[ Post
Korea 2004
A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. —Lao-tzu
On the drive home from the grocery store, I spot the sign
again: “Korea Post.” A surge of
urgency runs through my blood. I’ve seen the local newspaper before, but was
too timid to actually go in. Only two weeks from now, my sis and I will be in
Seoul, South Korea! As a stay-at-home mother of two and caregiver to my
disabled father, the upcoming trip is a rare opportunity to focus all my
attention on me.
The sign reminds me of my
sister’s comment. “Janine,” she had said, confirming my trepidations about the
trip, “Our trip to Korea might be the only chance we’ll have at finding our
birth parents. We might never get to go to Korea again.”
Because I am of Korean
ethnicity, most fellow Americans might think that I am not a “real” American
citizen. But I am. I haven’t even explored my Korean roots and I’m already
thirty-two years old! I come from an all-American Caucasian family, so I’ve
never identified myself as a “real” Asian. According to what I had heard while
growing up, Asians were supposedly odd people who were not wanted or needed and
could go back where they came from if they didn’t like it here. All they
did was steal jobs from the American people. I assumed “real” Asians ate gross
food and got good grades. Why would I want to associate myself with such
foreigners? Of course, as an adult, married to a man born in Vietnam, I now
know all those labels have been lies. But back when I was a child and only
exposed to white society--they were considered civilized and all other colors
were “wrong.” I was supposed to follow my parents’ footsteps and become a
conservative Republican Christian adult—because that’s who my parents wanted me
to be and that’s who they were.
My sister’s comment runs
through my mind again. Our trip to Korea might be the only chance we’ll have
at finding our birth parents. We might never go to Korea again.
Her comment motivates me to
turn the van around. I’ve avoided the possibility long enough. Since it’s now
only two more weeks until we leave, I have to go inside! My heart
pounds. I wonder if the newspaper staff will translate the letter I had written
to our Korean mother. I had written a letter to my birth mother in anticipation
of the Adoptee Gathering. I want to get it into one of the major newspapers in
Seoul, perhaps before our trip, so our Korean family might read it and meet us
at the hotel. There could be a slim chance our biological parents have been
looking for us; and if not, I’d like them to know that we are currently looking
for them. I’ve been stashing my adoption papers and the letter to my birth
mother in the van for weeks, just in case I would find the time or the courage
to actually walk into the office and ask for help. I know if my twin had the
opportunity, she’d be right beside me. But she’s at work—always at work in
multiple nursing homes teaching patients how to regain their independence after
an injury or surgery. She loves her job and work keeps her busy.
I swerve into the parking lot
that serves several professional offices, which face Puget Sound. A cool salty
mist blows off the water and refreshes me like a damp cloth placed on my
forehead. I enter a large periwinkle building, where the Korea Post is
accessible by an internal door located inside a corridor, and peer into a side
window. The office environment is not rushed like newsrooms shown in American
movies. In fact, the opposite. The two women hunched in front of computers look
approachable.
Having rarely been around
Koreans, I wonder how the women will receive me. I remember being around Korean
women only once when I was a kid. My Caucasian mother had taken my twin and me
to a Korean American church potluck. My adoptive mother felt a bit
uncomfortable and so it was the last time we ever socialized with anyone of
Korean ethnicity.
For most of my childhood, my conservative
Caucasian parents tried to uphold an all-American status. My dad collected
American cars. My mom collected delicate white porcelain dolls. She wore beauty
products from Avon and decorated the house in JC Penny and Sears attire. She
dressed my sister and me in fluffy pastel Easter and red velvet Christmas
dresses and Mary Jane shoes. We ate jarred spaghetti sauce over noodles or
sweet and sour chicken over boxed Uncle Ben’s rice. We ordered pizza on Friday
nights.
My all-American parents believed it was their
duty to take us to church each week for activities such as Sunday school, youth
group, and mid-week services—in a Cadillac Limousine, no less. My sister and I
lit the candles on the front altar. My mom played the organ, my dad directed
the choir. There was nothing Asian about us; we were the all-American family. I
believed I was a typical American girl. My environment was all white. It was I
who was all wrong. It was I who did not match my all-American
environment.
I peek through the Korean Post window again
and see the two Korean women sitting peacefully at their desks. Will they be offended
that I don’t speak the Korean language—the language I’ve been told by some
well-meaning adults that I’m supposed to know?
