And so I sit and wait... for a note, a letter, an e-mail or a phone call, though I really hope that it is not through the phone that my biological parents first look to contact me as it leaves far too little wiggle room. I cannot really fathom the conversation. I mean on one hand it is simple, ask and answer, but what happens if they are as blunt and intrusive as I.... Guess that could explain a lot.
I have, more than once, gone over how the conversation may go. Worst case they are living together in a double wide and are hoping that I have made a name for myself and would be willing to trade cash for the knowledge that without them there would be no me, or, perhaps worse, one needs a kidney (I hear they are valued around $15000 these days). Lord knows I could be guilted into giving one up.
Best case they are professionals in fields they not only enjoy but also excel at, happy with life and wondering if the child they begrudgingly gave up at 15 has experienced a life that was not only happy and rewarding but full of questions that they may provide answers to.
To recognize that I have biological parents (a fact that, though so basic in nature as to never be questioned, still eludes me from time to time) is to recognize that I may have a half brother or sister, or maybe even a slew of them roaming this earth. I have never had a biological connection to anyone before. This is the strangest thing to me. Everyone I seem to mention to that I am curious as to what it would be like to experience a biological basis for connection seems puzzled. I think that most people forget that what they take for granted is often the most puzzling for some.
And yet, through it all, it is odd to me that I really don't feel much right now, no real anxiety, trepidation, excitement or happiness. Perhaps this is due to the surreal nature of the whole experience, or for that matter, my entire life as I see it right now. I lost connect with the world a few years ago, the passing of dad loosening the tethers even further.
Nothing I experience feels real and that is a scary place to be. It is easy to recognize the turning of the world around me, my role in it with all of my responsibilities and my choices but, more often than not I don't really ever FEEL, just see. And that is the oddest thing, I know how it is supposed to feel, I know the emotions that one would expect to experience, but, seldom do the expectations match the reality.
In some way I hope that this experience will serve as a reconnect, on the other I am scared to death it will just add to the lack of feeling. Either way, I am have a chance to meet the people for whom I was based... Cannot be a bad thing, can it.....?
Friday, January 30, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
surreal life (Family Part 1)
I am adopted, a fact that became evident at the age I was capable of surmising that the difference in skin tone and hair color between my half japanese brother and myself was not some coincidental quirk of gene mutation. I have, as I would assume any child who's biological origins are unknown, wondered about my parents, which quirks of my personality were due to certain gene characteristics and which to the characters on the television programs etched into my personality during my formative years.
I started a search a while back, or at least took the coward's way out and had a kindly friend start one for me. To no avail. She was gung-ho, even going so far as to call a poor, unsuspecting woman in Florida who, unfortunately, shared an age, name and military background with my biological mom. I had given up on it, or at least pushed it to the recesses of my thoughts, opting to focus on my life at hand rather than the life that is and the path that helped lead it to be so.
Things change.
A week ago I received my bi-weekly call from my mom (adoptive in this case, but no less than mom). It started out as they always do, we chatted about life currently, the days at hand and common small talk of our happenings and daily offerings. It quickly took an interesting and thoroughly unexpected turn when my mom told me that she had received a letter from the adoption agency that spoke of a "personal and family matter" that I needed to contact them about.
So many thoughts rush through one's mind at this moment, not all of which I would care to think about again. She left me the phone number and a request that I keep her included in the journey, a subtle favor that carries with it a lifetime of hope, fear and love.
Let me tell you, after hearing the same voice message "the person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable, please try back later" followed by a phone hanging up on you rather than leaving you an opportunity to leave a message, I can see why people become frustrated with the systems that are in place. Utilizing some resourcefulness I finally found an actual voice mail and left a message with the case worker in charge of my case, a Candice Johnson, a lady I knew nothing about save for her East Coast residence, but in whom 33 years of questions rested solely.
I first initiated the phone calls on a Friday, by Wednesday I had a actual conversation. The timing of the call, as would be expected, was less than ideal as I was in between classes but then time didn't really seem to register right then.
I had prepared myself for the call, rehearsing all of the scenarios and possible highs and lows. The call went much like I had expected it to up until Candice, in her Maryland accent, told me of my parents today.
When dealing with the possibility of reconnecting, the thought naturally (for most I would assume) turns to the mom. I mean, she is the one through whom you were given life, the one who carried and cared for you. And so I expected that that would be who I would be hearing about but, quickly, I found out that not only was my father looking for me as well but that my biological mom and dad had reconnected a few years ago and have been married since 2007. How odd and unexpected is that?
