At five years old, my white adoptive mother was already asking me to choose between my race and hers. “Do you think you’ll marry an Asian man someday?” I shook my head—not because I hated Asian boys but because I’d never met one.
Like every story about a woman who tries to have children and can’t, mine is deeply personal. It begins with my own adoption. I arrived from Korea at six months old, expected to be one of those clean slate babies with no memories or trauma.
The reason I spent decades waiting for real life to begin is greatly due to not knowing or understanding my life’s true beginnings.
The more I was able to see the entirety of you, the easier it was to begin to see me.