After a few moments of silence, I grab the
chrome doorknob and muster up enough courage to tiptoe into the office.
Both Korean women raise their brows, startled
at my sudden intrusion. The older one in the yellow dress stands. “May I help
you?”
“Yes. I am looking for my
birth parents.” I intentionally speak out, like a confident American. “I was
adopted when I was a baby.” (Most people, when they look me over, might assume
that I’m in my early twenties because of my petite physique. Sometimes, it can be a
struggle to be taken seriously or even acknowledged.) “There’s going to be a
huge adoptee Gathering—” I notice a man peek around the corner from a far
office. Am I too loud? I lower my voice. “Um . . . there’s going to be a
conference in Seoul two weeks from now. I was hoping you could—”
The woman in the yellow dress
stands from her desk, points at the door I had entered and then walks me toward
it. Scared she wants me out of the office, my heart skips a beat. Is she
kicking me out already? Oh, relief. She’s only taking me by the door to the
table and chairs. Still, I feel guilty for wasting her time. Maybe I
shouldn’t be looking for my birth family. Maybe it’s none of my business. Is it
even normal for adoptees to look? Maybe I’m out of line.
“Please have a seat,” she
whispers, pulling out a gray padded chair near a small round table.
Waiting for the woman to
return, I twirl long damaged hair into knots with nervous fingers, wondering if
I’m doing the right thing, wishing Jenette was with me instead of at work. I
stare at the walls, naked with pale plaster as drab as a hospital gown. They
seem to beg to be colored with more than just a journalistic hand. After a
minute, the woman returns with a pen and a yellow legal pad. I explain about
our trip and that we will be in Korea for two weeks. I spread the few documents
given to us, when our adoptive mother died, on the table with the letter to our
birth parents on top.
“Excuse me. May I read your
letter?” The woman in yellow asks.
Sliding the white paper toward
her, I pray that she will somehow get this translated and sent to Korea.
To our Korean mother:
My twin and I will be at the Adoptee Gathering in Seoul, South
Korea, this coming August, which will be our first trip to our motherland. We
are very much looking forward to discovering our roots—something that has
remained a mystery to us for all our lives. We would like to meet our birth
parents if possible. There is no anger or resentment and you should not feel
ashamed. We had a good life in America and consider ourselves to be very lucky.
Even though you have not played a part in our lives, you have been with us on a
subconscious level. Our adoptive mother passed away from cancer seven years ago
and our adoptive father sustained a head injury when we were twelve and is now
physically disabled. It is now time to meet physically so that we may heal the
past. Please e-mail us with any information you have. We look forward to
getting to know you.
Sending peace, love and
joy to Seoul,
The Vance Twins :):)
While she skims my typed
letter, I see her swallow hard and then I hear her breathe heavily. It’s
obvious that the letter has made an emotional impact. She jots notes and asks
for our Korean names, being careful to get the spelling right. She motions me
to follow her to the computer while she looks up web sites that could possibly
help us. At last she finds Holt International’s Korean web site (the agency we
were adopted through). A page with photos of adoptees looking for birth parents
pops up. As she scribbles Korean writing on the legal pad, she assigns the
younger woman to scan Jenette’s “Intake Form,” the letter to birth parents, and
her adoption papers into the computer. My papers were never given to me. She
e-mails these documents, along with my authorization, to Holt’s Seoul office
along with a note that Jenette and I will visit the Post Adoption Services
Office in August. She also sends my permission to release whatever birth files
are necessary upon our arrival. We’d like to visit the street we were said to
have been found on, according to Jenette’s intake form, and visit either our
foster parents or the orphanage we were placed in.
The woman paws through a stack
of files, finally pulling out copies of maps and directions to the buildings,
all located in Seoul. All we will have to do is hand the map to the taxi
driver. From her desk, she stops and studies me for an instant. “Don’t give up
hope. Reunions can happen,” she reports. “A while ago I helped an adoptee
reunite with her father.”
I am amazed that she is doing
this for us. “Thank you,” is all I can say.
The woman in yellow silently
follows me out the door, into the corridor, and then finally to the parking
lot. Once I reach my van, she surprises me with an outburst, “I’ll be praying
for you!”
I think to myself. “I did it!”