A message from my biological mom accompanied their request for my contact information "We hope this finds him well and blessed in his life. We do not want to interrupt or interfere in any way with his current life but would like to get in contact with him if this is something he would be willing to do. If not, we completely understand, but would like a picture if possible."
It didn't take me long to say that I would not mind at all getting in touch with them, I mean how many opportunities would I have to learn more about what makes me tick, not to mention the chance to get a full medical and family history. The case worker then told me that she would, through her organization, serve as the intermediary receiving any information and forwarding it on to me making sure that no contact info was included. I suppose this protects unwanting individuals from having to become more involved with a past they may have interest in, but would rather not be forced to come face to face with. She seemed startled when I asked her if I could just give her my info to pass along.
So here I am, my phone number, address and e-mail info is traveling slowly somewhere between here and the people who created me. I have been told that it would probably be two weeks of so before they it reached their doorstep. Amazingly, it seems the organization does not utilize e-mail and prefers to keep the post office in business...
So I sit and wait, afraid to answer any phone call with an area code I do not recognize. I am hoping that they write first, a call could be too much...
I started a search a while back, or at least took the coward's way out and had a kindly friend start one for me. To no avail. She was gung-ho, even going so far as to call a poor, unsuspecting woman in Florida who, unfortunately, shared an age, name and military background with my biological mom. I had given up on it, or at least pushed it to the recesses of my thoughts, opting to focus on my life at hand rather than the life that is and the path that helped lead it to be so.
Things change.
A week ago I received my bi-weekly call from my mom (adoptive in this case, but no less than mom). It started out as they always do, we chatted about life currently, the days at hand and common small talk of our happenings and daily offerings. It quickly took an interesting and thoroughly unexpected turn when my mom told me that she had received a letter from the adoption agency that spoke of a "personal and family matter" that I needed to contact them about.
So many thoughts rush through one's mind at this moment, not all of which I would care to think about again. She left me the phone number and a request that I keep her included in the journey, a subtle favor that carries with it a lifetime of hope, fear and love.
Let me tell you, after hearing the same voice message "the person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable, please try back later" followed by a phone hanging up on you rather than leaving you an opportunity to leave a message, I can see why people become frustrated with the systems that are in place. Utilizing some resourcefulness I finally found an actual voice mail and left a message with the case worker in charge of my case, a Candice Johnson, a lady I knew nothing about save for her East Coast residence, but in whom 33 years of questions rested solely.
I first initiated the phone calls on a Friday, by Wednesday I had a actual conversation. The timing of the call, as would be expected, was less than ideal as I was in between classes but then time didn't really seem to register right then.
I had prepared myself for the call, rehearsing all of the scenarios and possible highs and lows. The call went much like I had expected it to up until Candice, in her Maryland accent, told me of my parents today.
When dealing with the possibility of reconnecting, the thought naturally (for most I would assume) turns to the mom. I mean, she is the one through whom you were given life, the one who carried and cared for you. And so I expected that that would be who I would be hearing about but, quickly, I found out that not only was my father looking for me as well but that my biological mom and dad had reconnected a few years ago and have been married since 2007. How odd and unexpected is that?
A message from my biological mom accompanied their request for my contact information "We hope this finds him well and blessed in his life. We do not want to interrupt or interfere in any way with his current life but would like to get in contact with him if this is something he would be willing to do. If not, we completely understand, but would like a picture if possible."
It didn't take me long to say that I would not mind at all getting in touch with them, I mean how many opportunities would I have to learn more about what makes me tick, not to mention the chance to get a full medical and family history. The case worker then told me that she would, through her organization, serve as the intermediary receiving any information and forwarding it on to me making sure that no contact info was included. I suppose this protects unwanting individuals from having to become more involved with a past they may have interest in, but would rather not be forced to come face to face with. She seemed startled when I asked her if I could just give her my info to pass along.
So here I am, my phone number, address and e-mail info is traveling slowly somewhere between here and the people who created me. I have been told that it would probably be two weeks of so before they it reached their doorstep. Amazingly, it seems the organization does not utilize e-mail and prefers to keep the post office in business...
So I sit and wait, afraid to answer any phone call with an area code I do not recognize. I am hoping that they write first, a call could be too much...
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Life (part 2)
All of my life I have struggled with memories, be they as long ago as the recollections of childhood games, days in school or dinner conversations or even as simple as what I fed my face for lunch yesterday. Nothing seems to come as readily as I would like it to.
