Two Worlds Apart: One Adoptee’s Journey Back Home

PART I.

I shuffled off of the plane after an exhausting day of travel and made

my way through the required steps of entering another country. I tried to

remain upbeat and energized after staying awake for over 30 hours. Aside

from a minor problem at immigration where I was missing a card that

needed to be filled out, I made it through the process in one piece. The

whole trip became a blur of aches and pains, the nausea that stayed with

me throughout the turbulent plane ride which seemed to go on forever, the

long trek through immigration, baggage claim, and customs. The

triumphant return where I was embraced back into my “motherland” was

far from my mind by the time I was able to drag myself and my luggage

through the doors that separated customs from the arrival area of the

airport.

Although I had had no expectations of what my arrival into South

Korea would be like, I had envisioned two scenarios during some day

dreaming sessions about the impending trip. One would be that I would

happily arrive back in South Korea after twenty-two years and nine months

and feel completely at home, warmly welcomed back into the arms of my

birth country. The other scenario that came to mind was that I would feel

overwhelmed being surrounded by so many Asians, something that did not

occur on a daily basis in my life in the States, and I would feel like a

complete stranger. Neither scenario played out. I was so caught up in the

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practical, travel aspects of the trip that it was hard for me to really focus on

what was going on. However, whatever happened next I knew I was not

alone. I stepped into the unknown through the doors from customs into the

arrival area of the airport with newfound friends who were also on the trip,

where we all were greeted by the sight of a man holding a sign with

“Korean Ties” on it.

I was excited and relieved to have finally arrived, but there was no

overwhelming feeling of any kind except exhaustion, hunger, and some

physical aches. I felt the same as I have felt on any other journey I had

taken outside of the United States in the past. I looked around me in

wonderment at the different places in the airport and was semi-surprised

that one of the first things I saw was a Dunkin Donuts. After a moment I

dumped my luggage with my mother and our family friend Sue, who was

accompanying us on the trip, and headed over to peruse the menu. After

noticing some new things and recognizing some old, I settled on a bagel,

something very standard. The Dunkin Donuts employees greeted me with an

enthusiastic hello in Korean and proceeded to explain something further—

all in Korean. After realizing I did not speak Korean, they later instructed

me with some hand signals and simple English on how to sign the receipt

electronically. (Yes, I was able to use my VISA card, and it worked

beautifully!) The awkward exchange between the employees who spoke

simple English and I, who do not speak any Korean, aside from a few words

recently picked up, was the first of many on the trip. Having accomplished

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being able to buy my first food article in Korea, I happily put away the

receipt written in Korean and shuffled back towards the growing group of

people who would be with us for the next two weeks.

After what seemed like an agonizingly long wait for everyone who was

due to arrive, we were finally told we could proceed to the bus which would

take us to our hotel in Seoul. There we would be checking in, exchanging

money, getting food, and presumably showering, all of which would take

place before we could pass out, which I could not wait to do.

While the anticipation of finally being able to sack out in a large, soft,

comfortable bed was the only thing that kept me going, surprisingly enough

there was a lot to see on the bus ride to the hotel and I found myself

snapping photos left and right. I also listened to the warm greeting the

Korean Ties staff gave as they welcomed us, gave us information, and

taught us a few things about Korea. Even though we had finally landed, and

I had even had an exchange at a Korean Dunkin Donuts, as I stared out at

the scenery, as exciting as it was to see what South Korea looked like, I still

did not feel like I was in Korea or that any of this was real. Not only was it

difficult to comprehend all that was happening, but in the beginning, the

roads and the foliage on the side of the road looked like we could be

anywhere, including the United States or England, making it that much

harder to become used to the idea that I was really in Korea. Traveling to

Korea was a goal I had always wanted to achieve, yet it had always been an

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idea that I felt would never happen, up until the very day that I walked onto

the Korean Air plane that was ready to take me back to my birth country.

