Displaced

Don’t assume that I am

grateful to be here

Six Asian women shot

left for dead

Can you hear me? 

Your violence is killing us

I’m drowning in a bottomless pit of whiteness: 

Keep my head down, don’t be too emotional, 

always be agreeable,

And don’t 

look too Asian-

assimilation

Are you surprised that I can speak perfect English?

The look on your face shows so much disdain

Chink, go back to your country

I want to scream, Fuck you. Do you think I want to be here?

Exhausted from proving I exist,

I swallow my pain  

The moment I stepped off the plane

with my brown slanted eyes

and coarse black hair 

I stuck out from the sea of blonde waves

and fleshy white faces

A mother once told me that I looked just like a 

china doll

and I believed her

I imagine my birth country 

where mountains 

give way to the sky

the blossoms of lilacs 

fall like snow 

and gold leaves of ginkgo trees

line the streets below

At night crying babies soothed

on backs of black haired 

ommas

singing our ancestors’ songs

Given away at birth 

my homeland is a myth

Go home you say? 

I have no home. 

I turn and walk away. 

A Beautiful Song

For Jung-In, a Korean domestic adoptee, who was 16 months old when she died from child abuse on October 13, 2020. 

A broken arm

and fractured

bones

with bruised legs

your listless body 

shattered like glass 

beneath the dark sky

***

Day after day

the walls closed in 

the panic in your screams

the lonely cries

turned to silence

***

Didn’t the adoption agency 

promise you a safe and loving family?

An adoptee isn’t a commodity

to trade in

get a refund

or cancel for free

gutted and thrown away

there isn’t enough rage 

to fill the empty nights

***

In my dream

I cradled your broken body on my chest

the slow rising 

and falling 

of our breath

tethered by

our deepest wounds

you didn’t cry,

instead, you sang a beautiful song

which carried you far from this world

your spirit set free.

Adoption and the Loss of Not Belonging

When I was five-years-old my family and I were at an open house for my brother’s new school in a rural White community. The classroom was crowded with excited students and smiling proud parents. Families were busily milling around looking for their child’s desk. A stranger approached me. She bent down and told me that she would help me find my parents. I felt confused. Why did she think I was lost? I was standing next to them. Even though I couldn’t articulate what had happened, it made me feel separate from my family. This was the first time when I felt like I didn’t belong.

Like many transracial Korean American adoptees, I grew up racially and culturally isolated from others who looked like me. My neighborhood, my school, and my friends were White. During family holidays I was the only person of color. My family and I never ate a Korean meal or watched Korean movies together. I was so completely entrenched in White culture that unless I looked in the mirror, I forgot that I was Korean. Even though I knew that I was internationally adopted, my parents never discussed my race. Not talking about it made me feel ashamed. I internalized this silence that me being Korean was something that should be kept hidden away. The feeling of not belonging began to manifest deeply inside me. It felt normal not to belong. 

This aching feeling of not belonging followed me to college where I first began to explore my Korean identity. I felt an urgent need to make up for lost time by consuming everything related to Asian American culture. I feverishly read Korean literature, watched K-dramas, and found meaning in anything Korean. Although I was taking back my culture on my own terms, I still felt like I was standing on the peripheral of my truth; straddling two cultures-not Korean enough or too American. I didn’t fit neatly inside either box. During my sophomore year, I befriended a Korean exchange student. I shamefully told her I was adopted and desperately asked her to help me translate my adoption papers. I often felt alone trying to navigate my feelings without any support systems. 

Being an adoptee, there is a constant struggle of confronting loss; the daily reminders are present everywhere. Mostly, though, I feel like an imposter who is fronting for a real Korean like when my son asks me to spell a Korean word and I have to use a translation app or when I stumble with the ingredients while cooking bibimbap. I am envious of other Korean Americans who grew up in families where they learned how to speak Korean and inherently understand the cultural nuances. How does it feel to have this cultural knowledge, the ability to move freely without any emotional strings attached? 

I grew up believing the common adoption narrative which claims my adoptive parents did the best they could with the resources they had. I understand now how this thinking is problematic because by centering them it dismisses my experiences. I don’t have any doubt that my parents loved me, but that wasn’t enough. By not acknowledging my adoption experiences and denying my racial differences it created a lot of pain that I am still learning how to reconcile.

My identity is still evolving and changing but becoming a mother has helped me redefine what it means to be a transracial adoptee. My son is also a Korean adoptee. I wonder if this is my chance to raise him differently than how my parents raised me. It has been healing to be able to provide him with the cultural and racial mirrors I never had. I am teaching him how to be proud of his identity and in turn I am learning how to do this for myself. Consequently, motherhood has given me the strength to hold space for him so he can ground his fears, and unlike my experiences, he will know that where he is standing is exactly where he belongs.

The Day You Were Born

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I imagine your first piercing cry 

as you entered this world

Your birth mother’s silenced

screams 

bore down 

fists clenched tight

Her outstretched arms

reached for you

Delight turned to panic

as the words of Confucianism 

entangled her thoughts

How can I possibly keep him?

***

Her dark eyes 

captured with fear

The stale smell of antiseptic 

against her blood stained sheets

a flood of shame 

as your strong legs kicked about

finding your place in this world

***

A boy with love 

full of wonder

She exists in your being

Did my birth mother take care of me?

Holding space 

inside the hard questions

I softly close my eyes 

and breathe in 

her sadness.