Faith

34 hours. You know it's getting close when you start counting down in hours instead of days! The reality of Korea continues to sink further into my being. It still doesnt all seem quite real to me, but it's getting closer and I find myself more emotional just thinking about it. I dont think I can say enough times what an overwhelming (in a good way) and powerful journey - pilgrimage really - of self-discovery this is going to be. I'm ready for it!

As much as I always say I believe things happen for a reason and that everything will turn out how it's supposed to, I think closer to the surface than I cared to admit, I really didnt buy it. It just seemed like a glamorous and hopeful way to frame the crap we step in in life and to, at least for me, have a rational excuse, a justification, to get out of doing the hard work in whatever situation. And while I maintained this nonchalant, kick my feet up attitude, inside, my body was screaming out in pain and agony as I desperately tried to fit square peg after square peg into round hole after round hole.

What does faith mean anyway? Growing up, faith always carried a religious connotation. Faith in the Lord, faith in the Spirit, faith in Christ, faith in God, faith in a life guided by God, etc. etc. But I have never felt like I had that kind of faith. Without going into a discussion of my spiritual beliefs (perhaps another blog), what I can say is that I just kind of clumsily crashed my way through life. In hindsight, it doesnt appear I had any true direction. I had direction I thought I was supposed to go. I had direction I really wanted to go, but I never felt like I was able to trust in anything to guide me except myself with a death grip on the reins.


It's interesting the timing of this trip. With some major life changes that have been happening to me and a reacquainting myself with myself, this upcoming trip is really having quite an impact on my way of being with myself and within the world. It feels good. I feel more free. I feel better about myself and in turn, I am a better person in the spaces I occupy. My mind feels clearer and my body feels more relaxed and at ease even when I step in life's crap. As I've blogged about memories, thoughts, feelings, wonders, etc. associated with this trip, I feel as if a part of me that I never knew was in there has emerged. Without even questioning why or really even wondering, I've just let it come out and come into this world and come into its own. It feels pretty amazing and this emergence of this different level of me I guess has really helped me feel more united within myself. With this unification has come more clarity and peace of mind.

What is faith to me today? As I have evolved over the past handful of months getting ready for this trip, I have realized what faith is to me. Faith is letting go and letting whatever will be be. No questions. No attachments. No interpreted or manufactured meaning. Just being for the sake of being. It's a very Buddhist kind of thinking I think, but it's really allowed me to exist in a place of peace and serenity and it's been awhile since I've felt serene in my life. I've mentioned before how I am a scheduler, a planner, and organized. I like to know the answers. I like guarantees in life. I like certainty. This trip and my emotional journey as it draws closer has really taught me, without even an intentional lesson, to have faith. It's all I can have. No matter how hard I try, that square peg will never fit into that round hole. No matter how much I try and control a situation or worry about someone elses life, I will always be neglecting myself. No matter how much I search for the answers I think there should be, I'll never find them. I think in order to authentically mean and believe it when I say everything happens for a reason, I really do have to have faith in that and that the meaning will have its meaning for its meaning's sake, not mine.


When I translate this into my own personal ways of moving about in this world, I feel as if it is easier for me to have faith in myself, in other people, in circumstances and situations, and to have faith in the universe that it will not let me down. I have absolutely no idea what awaits me in Korea. I have no idea what experiences I will have, what emotions I will have, what I will see, and what it will all mean to me. In order to have the fullest and truest experience in this very necessary and meaningful journey, I really have been able to let go and let be. I have found my faith.

My Body Remembers

Like a geode rock whose beautifully wonderous center is revealed only after years of erosion or a single shattering crack of a rock hammer. Like the mountains and the prairies, the lakes and the rivers, and even our own bodies - underlayers and innerlayers revealed more and more after years of weathering, enduring extremes, and the shedding away of old skins as the years go by. Like a well-worn path whose gravel core reveals itself after many wanderers have traveled its course. And like a mother's womb, I have held you inside and nourished this thing that I could not see, yet I could feel you ever present each day of my life.

As the years have gone by and my skin has shed layers and my body and mind have evolved and endured the extremes and been shaped by the weather, and as my core has become more exposed, I am releasing you into the world - that which I have held inside for 32 years. You have been a part of me. Your beginnings developed inside of me and I have carried you over the roughest terrain, through the harshest of conditions, and into blissfully peaceful lands. Now you are beginning to emerge and as you stand outside of me, but still very much connected to me through the strongest of emotional ties - ties that will never be broken - together we prepare to walk this path.