While the scenery appeared quite commonplace during the beginning

of the ride to the hotel, as we got closer to Seoul, I became mesmerized by

the gorgeous bodies of water, the bridges, and the city skyline. Before I

knew it, we had reached the hotel, an elegant building nestled between

many other buildings on a street that could be located in any bustling city—

New York, Boston, Chicago. There were lights and restaurants everywhere

—some very familiar, like The Outback Steakhouse, which looked to be

about a minute’s walk or less from the hotel, and others new and

interesting. Once we were all in the hotel, we were greeted by many more

of the people with whom we had chatted briefly online or read about in the

packets sent to us from the Ties program before we left the States. As I

tiredly jumped into the greetings, all I could think about was how close we

were to being able to get into our rooms and go to sleep. With only food and

sleep in mind, it was hard for me to take in how lovely the building was. The

lobby had grand marble and beautiful, vibrant colors. It had a restaurant to

the left of some counters that appeared to have pastries in them, and

various shops. In addition, there seemed to be several kind, patient,

knowledgeable, and helpful people working at the desk who volunteered to

take our luggage up to our rooms. Most of this, however, was lost on me

until the next day.

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After finally making it into the elevator, which had mirrors on every

wall and images of the many options the hotel offered, we made it to our

floor. Even though I was not very alert, I noticed that the elevator was

missing the number four—which I later learned sounds identical to the word

for death, so Koreans often avoid it. Once the elevator doors opened, we

walked towards what looked to be closed doors, which magically opened

when we touched our room cards to some sort of device. And, voila, we

made it down the hall to our rooms, which were beautiful and spacious. It

turned out that I had a view of the street directly across from the front of

our hotel. After we dropped off our suitcases, my mother, our friend Sue,

and I made our way out of the hotel to explore just far enough to find a

place to go for dinner.

As we ventured out of the building we went through a 7-11 store,

whose content caught our eye, as it had various familiar items such as

water, coffee, and yogurt, which would make for decent breakfast items

whenever needed. When we stepped into the back alleyway behind the

Sejong Hotel, we were greeted by the sight of a row of seemingly never-

ending restaurants and shops, all lit up like the lights of Broadway in New

York City. Though so many choices for food and shopping would later seem

enticing, at the moment, with exhaustion and hunger on our minds, it all

seemed a bit overwhelming. We wound up settling on a simple restaurant,

which turned out to be Italian, just a few steps away from the hotel.

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When I slid into a booth and thanked the curious waiters as they

handed over the menus, everything started to spin and bob. The adrenaline

that kept me going for the thirty plus hours of travel was starting to fade

and I felt as if I was on a boat that was continuing to bob up and down on

top of unruly waves. I could only manage an order of bruschetta, which

turned out to be pita bread, tomatoes, and a few other unmemorable

ingredients. Once we finished, and once we bought some supplies such as

water and a phone card, we were able to make it back to our rooms. The

rest of the night turned into a blur, as time seemed topsy-turvy after the

long day spent traveling and the time change. I was finally able to find

peace by passing out in bed. Although due to jetlag, I did wake up very early

at one point in the night, the next morning I woke up refreshed and ready to

start a new day of adventure.

PART II.

The first morning in South Korea was a nerve-wracking one. My

stomach and brain had not yet adjusted to all the upset and new

surroundings. I headed to breakfast with a bit of trepidation, not knowing

most of the people, and feeling a bit shy. Breakfast was a grand affair with

eggs, bacon, and fruit of all kinds, oatmeal, soups, and a lot of other options.

Everyone was milling around and looked impressed with the spread of food.

While some tables seemed full of happy, chummy people, others were either

semi-full or empty as some people approached them in an awkward manner.

The thirty-five or so families thrown together after long, grueling hours of

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travel would have to find a way to quickly coalesce into one large family,

ready to embark on a wonderful, albeit complex and somewhat difficult

journey together.

Although I felt awkward in the beginning, after breakfast,

introductions, and a quick meeting, we all got ready to start the day. It

began to get easier from then on, with everyone free to chat and form bonds

with each other during the meals, bus journeys, and day to day adventures.

It became second nature to strike up a casual conversation with the person

next to you. The first day we headed to a Korean Folk Village, where we

were able to learn some about the history of Korea and about old traditions

from four or five hundred years ago, including how people used to wash

their clothes, what they used to wear, and what types of food they ate. We

were also treated to some performances by musicians and daring horseback

riders. It was a fun day that included a very interesting lunch with a lot of

indescribable dishes and some shocking ones, like baby octopus. It was a

nice day to get to know everyone and find our footing in a new place.

While the first day was pretty full, yet somewhat more relaxing, the

second day of the trip was filled with much more emotion. It was the day

when most of us went to the agencies through which we had been adopted.

