Loss. Anger. Forgiveness
“Staci, remember you were never unwanted. You had four people wanting you even before you were born.” -Josh Martin, brother
Nowadays, I am open about being adopted, perhaps a little more prideful than I should be. I have had several conversations about my adoption here in Kenya. It is not unlike I would have in any country, it just happens to be in an unrelenting hot box, with tons of dust sprinkled on top. Perhaps I lost my patience when a gentleman asked me for the umpteenth time about my real parents. I said to him that my parents live in Oregon. He kept on saying, no really what about your real parents. He was fascinated. He was persistent. He noted, I wouldn’t be able to remember any memories at such a young age. I said, he was right however, it doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings of loss. I do my work because I don’t ever want people to feel that loss alone. As the sun was beating on the back of us, I grew impatient. One of the participants of the study, interrupted the discussion and shared a part of his loss. The gentleman seemed to cool down and stopped asking questions.
When I speak of loss, loss of a culture, loss of parents that I will never know, I have a difficult time in explaining myself. But here, what the participant did for me was unlock more padlocks that kept me from feeling that wide and deep loss. Last night, I felt that loss again. It was sudden and as unrelenting as the heat, fumes, and loud music blaring in my room. It wanted in. I wanted it to go away.
Ten years ago, I returned to Korea. This is what I wrote about the loss, anger, and forgiveness.
“When I went to Korea, I got in touch with the many things and often times, I felt I was lied to. As I saw it if I was so wonderful and had the perfect round face and big eyes to match then why on earth would one give me up? As the locks were being broken free and my voice was becoming clearer, my anger filled me with such force that I got incredibly sick.
You see, all my life I have been saying that I am the fuck-up. I am the one that is defective and unrepairable. All my life I have been saying to myself that I did something so terrible that I should be indebted to society for saving this worthless being.
The anger wanted nothing to do with my self-loathing. What it wanted me to do was to scream at Korea for giving up every child. The anger wanted me to yell at every Korean and tell them they fucked-up. They missed out on these wonderful people. It wanted the Korean people to apologize. It wanted them to say that they had made a grave mistake. It wanted them to take ownership over shipping small children alone to a place where the people ate different food, spoke a different language and made us who we are. It wanted me to no longer have the burden of apologizing to Koreans or Americans for who I am, what I do and how I feel. The anger wanted to say I am not the one who left you, you left me.
Although abrupt at the end of the rage, I got in touch with another feeling that scares me–Forgiveness. I forgave Korea. I forgave the woman and man who gave me up. I forgave. And with time I hope I can forgive myself.”
The interaction between the participant reminded me that I haven’t forgiven myself. Perhaps this time around, he and Kakuma can show me how to do this.