Memories of my land, my ancestors, my people, my home. Memories of my birth family and my birth mother. Memories of being separated from my birth mother, the orphanage, and the experiences I had for the first six and a half months of my life. Memories of getting ready to come to Minnesota and memories of needing to wait another two months because of a full plane. Memories of the final plane ride. Memories of leaving my land, my ancestors, my people, my home. Memories of being welcomed into forever loving arms. Finally. Arms that would love me and never let me go. Forever arms - forever hugs, forever comfort, forever safety and security, forever love. Memories...

...Memories...


I have held these memories inside my body. And in a symbolic birthing of what has been inside me for so long, they have emerged at the surface and are radiating from my core. I will forever hold these memories and they will forever hold me, but their emergence is coming as I am being called back home. At the very least, this thing that originated inside of me, that I have carried, and that is now being birthed, at the very least it all will be reunited, reconnected, reacquainted, and remembered by where it all began.

Circle

Just over three days and counting. I am feeling a cosmic pull or sorts. This trip has evolved from a fantasy to a reality full of questions, doubts, and technicalities, to a trip of professional opportunity and some personal, to an extremely deeply personal journey - a quest, a calling, a spiritual awakening, however, not in a religious sense.

A friend of mine told me about an annual event that took place on his reservation - a calling home of all the warriors (individuals who had been lost from the reservation). As an adopted individual, he was among those warriors being called home. This calling the lost warriors home takes place every year until all of them are back home. I think that's such a beautiful thing. I now have this feeling of being called home as I get ready to embark on this incredible journey.

I received a card in the mail today from some long time family friends who have known my sister (also adopted Korean) and me for most of our lives. Of the extremely sweet gesture of sending me off with a message of love and support, one line stuck out to me: "I feel honored to watch you on this journey from the time you were quite young - to the return today you have come full circle."

Full circle...Full circle...Full circle...

Life takes so many twists and turns. It's filled with an awesome range of emotions and experiences that span from intense pain and agony to the purest of joy, happiness and love. Sometimes I think it's quite unbelievable just what it is our bodies, minds, and souls endure - the crap we can make it through and the greatness that seems to continue to carry us forward. When I think about the various experiences I have had in life, I feel as if they are circular journeys that will eventually come around and the end will meet the beginning. Perhaps this is a simplistic way to view what are no doubt highly complex systems that spin and spin and spin as we make our way through this thing called life. In my own experiences, upon reflection, I feel that in some ways I have come full circle as I continue to navigate the various life highways, roads, paths, and routes that have no paths but lots of tall grass, biting flies, snakes, and mud. Each experience to me is its own complete package - some more delightful than others of course, but each one unique and full of lessons to be learned, and sometimes lots of bandaids for those rougher patches. And of course some with no bandaids at all - not even a safety net or warning sign! Regardless, it's still a whole and complete experience and each of those experiences has shaped who I have become as I've continued to evolve into who I am today and who I will be in all of the tomorrows still headed my way.

In three days and counting, I will begin the last stretch of this particular life circle as I am being pulled home. No matter what I find out or dont find out about my beginnings, just being in and on the land that I came from is enough to complete this missing piece. My searching roots will finally find the soil they came from and When I Touch the Land in Korea, I will indeed have come full circle to my beginning.

The Sign on My Door

This morning I let my artistic talents flow and drew a Korean Flag on the dry erase board on my office door. I felt compelled to keep a countdown to this trip. My first blog entry was when the trip was three and a half weeks away. As I sit here typing, my trip is 6 days away! For the most part, it still seems unreal, but as we are now well into the single digits, and as I was carefully crafting my Korean flag on my door, suddenly it started to sink in more that this is really going to happen and it's really going to happen to me! I find myself jutting, literally, back and forth in my core between excitement, nervousness, and some kind of complete emotional whoosh! It's the best way I can describe it - a whoosh that courses through my body and infiltrates even the tiniest of places. The feeling is amazing and I feel more and more that this trip is going to be a giant page turn in my book. In fact, it just might mark a significant end to one part of my life, and a brand new beginning to the next part. The best thing is, and it's odd to say this, that I have no idea what that next part will look like, but I am looking forward to figuring that out as I go. I cant remember another time in my life when I have been more at peace with letting go and letting whatever will be...be.