We were each to meet with a social worker and find out as much

information about our backgrounds as we were allowed to know. Sitting on

the bus surrounded by new friends and people I was still getting to know, I

felt a lump of nervousness in my throat, which was a surprise to me in some

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ways. I had never had an overwhelming desire to find out too much about

my past—I just accepted the fact that my birth mother was a single

teenager when she had me and that, due to her circumstances, I had to be

given up. In fact, as I prepared myself for this meeting at the agency, my

mind drew a blank in terms of what questions to ask. Yet I knew this was my

opportunity to perhaps find out things that I had never thought I would be

able to know.

The bus ride was astonishingly fast, and before I knew it we were

being ushered into a building on a relatively normal to a bit run down

street. The beginning of our time at Holt, the agency from which I and many

other children on the trip were adopted, was very welcoming. We were

treated to introductions, a video, and being able to meet Molly Holt, the

daughter of the couple who had started Holt many years ago. Finally it was

time for some in our group to meet their foster parents and others to meet

with our social workers. When my name was called I put on a strong brave

face and followed my social worker up to her office.

Growing up in the United States I always knew that I was adopted and

a bit different from the other children at my school. As a young child it did

not occur to me that I belonged to two different cultures, two different

countries, two different worlds. I had some curiosity and some questions

growing up, but to think that I had had a whole other life in this foreign

place was not a concept that I fully grasped. So going into the office with

my social worker and knowing that I was about to learn about my birth

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family and the circumstances surrounding my adoption felt to me almost

like I was about to learn about a complete stranger.

While Korean society has many similarities to American culture, it has

a great many differences too. When it comes to adoption, it is a very private

matter, and there is a lot of concern for the safety and anonymity of the

birth parents. It is often very difficult for adoptive children to find out any

information about their birth families, let alone be able to find them. This in

many cases has to do with the stigma in Korea that is still attached to

women who have children out of wedlock. In addition, women who have

given up children in their past and have married or remarried are fearful of

telling their husbands about the child they gave up because it could result

in their husbands demanding a divorce, and this, in turn, can lead to their

children being sent to an orphanage. Although I knew parts of this when I

came to Korea, I learned more about it while I was there. So I did not

expect to find out much information about my birth family or my past.

Surprisingly, the social worker I was assigned gave me a lot of

information, including my birth parents’ names, their birthdates, whether

they had any siblings, and even what happened when my birth mother found

out that she was pregnant. The fact that stood out for me was that my birth

father’s mother paid my birth mother’s mother money and asked them to

keep quiet and not make any trouble for him. The harsh reality of what goes

on when it comes to adoptions in Korea and what went on when it came to

my own adoption is almost like a slap to the face. Later on during the trip I

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learned that other children had been given up because they had a small

deformity of some kind. I cannot imagine what it is like to hear that you are

not wanted. Almost as bad in my case was hearing that the whole process

was handled a bit like a business deal. Although hearing about my past was

hard in some ways, I am glad I was able to learn so much. I was also able to

keep a strong front during the whole process, and for much of the whole

trip. After my meeting with the social worker was over, I was able to enjoy

the rest of the day. The day included going to see babies being very well

taken care of by loving foster parents. It was obvious how much the babies

were loved and how happy they were with their foster mothers. In addition

to the more heavily emotional portion of the day, there was also a delicious

lunch, an “American” dinner at Pizza Hut, and a shopping expedition. The

trip could go from heavy to light in a matter of hours.

The next day proved to be another heavy day. The group started off

the day by heading towards a maternity home called Esther’s House. We

were able to tour the facility and take a glimpse of some more babies and

children. The main event of the day was to meet with a group of women who

were living at the home during their pregnancy before they were to give up

their babies for adoption. It was one of the more emotionally upsetting

experiences I have had in my life. At one point it seemed like everyone was

crying. It took everything I had inside to keep from crying because I felt if I

did, I would not be able to stop. What was really gut-wrenching was to hear

the women say their biggest fear was that when their children grew up,

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they would hate their birth mothers for giving them up for adoption. The

statement that got everyone sobbing even more was when one of the

adoptees on the trip stood up and thanked the women and told them how

much we, the children, did not hate anyone and that their children would

not hate them, that we are and they will be grateful for the sacrifice. The

time at Esther’s was so profound and moving, and it gave so much insight

into what it is like for the birth mother. As an adoptee, I do not think I had

ever thought about what it was like for my birth mother—I only thought

about what it was like for me. I think everybody left Esther’s House that day

feeling emotionally drained, but closer to everyone and having more

compassion for the mothers and for the whole situation.