It’s the first time we’ve ever made a move to learn about our past! It’s the
first time we’ve attempted to look for answers about ourselves!
Because there’s hope, now, and
an opportunity to actually meet our birth family, I’ve begun imagining the
reunion. I’ve never done something so outrageous before . . . to actually meet
members of my Korean family seems like a fantasy . . . a dream. Even though I
have everything a human being could want and should consider myself extremely
lucky, something is missing. I’m not sure if it’s due to not having a close
relationship with my adoptive mother or being separated from my Korean mother or
not experiencing cultural identity or not knowing my life’s origin. Something
is missing. But I don’t dwell on it. Or have I? What are other adoptees
thinking, wishing, dreaming? Or does it even matter?
I imagine that meeting our
natural mother will be a copy-cat version of “The Swan,” a reality television
program where producers take a “nobody” and after an extreme make-over,
untangle her into a “somebody.” Jenette and I will have to prepare for such an
event, a fairy tale come true! I imagine how newsworthy the reunion will be.
Major Korean newspapers will write headliners on their front page: “Twins
Originally Found in Box Are Finally Claimed!” And “Long Lost Parents Finally
Find Their Beautiful Daughters!”
Jenette and I will have to
spend hours preparing for our reunion in a closed room. Korean experts,
specializing in the styles best suited for us, will choose classy outfits from
famous designers. Of course, in my made-up vision, we’ll have to try on many
dresses to find our favorite one. The best make-up artists (familiar with
Asian skin) will apply our make-up without making comments about the shape of
our eyes or what they call our “yellow” skin color, and hairdressers (who
actually know how to manage black Asian hair, instead of being shocked and awed
by it) will know which products to use to hold our thick hair in an elegant updo
for special events. They’ll even find a sparkling tiara to crown us with, just
like in the popular beauty pageants I’ve seen. In my dreamy reunion, my birth
family will be sweating in the front room having no idea what to expect,
wondering who we most resemble. Everyone will be nervously sipping green tea to
calm nerves, anticipating the moment of the “Big Reveal” just like on “The
Swan” reality show. Soon it will come time for the lights to dim.
Not long ago I had even
consulted a Tarot Card Web site, typing from the keyboard: will I find my
birth family? Dorothy and the “Wizard of Oz” card appeared on my computer
screen:
When Dorothy appears in your reading, follow your destiny and
proceed on your life quest. Develop your confidence and spiritual strength. You
may be exploring and perceiving unusual realities at this time. Your dreams may
be colorful, profound, fun, or adventurous. Keep a notebook of your nocturnal
experiences. This may also be the time for an actual journey in the physical
world. Remain open to the entire range of possible destinations. Take action to
make your visions come true. Eliminate the fear of getting lost and making
mistakes. Your helpers and guides will direct you home when your magical
adventure is about to end.
Hmm. Seems applicable. My mind jumps into the childish fairy tale reunion. We’ll
be surrounded by the media. The crowd hushes when it’s time for the moment of
truth. A spotlight flashes on. We face our Korean parents for the first time. Omma
or mommy will recognize us immediately. Ahboh or Daddy will cry at the
sight of us. A magical glow surrounds the four of us. In them, I see a
reflection of me, or who I could be. There’s a weird knowingness in the air.
Just by gut, we understand both of them. We may even laugh the same way.
Jenette and I can finally be ourselves . . . free to embrace, unbound by
agency-induced adoption laws. Our Korean parents will then push us to the
trembling arms of extended family—people who resemble us. For the first time in
our lives, we won’t be the minority. For the first time in our lives we won’t
be so obviously different compared to our adoptive family. At last, Jenette and
I won’t be the odd ones out. New relationships develop with relatives who
remind Jenette and me of ourselves—no longer hidden; no longer are we lost from
them. The honeymoon begins.
Snap. Blackness. A void. I
rebuke myself for fantasizing. Okay. I know. I know. I should know better . ... The
fairy-tale is a little ridiculous--stupid even. I’m asking for way too much. I don’t
even know if I’m allowed to ever meet my family. I need to get my head out of
the ground! I remind myself that I should know better. Adoption agencies warn
adoptees against looking for our Korean parents, saying they might not want to
meet us. I should stop day-dreaming and stay focused on reality. I scold
myself: Stay focused on reality. Stay focused on reality. Stay focused on
reality. Damn it, stay focused!