Afraid of the Dark

That morning I rolled over and looked at you. The sunlight peered its way in through the cracks in the shades, blinds, curtains...I can't even remember what adorned the windows to the bedroom. It doesn't matter. I watched you as you slept - still caught in the innocence and beauty of sleep and dreaming. Your eyelids flickered as your brain raced through whatever imagery I could only imagine you were witnessing behind closed eyes. And for that moment, what I had done was forgotten.

It must have been just a few minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. As my gaze was fixated on how beautiful you looked when you slept and the pureness of what would soon be a fresh start to the day, a new beginning, my mind raced through the hurt that would be caused if you ever found out. How could I have done this? What will happen next? I wanted so desperately for that moment to never end. If I stirred and you woke, this perfect uninterrupted bubble would be broken forever. I would never be able to patch the holes, mend the seams, or rebuild what would be lost. Those moments that you slept, just before your dreaming mind slowly eased you into consciousness, those moments were the beginning of the end. It was coming.

Flash forward.

We were walking and I was holding your hand. Our hands always seemed to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. It sounds cliche, but there was a comfort in how they formed around each other. We talked a little about general topics - the day, new ideas, what to have for dinner, those random and seemingly unimportant things that in that moment were the most important words that could and did fill in impending void. And while our conversation was lighthearted and casual and my interactions with you comfortable and routine, I felt like a complete stranger in your presence. The person you were walking hand in hand with and talking to just as we always had, this person had something to tell you, but was frozen with fear to reveal with scathing honesty a story that would upset the delicate balance we had worked so hard for so long to create and maintain.

I noticed your smile and the way your hair fell around your face. The smell in the air on that beautiful day was refreshing and awoken my senses. Even while harboring my secret, I was able to enjoy this time with you and I felt as if my body had become saturated with every detail of that moment - you and your visually poetic movements, the air in all its sweetness and richness, the sounds of our feet on the pavement and the delicate crunch of the small pebbles and scattered smears of sand under our shoes, the cars passing by as they rushed away to unknown destinations, and the faint muddled conversations of other people we passed. I wondered if anyone else out that afternoon was also experiencing a similar comfortably surreal moment just as I was. This was my life here in this present moment, yet what I had done was also my life. The two just never met in front of you.

Flash forward.

I made up a story for you. It was one I thought you might like between the tears and heavy sobs, between the heartbreak and devastation, and between the helpless feeling of not having one ounce of control. Trust me, this was a good story. Had I told you a more factual story,...well, let's just be thankful I didn't. And honestly, it doesn't matter. I'm not sure it will ever matter. Not to you anyway. For me? Oh, it matters. It mattes alot, however, I've been able to tell this same story so many times that I've gotten really good at it. While it may seem effortless, what you don't see or even know is the tremendous destruction and emotional death that it causes in me. Nope, I keep that chapter to myself. I can't even imagine ever letting anyone see that chapter. I can barely stand to look at it. But it's there and it only grows longer. It's become a twist that, at first, was meant to lighten the mood, be entertaining to a degree, and keep things simple and easy. Unfortunately, this twist is pretty knotted up and I'm having difficulty in untying the knots.

You bought the story at least as far as I can tell. I move on. You move on. For me though, rather than starting a new book, I pretty much flip to the beginning and start this book over. Why bother trying something new when this one works so well? More accurately, I've grown accustomed and familiar with this book. No matter how terrible of a story it is, no matter how many times no one wins in the end, no matter how inaccurate each detail becomes, I've gotten really good at telling it. How can I give up something I am actually good at? How can I change the same show that people expect from me? How can I change what I expect from myself?

Flash forward.

Fear.

Fear of loneliness. Fear of sadness. Fear of crying. Fear of holding on too tight. Fear of letting go. Fear of my anger. Fear of what I miss. Fear of loss - incredible loss. Fear of mourning. Fear of loving. Fear of commitment. Fear of honesty. Fear of trust. Fear of losing control. Fear of someone else beating me to it. Fear of the unknown. Fear of faith. Fear of life sometimes. Fear of reasons. Fear of excuses. Fear of death. Fear of illness. Fear of attachment. Fear of abandonment. Fear of rejection. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of not being important enough. Fear of hurting. Fear of losing direction. Fear of personal investment. Fear of emotions. Fear of trusting too much. Fear of giving too much. Fear of my insecurities. Fear of my vulnerabilities. Fear of being picked last. Fear of never being truly happy. Fear of being lied to. Fear of insensitivity. Fear of bad communication. Fear of myself sometimes. Fear of you.