It is difficult to know who you are when you cannot recall the things that guided you on your journey. I believe I have chosen to repress them all out of fear, convincing myself that they are not worth the thought, but every so often a moment in time is dredged up from the repressed depths of my subconscious by a laugh, a story, a flicker of remembrance. It is in these moments that I am able to catch a glimpse into the path that led me to the place I am today, a place of self-doubt, confusion, anger, frustration and a little bit of hope.
Life is a difficult journey for most, the most difficult part being that many are not able to see past their own experiences, both the rights and wrongs and thus lose sight of their relation to and part in the larger world around them. Empathy, the ability to not only put oneself in another's shoes but to also understand all of the feelings that wearing those shoes evokes is, seemingly, a difficult character trait to come by these days. Too many people get caught up in what shoes to wear that they lose sight of those who don't even have the choice. It is in these empathetic moments that hope arises in me.
It is extremely sad, I realize, that the thoughts of all of the wrongs done around this world: the kids who no longer have parents, lost to some angry mob or taken away at gunpoint by some unjust government; the families that cannot walk through their neighborhood without having to be constantly cautious of gunfire; the soldier who lost both legs in a pointless, endless war on a soil not their own who has been abandoned by their own government, forced to work through the mental anguish and physical pain alone or with minimal help, are the things that bring me hope.
It is not the thoughts of all the suffering, rather the realization of how my own pain stacks up. I have come to understand life is in constant flux and can always be changed, for better or worse. This realization has been long in the making and is nowhere near fully actualized, but I have come to understand that no matter where I am in or what I feel I am stuck doing can always be changed, it just takes work on my part.
It is this work that is the hardest part of life. Can we convince ourselves that the doubts we have are justified and see the change needed to alleviate these doubts and then can we actually grow enough, believe enough, be strong enough to start the wheels in motion to take that risk and chance knowing full well that it may not go as hoped, that we may have to work harder, that we may still fail.
Most memories are fleeting, some stick, some are lost before the event that spurs them is even finished. The biggest question in life, at least for me, is, can I create memories that I want to keep? Can I find a path and a direction that I believe in, that makes me happy, that makes me feel like, as idealistically as it may sound, I am actually making a difference, not only in my own life, but also in those around me?
It is difficult to know who you are when you cannot recall the things that guided you on your journey. I believe I have chosen to repress them all out of fear, convincing myself that they are not worth the thought, but every so often a moment in time is dredged up from the repressed depths of my subconscious by a laugh, a story, a flicker of remembrance. It is in these moments that I am able to catch a glimpse into the path that led me to the place I am today, a place of self-doubt, confusion, anger, frustration and a little bit of hope.
Life is a difficult journey for most, the most difficult part being that many are not able to see past their own experiences, both the rights and wrongs and thus lose sight of their relation to and part in the larger world around them. Empathy, the ability to not only put oneself in another's shoes but to also understand all of the feelings that wearing those shoes evokes is, seemingly, a difficult character trait to come by these days. Too many people get caught up in what shoes to wear that they lose sight of those who don't even have the choice. It is in these empathetic moments that hope arises in me.
It is extremely sad, I realize, that the thoughts of all of the wrongs done around this world: the kids who no longer have parents, lost to some angry mob or taken away at gunpoint by some unjust government; the families that cannot walk through their neighborhood without having to be constantly cautious of gunfire; the soldier who lost both legs in a pointless, endless war on a soil not their own who has been abandoned by their own government, forced to work through the mental anguish and physical pain alone or with minimal help, are the things that bring me hope.
It is not the thoughts of all the suffering, rather the realization of how my own pain stacks up. I have come to understand life is in constant flux and can always be changed, for better or worse. This realization has been long in the making and is nowhere near fully actualized, but I have come to understand that no matter where I am in or what I feel I am stuck doing can always be changed, it just takes work on my part.
It is this work that is the hardest part of life. Can we convince ourselves that the doubts we have are justified and see the change needed to alleviate these doubts and then can we actually grow enough, believe enough, be strong enough to start the wheels in motion to take that risk and chance knowing full well that it may not go as hoped, that we may have to work harder, that we may still fail.
Most memories are fleeting, some stick, some are lost before the event that spurs them is even finished. The biggest question in life, at least for me, is, can I create memories that I want to keep? Can I find a path and a direction that I believe in, that makes me happy, that makes me feel like, as idealistically as it may sound, I am actually making a difference, not only in my own life, but also in those around me?
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