You Never Know

I was recently tasked with writing another bio in preparation for the Mosaic Tour's tour book. The tour book is filled with information about us, the adoptees, and serves as a public relations vehicle. It is published in both English and Korean.

We were told that, since you never know who may read it, some adoptees choose to write to their umma, or birth mother, in that far-flung chance that it might end up in her hands. On a few occasions, they have.

I decided to take the chance and do the same.

The exercise was similar to eating something healthy but terrible. You know it's good for you, but man, it's rough going down. Carefully navigating the space between respectful, (but not overly-formal) curious, (but not prying) informational, (but not guilt-inducingly so, as in, "Hey, I did so great without you!") and emotionally honest (but not upset) was nearly impossible. How can I make sure that, if she reads it, she understands my perspective but doesn't turn away? I know I can't control other people's reactions, but I do know that word choice influences a reader. 

I hope I chose my words well.

I may never know. 

I would've been around my son's age in this photo when she last saw me.

To my umma,

I may never get the chance to meet you, but I hope I do.  

Though many years have passed since we last saw each other, know that I have wondered about you my entire life. Do you have dimples like me? Do your fingers turn up slightly at the first joint like mine? Do you love words and reading, too? Do you keep your circle of friends small and close, like I do? Do you prefer savory foods or sweet? (Myself, I would rather have barbeque over chocolate any day of the week!)  

Since becoming a mother seven years ago, my husband and I have cherished every day of my son's life. Though it's the hardest job, it's also the most rewarding one I've ever had. Our boy is silly, loving, and smart. Like me, he loves jokes and making people laugh. Does that come from you, too? He changed our lives in countless ways, but one thing that I never expected was that his birth would compel me to re-examine my adoption. It is mainly because of him that I am brave enough to reach out to you now. I hope that one day, he can know his halmoni and cherish you as I did mine.

My parents, the people my son call "Grandma" and "Paw Paw," raised me well. They taught me to respect my elders, the value of hard work, and that kindness is always the best choice. They, in addition to many other relatives, are hopeful that life has treated you well. My parents were so excited when they learned I would be taking my first trip back to Korea. They asked, "Are you going to find your other family?" They would be thrilled to welcome you. They always told me that you must have loved me very much.

You are special and dear to me. Should we never meet, for whatever reason, I do still hope that this message finds its way to you. I hope time has not run out. My feelings around returning to Korea have been, for the last 20 years, mixed with longing and fear. But I can't wait or be afraid any longer. I have a duty to my son to teach him how to be proud of his Korean heritage. I also have a duty to myself to try and learn about my birthplace. Time does not stop, so I have to move forward.  

There is great power in choice. My choice is to offer you love, happiness, and gratitude for my life. I hope you will accept them.  

Warmly, Your Ddal,

Kim