How do you become unafraid of the dark when the dark constantly protects you, soothes you, and creates a seemingly unbeatable barrier that you can hide behind and feel safe and secure even though it's a false sense of safety and security and you're still scared of it? How do you become unafraid of the monsters beneath your bed when the monsters have also encouraged you to tell your stories over and over again even though you know it's wrong and you're still scared of them? How do you jump off that cliff into the bottomless pit full of darkness and monsters when the cliff has kept you high above the muck?

How do I become unafraid when there is so much to be afraid of?

Friday, August 6th

I received an email today from my contact at Lutheran Social Service. Arrangements have been confirmed, per my request, to visit KSS and have a file review on Friday, August 6th at 2pm. I am hoping I get to visit the receiving home as well. I am flooded with emotions of all kinds and it is difficult to sort them out. I could find no new news or I could finally start to have a few vague answers to some of the unanswered questions I have about who I am. What I do know right this moment is that on that day, case number KL-2530 Lee, Cho Hee (my Korean name) and Shawyn Lee will meet each other - the past and the present will finally become one, however that may look.

Unanswered Questions & Institutional Control

Gaps. Divides. Absences. Void. Emptiness. Darkness. Unanswered questions. Holes. Missing pieces. Loneliness. Unknowns. Incomplete. Uncertain. Gray areas. Blanks. Forgotten. Taken. Masked. Covered up...

Lies, lies, lies...

Over the past handful of months, I have found myself engaged in a variety of conversations about the adoptee experience in terms of the stories we were told, what we know of our adoption, the lies and secrets uncovered, and the struggle to function as whole complete selves without ever really feeling whole and complete. The missing pieces of our histories, our identities, our experiences, have fragmented our lives into disjointed chapters with no root beginning and endings filled with question marks.


Who better to be in charge of our own selves than our own selves right? One would think this makes perfect sense. No other person knows us better than we know ourselves. It seems that for alot of adoptees, the adoption institutions, channels, pipelines, that we have traveled through retain our information, yet we are not permitted to know all of it. These institutions get to be selective on what, if any, information is given to the adoptee seeking information about the history of their existence. This is completely absurd, appalling, disturbing, and upsetting to say the least! I know there are policies and regulations in place, or so we've been told, that put jurisdiction on what we can and cannot know. But, in whose best interest are these policies and regulations? And are adoptees the ones putting those policies and regulations in place? Um, that would be a big NO! People in post-adoption services seem to have no clue whatsoever on the incredibly painful, emotional, and frustrating journeys many adoptees go on, to varying degrees, to try and fill in the gaps and missing pieces of their lives, their beginnings, their existence in this world! The toll it takes on a person is intense as they begin to search for their life. And the people we need the most in finding and understanding critical information about our identities are usually those who look at us as suspect and will perpetuate the secrecy, the lies, and the hidden truths.

I've heard many adoptees talk about such intensely painful experiences trying to get information. As someone very recently said to me in so many words, as adoptees, we are products that were sold off and bought by consumers. The product is not supposed to complain. I'm having a very difficult time wrapping my head around the notion of someone having access to my history, my missing links, the answers to my unanswered questions, and potentially not giving me that information when I ask for it and in turn blasting me with a line of interrogative questioning as if I am on trial and have deceitful alternative motives when all I really want to do is know who I am. While I can believe large institutions, especially those driven by a multi-billion dollar profit, would without question be strategic about what information is disclosed and how that disclosure happens, if it happens at all, there is also a large part of me that cannot believe that an institution, comprised of PEOPLE, would behave that way! I AM a product, whether I like it or not. I am a human being that was trafficked, whether I like it or not. How ever I ended up in the orphanage, while I was chosen, I was bought and sold by my native country. Well this human trafficked product who was bought and sold is complaining! I'm wanting, needing, DEMANDING answers! And I, of anyone...ANYONE...deserves the right to know about myself sans interrogation, suspicion, and refusal by ANY institution!

In all my thinking and processing of this upcoming trip both just within myself and as I've networked and talked with others, while I know I may very well come back with way more questions than answers, I also feel like I am on the verge of this major discovery about myself and my life, and it could be severely halted with that immediate stoppage being completely out of my control. What will I do? As much as I try to not let the curiosity and anticipation grow, I am only human. To not be able to obtain any information would definitely be a let down. To run into the bureaucracy of adoption institutions that prevent me from obtaining all information would definitely be a let down. To know that I've come so close during perhaps a once in a lifetime opportunity would be devastating - let's not kid ourselves. And if any of these factors happen to be true for me, how do I find my own closure on all of this? How would I be able to return to my happy naive little life? And seriously knowing that's not possible, how do I move on from that point? I could ask myself these questions over and over and over again and I know that I won't know anything until I am there going through, or attempting to go through the process.