After the visit to Esther’s House, we all had to shake off the emotional

experience in order to enjoy a great lunch and move on to a historical site,

Kyongbok Palace. Then we headed back to the hotel to prepare for a long

journey the next day.

The next day, day four of our trip, was a journey to Mt. Sorak, the first

stop of a long five-day trip. The bus ride to the mountain was filled with

naps, conversation, snacking, and a couple of rest stops where we were able

to see different kinds of bathrooms, including modern ones with both

western toilets and squatty potties—where you had to squat in order to use

it. We also ran into a group of young Korean soldiers who agreed to take

photos with some of the girls in the Korean Ties group (including me!).

Once we reached Mt. Sorak there were opportunities for a hike and a ride

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in a cable car up to the top of the mountain. It was cloudy and sometimes

rainy while we were there so we did not get to see the great views the place

is known for. We did get to see a very large statue of Buddha and visit a

Buddhist shrine on the mountain. Because the resort was not far from the

eastern coast, it was possible to go to the beach, but the weather was not

cooperative, so a few of us chose to take a taxi to the small nearby city on

the coast. The hotel we stayed in was also home to a casino. Oddly enough,

Koreans are not allowed to enter the casino, so it was only a handful of

fathers, a fellow adoptee, and myself who explored the casino one night.

The stay at the mountain was interesting, but not the highlight of the trip

for me. It was the next stop on the trip that I was looking forward to and

feeling very nervous about. It also turned out to be the place where I had

the best time on the trip.

PART III.

After a couple days at the mountain, we embarked on a six hour or so

journey to Busan in the southern part of the country on the coast. In Busan,

we stayed in a five-star hotel with very nice amenities. The hotel included

an Olympic-size pool, a large workout center, a spa, a club, and a very large

buffet area. We were treated to a lovely buffet dinner the first night and got

to explore the surrounding area as well. The hotel was right on a beautiful

beach. Across the street from the other side of the hotel was an area that

included a mall and a large outdoor market. There were also familiar

restaurants nearby, such as Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, TGIFs, Pizza Hut,

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California Pizza Kitchen, and many more. I was surprised to see how

westernized Korea is. I knew I would see a lot of familiar food places, but I

did not expect to see KFC, TGIF, or Coldstones. Nearby in the same area

was a large traditional outdoor Korean market with fish, octopus, and all

kinds of fresh vegetables and fruit, and other types of goods for sale. It was

nice to relax, explore the area, and bond more over all the fun we were

having in Busan. One highlight was an intense soccer game that erupted

between the American Korean Ties adoptees and a group of Korean

adoptees from Sweden who were also visiting Busan. Chants of USA! And a

lot of yelling in general attracted a number of bystanders who had been

walking along the beach. It was all very exciting and a relief to have

somewhat of a break from the constant activities.

During the trip the biggest event in my life came on the last day we

were in Busan. After the stay in Busan, we were all to travel back to Seoul

together and would spend the last two days of the trip there, back at the

Sejong Hotel. But before I could join in all of that, I was to take a hired mini

bus with a translator, a social worker who was on the trip with the Korean

Ties group, my mother, and our family friend Sue, to go on a three or four

hour bus trip to a smaller city in the south in order to meet my birth mother

and my aunt.

It is challenging even to attempt to describe the experience that was

the biggest event in my life so far. The trip to Korea had been just a mere

thought in the fall of 2009, and it did not become a reality, that is, a definite

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plan, until January 2010. I had feelings of trepidation and anxiety about

going on such a big trip even before I found out I would be meeting my

birth mother. I learned about the meeting about two months, or less, before

the trip. Up to that time I had never tried to look for her, although I did

express thoughts of trying to—someday. I did not ask anyone to look for her,

but I did write a letter, giving the ok to do so, to be put in my file with the

adoption agency in Seoul, an option offered by Korean Ties. Because I knew

that due to the cultural stigmas in Korea, the chances of meeting my birth

mother were low, all I had on my mind at the time was preparing for my

“return” to Korea. It was on an ordinary day that the future trip became

something more. I opened my email to find a message from the director of

the Korean Ties program telling me they had been in contact with my birth

mother and there would be a meeting when I came to Korea. In that

moment I felt absolutely nothing. I had no joy, I had no sadness—I believe it

was just utter shock. I had no idea what to feel, and that loss of feeling

continued up until I was in Korea. I had no expectations, because I had no

idea what to expect. It is not something that happens every day. Yet, now,

on this particular day—July 6, 2010—I was off to see my birth mother and

my aunt.

