s theory of social orientation. I have always been aware of other people’s opinions and thoughts and highly motivated by feedback from authoritative figures — teachers and bosses, primarily. In both education and work settings, my desire to please others through accomplishments has often been misinterpreted as self motivation. It has also resulted in me sometimes feeling like an imposter — like I’m living someone else’s life.

Asian-American females have high suicide rates, and one researcher (Eliza Noh) has attributed it to expectations and family pressure. She calls this “model minority” pressure. But I have often wondered if there are some inborn personality traits at play, as well. Influenced by cultural forces, have we been, essentially, bred to be a certain way? And what happens when the world changes around us, when the rules change? How do we leverage those personality traits to succeed in a new culture?

A new opportunity

Aug. 27, 2012

This year, I renewed my effort to fill the gap in my — and now also my daughter’s — personal history and identity. At first, I sought specific information about the circumstances surrounding my adoption. But as those paths have dried up, I am beginning to realize that what I am really seeking is a sense of belonging, some primal connection. I have long wanted to visit Taiwan, but I have also long been wary of the emotional and economic costs. Perhaps this course will give me the confidence to pursue the answers my soul seeks. Or perhaps, by reinforcing the contrast between the culture of my homeland and the culture of my life, it will solidify my American identity.

I am grateful for the opportunity to find out.