We all have our origins. We all have life experiences. We all have uniquely rich and individual pasts - histories. And we all have amazing stories to tell. As I've moved into and through adult life so far, I see evidence all the time of my missing pieces - the holes and gaps in my life and in myself. In a constant effort to be as whole, complete, and as well-cared-for of a self that I can be, I feel as if I need these answers. For so many years I was oblivious to my identities as a Korean and a Korean Adoptee. The floodgates have opened now and my curiosity, my need to know my whole self, and my seemingly instinctual desire to get back to and understand my home home, are driving this quest that has now been set forth in unstoppable motion. It's become this thing I HAVE TO do and I have to do it all the way.


Up until this point, I had never considered searching for my birth family. Even now, the thought of the process, the navigation of this process, and the extreme emotional toll, make it seem impossible, however, what if those answers are out there for me to be had and all I had to do was look? I'm not sure I can pass up that opportunity. And if it will give me clarity on who I am, I feel myself moving, with no conscious effort of my own, into this automatic need to connect on all levels to my roots so that When I Touch the Land in Korea, I am truly touching all of me.

The Little Girl in the Window

Memory 1:

4:30 and 5 seconds...
...4:30 and 10 seconds...
...4:30 and 30 seconds...
...4:31. He's not coming for me.

Tears are welling up in my eyes even as I recall this memory. Funny how for this particular memory, it was always a rainy, dreary afternoon. In reality it probably wasn't always, it's just the mood my brain puts on the sadness of that little girl, about 6 or 7, waiting, worrying, longing, and almost crying out for her dad who is 1 minute late picking her up from daycare.

The huge bay window in the living room of my daycare provider's house was my only access to the outside world that I knew on those late afternoons waiting for my dad to pick me up and take me home. I remember the bluish-gray carpeting, the monstrous blue couch with shiny floral designs imprinted all over it, and the antique-looking brown chair with a red velvety back and seat cushion which sat next to the front door. I remember Virginia, my daycare provider, gabbing away on the phone in the kitchen, tangled up in an army green phone cord. I am amused when I think of wall phones with those long cords. She'd twirl around talking about who knows what to who knows who, completely oblivious to the heart broken little girl staring desperately out the window waiting for her dad and trying so very hard with all her 6 or 7 year old might, to not let the tears fall down her face.

Memory 2:

When my sister and I were little, it was always fun to go to sleep in the "big bed" when one of our parents went to bed before the other. I remember so many nights jolting awake. I would lie there frozen under what felt like 30 pounds of blankets. I'd be sweating, yet not wanting to move, not wanting to get out from under the covers. I would strain my little ears and listen for the sounds of my mom or my dad (whoever we went to bed with) breathing. The pitch blackness of the room suffocated me. I couldnt see, I couldnt hear, I couldnt move. Sheer terror would tear through my tiny body skyrocketing my blood pressure as I was sure my heart would pound right out of my chest. I'd muster up all the energy I had and slowly roll over onto my side and gently place my hand on the back of whichever parent was sleeping next to me to make sure I could feel them breathing. Once I felt their body slightly rise and fall with each breath they took, my own body began to relax and I would fall back asleep with my hand still resting on their back.

Memory 3:

My dad wanted to take me on a 3-day camping and canoeing trip - just the two of us - down the St. Croix river. As much as I wanted to go on this adventure with him, I was scared out of my mind and convinced that something terrible would happen and he would die, leaving me stranded. Not wanting to turn him down, I begged and pleaded with him to just do an overnight trip. He agreed and we set off. My sister and mom would meet us down river the following day to pick us up.

The trip was great. We had beautiful weather and I remember the peacefulness and stillness of the water and the woods that lined the banks of the river. Most of the time, the only sound I heard was the paddle gently scooping through the water. I remember peering over the side of the canoe and observing the small whirlpools that formed as the paddle sliced through. Occasionally we would hit a sand bar and my dad would get out of the canoe and pull us over. I was fascinated that we could be paddling along and the water was so dark and so deep to all of a sudden being stuck on a sandbar in about 4 inches of water. Every now and then I would get out of the canoe too and enjoy the feel of the sand beneath my feet and the coolness of the river water as it encircled my ankles. I remember the ripples that were etched in the sand from the gentle rhythmic rolls of the current. The texture seemed captivating and inviting to touch.