The day was gorgeous but hot, and it was a four hour bus ride to the

place where the meeting was set up. Because she is married to someone

other than my birth father, and because of the circumstances surrounding

all of that, the meeting with my birth mother was to be a secret affair. Her

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children—my two half-sisters and brother—still to this day do not know of

my existence. The ride there was long, along winding roads, and the

scenery was beautiful—views of lush, green mountains going down toward

the glistening green-blue water. Once we made it to the place where we

were to meet, I began to feel nervous and a little weird. As the car pulled up

carrying my birth family and two women got out, I was unsure which person

was my birth mother. I did not have any feelings of recognition or

attachment or anything else. I almost felt like I was about to go into an

interview. It is a peculiar feeling to meet someone who gave birth to you but

who is a complete stranger.

The beginning of our meeting was a bit awkward. We met but then we

all went back to our vehicles and drove around before settling on a

restaurant that overlooked a stunning body of water. I believe there was a

lot of apprehension about finding the right spot to meet in order to keep the

whole event a secret. Once we were able to come together in a spot outside

of the restaurant, we sat at a picnic table and began talking through the

translator. I asked as many questions as I could think of, and my shy, quiet

birth mother answered all of them. As I looked at her from across the picnic

table I looked for any similarities, but the one question I had carried with

me for some time was answered with disappointment when I found hardly

any resemblance. If anything I looked more like my aunt. In addition, I felt

more awkward than anything else. I did not run into my birth mother’s

arms, nor did she into mine upon our meeting. Neither of us burst into

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tears, and there was no dramatic reunion like something one would see on a

television show or in a movie. The only one crying during our time together

was my aunt; although she struggled to keep her composure, silent tears

fell from her face most of the time. She seemed to be the more expressive

one, even putting her arms around me for a photo later on in the day. My

birth mother appeared to be a shy, quiet, more reserved woman. It felt like

her sister was expressing all that I would think my birth mother was feeling.

After our discussion, from which I learned a lot about my family, and a little

photo op, we had a quick lunch and another little photo session. Even

though I was able to look at her, hug her, and take photos with her, the

meeting with my birth mother still seemed unreal and something out of the

twilight zone.

It took a while to “warm up”, but by the end of the time I was not

ready to say goodbye. There were a lot of hugs, and a lot of tears from my

aunt, who thoughtfully let my birth mother ride with us to a bus stop. My

birth mother and I got to sit with each other on the bus and “chat” for

another twenty minutes or so, through the translator. She showed me some

pictures of her daughters and son. I found out her favorite book and some of

her likes. I got to be in the moment and be with her for a little bit longer. It

was difficult to watch her walk off the bus and to wave goodbye knowing it

could be years until I saw her again, or that I might even never see her

again. It was hello and goodbye in a matter of hours to the person who had

given me life.

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However, life must go on, and we had one last stop to make before we

headed back to Seoul. We took a ride towards the town and the very

building that I was born in. I was able to stand in the doorway and tour the

area where I was born. The building had once been a clinic but had long ago

turned into doctors’ offices. While it was hard to connect with it, especially

in a matter of minutes, going to the place where I was born was something

that I felt I needed to do. Knowing where they were born is something all of

my friends take for granted. They have had conversations in the past about

which hospital they were born in, and found camaraderie in the fact that

some of them were born in the same hospitals or areas. Not knowing where

I was born, what time I was born, and to whom I was born is something that

had made me feel like more of an outsider, so being able to put all the

pieces together was something that I really appreciated and appreciate.

During the ride back I did feel some emotions swelling up inside of

me, but there were too many distractions for me to let myself fully feel

anything. We had limited time to catch the high speed train that would take

us back to Seoul. Once we were on the train, which left around eight that

night, it was a three hour ride back. There was a lot of time spent traveling

during the trip; on this particular, extraordinary day, we had traveled four

hours to meet my birth mother, almost an hour to the site where I was born,

another three hours from there back to Busan, and then, a three-hour train

ride to Seoul, totaling about eleven or so hours traveling in that one day.

