May Musings

Today is May 1st, and boy do I feel like May is a loaded month–this year in particular. 

May is Asian Pacific American Heritage Month (APAHM). It is also Jewish American Heritage Month. May 9th is Mother’s Day. And this May is the month I will give birth to my first child.

Not surprisingly, all of the above things are really blending and meshing together into one very complicated, mixed up ball of emotions. 

Stop Telling Me That I Don’t Count

If this blog entry reads as angry, frustrated, or desperate–it’s because it is. I am. I feel as though I have been screaming my entire life and my screams have been silenced or quantified as a direct result of being an adoptee.

People don’t understand what it is like, and I suppose I don’t expect them to because I’ve never come flat out and said some of these things, but I am going to now. I am going to now so there is no question, and in the hopes that anyone who reads this will reflect and can no longer feign ignorance.

What’s In A Name? Part I

We are happy to announce that Baby R’s name is…

Just kidding! Sorry, but you all are going to need to wait until the little one makes her appearance earthside to find out what her name is.

But in all seriousness, I knew that the business of naming your child was probably not something to be taken lightly. However, I didn’t know how many feelings and emotions it would bring up as a transracial adoptee parent.

The Not So Silent Musings of An Adoptee Parent

It happened.

This past Tuesday, in the car on the 25 minute car ride on the way to the OB, I asked my husband the question.

“What would your response be if our daughter came home and told you that someone called her a Chink?”

What’s In A Mask?

Seeing myself wearing this fabric mask makes it impossible for me to maintain that distance and has created a complex, complicated inner-conversation. On the one had, I am still assimilating by wearing a mask just like everyone else in America. On the other, by doing so, I embody a stereotype of Asians that so many in the world despise.

The Significance of Eyeliner

At this time in my life, kids were also cruel and my eyes became the butt of a lot of jokes. They’d often tell me to “open my eyes” or ask if I could see the same amount as everyone else. Sometimes I would beat them to the punch and say things like, “Oh, I didn’t see that. It must be because my eyes don’t open haha.” Other times, I would be annoyed and snootily respond, “I don’t know if I see less. Why don’t I pop your eyeballs out of their sockets so we can trade and find out?”