We made camp at Sandy Hill Heights. The campsites were first come, first serve. We pitched the tent on top of the sandy hill (hence the name I suppose) and pulled the canoe up onto the beachy area below our site. My dad made us dinner and I played in the water trying my best to catch minnows. As dusk came, we had a fire and made s'mores and drank hot tang. That night, as we settled into the tent to sleep, I was overcome with such intense fear, I'm pretty sure I didnt fall asleep until the sun started coming up. I laid there and listened to make sure my dad kept breathing. If he would ever grow silent, I would gently nudge him and ask him if he was ok. Once his breathing resumed to audible levels, I could relax, but only slightly. I was afraid to fall asleep in case he died while I was sleeping. The next morning, I put on my game face and pretended I was well-rested for the afternoon paddle to our ending spot.

My dad never knew about that night.


Why do I write about these childhood memories that are still so vivid to me it's like they happened 10 minutes ago? I wonder how much my experiences involving intense fears and anxiety over being forgotten, abandoned, separated, or left by my parents in that they died, have been influenced by my being adopted. I know I was only an infant and have no verbal or mental memories of my experiences, but lately I have been curious as to what sorts of things I experienced and how I held that in my body even as a baby. I was given up by my birth parents. Not knowing the truth behind why I was given up, generalized messages I got about adoption was that for whatever reason, my parents couldnt care for me and/or didnt want me. I was supposed to go to another family, but when the mom found out she was pregnant, they didnt want me anymore. When I was supposed to come to my adoptive family, my arrival was delayed an additional two months. My incredible fears of my parents leaving me permanently and my preoccupation with them dying came true when I was 16 and my dad suddenly passed away. My body had to internalize some of that stuff. I feel like it all comes out in various ways now that I am an adult, especially when it comes to having close relationships with people. If I've internalized that they will permanently leave and that is painful, I build walls and shields and barriers around me so that I do not have to experience that loneliness, that heartbreak and heartache, that anxiety and fear, that worry, and most of all, those tears.

I want to go back to that little girl standing in the bay window, that little girl frozen with fear in her parent's big bed, and that little girl too terrified and worried to go to sleep on Sandy Hill Heights. I want to go back and scoop that little girl up in my arms and hold her and hug her and love her so that she will always know, throughout her life, that she will never be left, forgotten, unwanted, or unloved. In fact, I want that little girl to know how much she was loved and still is today. I want her to feel safe and secure. Mostly, I just never want to unwrap my arms from around her. My heart breaks when I think back on these memories and that painfully shy little girl who understood and analyzed more than any little kid should have to and how 4:31 wiped out a piece of her soul every time.

Maybe I'll find that little girl in Korea. Or, perhaps, maybe that little girl will find me.

Can I Help You Sir? Er, I Mean Ma'am. Uh. Wait. What?!

I've resigned myself to almost literally uttering aloud, "this is what my life is going to be like." If I had a nickel for every time someone gendered me - ma'am, sir, ms., miss, buddy, dude, man, he, she, ladies, gentlemen, etc. - I would be so independently wealthy that I could easily pay off half the world's debt and still have enough to play with. Navigating a gendered world as a genderless being is incredibly challenging and painful. At the end of most days my energy is just gone. There are very few places I can go to recharge.

I remember those Boso the Clown blow up balloon things. You inflate them and they are weighted on the bottom and you can punch it and it will fall back but because of the weight in the bottom, it will spring right back up for more abuse. All the while, that creepy perma-grin clown face just mocks you and antagonizes you. Really, this TOY brings out some of our more violent tendencies. Whose bright idea was that?!

Most days I feel like Boso, except that it's society's face that continually mocks me, teases me, points and laughs at me, pulls my hair, punches me in the gut,...yet, my feet are firmly planted and as many punches as I get, I can't help but spring back up for more abuse - double takes, prolonged stares, dirty looks, whispers, laughing, outright comments, distancing due to discomfort. Each social interaction takes an incredible amount of energy as I never know if or how someone is reading me. More often than not people assume me to be male. If they pick up on clues that might indicate that I am not male, they will sometimes abruptly switch to female pronouns and labels. Each of those binaries are equally as painful and equally inaccurate to how I view myself and how I identify. But in daily social interactions with people I may never see again, do I really want to expend the amount of energy necessary to educate them on each of our own rights to self identify and the magical world of no pronouns?