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Once I was back in my hotel room in Seoul, the whole day hit me, and

my emotions ran wild. I quietly sobbed in the shower as the feeling of “I

want my mommy” came over me. There was nobody else in that moment

who I wanted, and I could do nothing but let the feelings wash over me. It

was almost a relief to let out what had been bottled up inside of me for the

week—all the emotions that I had felt about Holt, the maternity home, and

the meeting with my birth mother started to trickle out that night. But it

was not until the next day that it really got to me.

The next day, which was the day before our last day in Seoul, was due

to be spent at a girls’ middle school nearby. It was difficult waking up after

the day I had had and after getting back so late. I was in no mood to visit a

school and be surrounded by so many people, but it appeared that I had no

choice. There was also to be a host dinner after the school visit, in which

families on the tour would each have dinner with a schoolgirl and her family

in their home. As we had signed up, we felt we had to go. Throughout the

whole morning I felt a strong urge to cry and was not looking forward to

having to spend the day at school. I was able to get through most of the

morning by distracting myself with some of my friends. However, squeezing

into a hot, crowded room doing some sort of art project proved to be too

much, and I stepped outside with a friend to get some air. When a parent

walked by and commented on how we should be in the room participating,

this, for some reason, set me off and I started sobbing and sobbing. My

younger friend turned out to be very supportive, and my outburst brought

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out other supportive adults, who let me just cry. It was the release that I

needed. Later on when my adoptive mother told me my birth mother had

said, through the translator, she could see me again when her children were

“mature,” I started crying again, as I knew that that would be at least ten

years. Needless to say, I did not make it to the host dinner that night. I

regret this to an extent, but, at the same time, I felt too shaken up and

upset to attend the dinner. Embarrassed but relieved, I was able to make an

early exit. I grabbed a more filling dinner at (I admit it) Outback Steakhouse

where I found comfort in the familiar salad, bread, and fries that I ordered.

My mother and I even did a little shopping after dinner, before I headed to

bed early. There is no parenting book or guidelines to follow when dealing

with a complex situation such as meeting one’s birth mother. It is just

something that has to be played out with understanding and patience. I am

grateful that I was surrounded by such great, supportive people with those

qualities.

My trip of a lifetime ended with me heading toward the DMZ to take a

tour of the border between North and South Korea. In the same room that

Hilary Clinton visited a few weeks later, the room where North and South

Korea conduct negotiations, I was even able to step over the “line” into

North Korea (the other side of the room). During the tour (although we

were not allowed to wave at them) we were able to see a group of North

Korean tourists from a distance, take a few photos in specific designated

areas, and buy some interesting souvenirs. We also had one last delicious

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lunch at a restaurant before returning to the Sejong Hotel. Once back at the

hotel, some of us, including myself, donned new hanboks—a traditional

dress that Korean women wear for special occasions, and we all had a

wonderful dinner together. The day ended with a highly talented

performance (something between STOMP and Blue Man Group) at the

theatre. And with that, we all prepared for our journeys back home.

I woke up the next morning with a strong feeling of not wanting to

return home, but happy that many of us from the Korean Ties group would

be together on the same flight back to the United States. Once everyone

and their luggage were on the buses, we stopped by Holt one last time to

pick up two babies who were headed to the States to be adopted. The

Korean Ties experiences brought us full circle—we saw the future birth

mothers, the foster parents and babies, and then the babies being sent to

join their new families—the very same journey that we had gone through so

many years ago. One of the babies joined us all the way to Boston and we

(my mother, our family friend Sue, and a woman who was a leader on the

trip) got to see the family meet their new son for the first time. It had been

heart-wrenching to hear the baby scream when he was taken away from his

sobbing foster mother and to cry for twelve hours on the flight to Chicago,

until finally, near the end of the trip, he stopped, exhausted. It made me

question having him and all the other babies being taken away from the

arms they know, the language they know, the environment they know, and

then thrust into a whole new culture and way of living. But, at the same

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time, once the trip was over, it was heart-warming to see how happy his

family was to be united with the baby, and I know, too, that he will have a

good life in the States.

My journey back to the place where I was born and meeting my birth

mother was a powerful experience and one that I will hold with me for the

rest of my life. Writing about it helps me keep the memories alive and

express myself. It is not easy to untangle all the emotions and thoughts that

come with a trip this meaningful and complex. This trip will stay with me

forever. I can definitively say that I have now been able to put both my feet

in, and be a part of, both my worlds—my birth country and my adoptive

country and home. I am proud to say that I am Jenna Elizabeth Kyung-Ok

Crockford Goodman, a Korean-American adoptee.

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