I think about all of this in terms of my upcoming international travel experience. Navigating airport politics is so heinously scary to me that it almost makes me sick to my stomach. What do I do if I am chosen to be searched - like a full on pat down search? You know they'll stick a male guard on me. Do I stand there and take it while the gawkers gather round? Because they'll sure be thinking I'm a guy without having to think about it at all! Or, do I tell them they ought to put a female guard on me? Then what will they all think?! In addition, my driver's license and passport all have my legal name which is unmistakenly female. I ALWAYS get sir'd at the airport. It NEVER fails. And then they see my id. And then it's awkward and I wish so hard in that moment of heart racing, breaking out in a cold sweat, and feeling all of the energy shift so hard in my body that, with a physical jolt, I go rigid and try to not be sick to my stomach, that I could just vanish.

Restroom politics get dicey too. Which one do I use? I pass so easily for male that I know I wont encounter any negativity in the men's room. I'd prefer a gender neutral, or family, restroom, but of course, those are far and few between in most places. So, I hold my pee. I don't drink anything. I dont eat anything. I sit in discomfort and get panicky from how uncomfortable I am. This, in turn, doesnt help with trying to NOT have to use the restroom. Going in the men's room has become the best option when no gender neutral restrooms are available, however, I am VERY well aware of how different the sound is of the pee stream hitting the water in the toilet when it comes from a female bodied person vs. a male bodied person. Perhaps this is a bit much information, but many people do not ever have to think about this. When it comes to my own safety and security, I have to be really mindful of all of these different factors in any given situation. As I prepare to travel to another country and into a culture in which I am not familiar, I realize how much I am leaving the safety and security of what I know here and how I've learned to navigate restroom politics here, and the community I have here. Even though it is so far from perfect here, it's a loneliness and pain I have grown accustomed to and I have found small pockets of support and community that help to provide temporary bandaids to my constantly bleeding wounds. In Korea, I just have no idea. I will indeed be a stranger in my own land and for many different reasons. It's strange to think about how isolating this could be in some ways even in a place where everyone looks like me at least on the outside, and even then, there will be obvious differences. I have, afterall, been completely whitewashed.

Today I filled out my Post Adoption Request form from Lutheran Social Services. They like to coordinate meetings between adoptees returning to Korea and Korea Social Service. As I sat and stared at the name field, it's become second nature now to fill in Shawyn Lee, however, right next to the name field is the social security field and sure enough, that was a smack back into reality that I would have to list my legal name. I did make a note, however, that while I understand the need to use my legal name for this search, I preferred they address me as Shawyn. I have NO IDEA how that will go over. And once again, I find myself in a place where I am emotionally and mentally preparing to deal with gender binaries and people just not understanding what all of this means. *sigh*

For pretty much all of my life I have walked with one foot on either side of the gender line. I know what it's like to have incredible gender privilege in that people assume without even having to think about it, that I am male. Along with this kind of gender privilege comes heterosexual privilege evidenced by being able to, for example, walk down the street hand in hand with a partner and/or showing physical affection in public and being able to blend right in and never encounter any sort of hostility or negativity. I also know the deep stabbing pain of being gender nonconforming and the unhideable things that reveal someone who others are not expecting to emerge given how I have chosen to express myself. I never feel like I fit fully in to any space and operate off of a pretty constant state of exhaustion as I am always having to be on, always having to be hyper aware of my surroundings and my interactions with people, and always having to run through a list of about 50,000 things in that split second of being pronouned (either way) and deciding how to respond.

As hard as it is here,

I wonder what it will be like for 16 days in Korea.

In the Sort of Beginning

Assumed to have been born LEE ChoHee January 14, 1978.

(I have some major Capricorn traits, so even if it's not the 14th, it's definitely within Capricorn territory!)

Apparently I was abandoned at a police station somewhere in Seoul with a note pinned to my clothing that said my birth date and name. According to some papers I have, I was 2 days old. I've always wondered what was happening to me in those 2 days...

(For many adoptees, the police station story is a familiar one but in most cases, it isn't true. What I have heard is that listing that actually expedited the international adoption process.)




This is a photo of Korea Social Service Receiving Home in which I spent the first 6.5 months of my life. I arrived here on January 16, 1978.

While it looks like a friendly place, I oftentimes wonder how often anyone paid any attention to me. Did I spend most of the time in my crib by myself? When I cried was I held and comforted? Was I played with? Talked to? Soothed? Cuddled? Was I important in someone's life or was I just someone's work?

I have been told that probably around the time I was there, over 200 children were there as well. It's hard to imagine this and it makes me sad to know this, especially when I have the wonders that I have about how much I was interacted with.




I came to Minnesota July 6, 1978. I was supposed to come 2 months earlier, but apparently the plane was full. You'd think they would have known that ahead of time. Times were different then I guess. My poor parents! I cant imagine how hard that was to think your baby was coming in May only to hear that you have to wait an additional 2 months!

Interestingly, I was also originally supposed to go to another family, but the mom found out she was pregnant and so they didn't want to adopt.

April 23, 1979 my adoption became official through Korea Social Service and Lutheran Social Service.

April 26, 1980 I became a citizen of the United States.

Three and a Half Weeks

For as long as I can remember, each time I step outside at night, my first inclination is to turn my head upwards to gaze at the night sky. Whether I am in the brightest of cities enveloped by the piercing urban lights, or in the darkest of rural lands where the only direction I know for certain is revealed by an impressive star-filled sky, I will always look up.

I've been in those spaces between the stars at various points in my life - dark, sad, content, peaceful, lost, wandering, comfortable in the shadows. The experiences of my past and what lies ahead for me are all up there. The night sky has always carried a feeling of familiarity. It's like a regular homecoming each time I can see the stars even if it's just a few in the city or what I am sure are to be trillions in the country. My body experiences an instantaneous energy shift and suddenly I am nakedly aware of it's vastness and mystery. For someone who likes routines, guarantees, organization, and schedules, when I look at the night sky I feel completely at peace with just letting go. I know the parts of me that are up there - some I am intimately familiar with, others, I have not yet met.

This blog comes three and a half weeks before I leave on a potentially once in a lifetime trip back to the place I was born - to my home home. I'll be traveling to Seoul, South Korea. For 32 years I have lived in the United States. Minnesota to be exact. I know practically nothing about my cultural heritage. I know nothing about my birth family. What I do know about my adoption story and how I came to be available for adoption is most likely untrue. What I do know is that I am a person with no history, at least no tangible history, of my blood. I feel plucked and placed and while I feel I have had a very good life as an "American," it is only a small part of me - a part I had no say in, a part that stripped me so far away from my core that I have no concept of what that core is. Having nothing to hold that is representative of the depths of my own personhood is strangely familiar. I guess I've gotten used to the holes that have existed in my life and in me.

I do not look at this trip as something that will provide all of the answers and fill all of the holes. In fact, I know that I may very well come back with more questions than answers. While it is hard to believe that I am actually going to get to have this experience in my life, I am also trying to remain somewhat separate from it as I know that no matter how hard I try and imagine what it will be like, until each moment comes, I will have no idea. I want to be able to take everything as it comes and absorb everything I can. Without shields and expectations I feel I will have a truer experience of what waits for me in Korea. Mostly, I am trying to keep any sort of defenses of any kind down as I prepare to return to the orphanage in which I spent the first 6.5 months of my life. I've seen photos but I long to run my hands along the cribs, touch the toys, breathe the air, and just take in all it has to offer. The thought of occupying the same space now at 32 years old that I did when I was an infant is an intense array of brain processes and emotions even without expectations. I plan to ask for my files and I hope that there is something there for me to look at. Even a small bit of vague information is better than nothing.

I'll also be presenting at an international conference in Seoul called The Gathering. My topic will involve discussions of the unique and challenging experiences of Korean Adoptees who identify as gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and/or queer in terms of identity development and relationships. Adoptees, especially from Korea, seem to be a highly researched group and there is much information out there on the experiences, travels back to Korea, reunifications, cultural and ethnic identity development, attachment, etc., but to date, I have not come across anything that is specifically on how all of these experiences and developmental processes are affected and/or different when we look at the intersections of gender and sexuality in terms of gender identities and/or sexual orientations. This will be an amazing professional experience for me and it's a topic that is close to me because of the various identities I carry as a Queer Korean Adoptee.

My original plan was to start this blog the night before I left, however, this trip has been on my mind quite a bit and I felt compelled to start now and have this be an opportunity for me to write about my experiences leading up to the trip, on the trip, and post-trip. I'll be gone August 1-16 and am excited, anxious, nervous, and all sorts of other emotions I am sure I cannot put words on at this moment, for this trip. And just know, for those of you who keep up with this blog, that while in Korea, I'll be looking up at the sky each night leaving more pieces of myself to wander and acquainting myself with those pieces I have not yet met all while being home home.