When I was in Grade 7 and Grade 10, I went through terrible blue spells. It could have been my teenage hormones raging uncontrollably and my having no method of release, but I was morbidly depressed (though was an artist at hiding it) for a great part of my Junior High and the beginning of my High School life. During that time I was incredibly torn, I felt that I lived my life adequately but for no reason. I would often go to bed at night confused about myself and who I was.
A lot of us can agree that Junior High is where people learn the most about themselves, and discover who they are. Like any other Junior High School student, I was faced with that concept but the only difference was that I truly had no idea WHO I was. Unlike my friends, my parents did not share my genes. This fact consumed me for much of that time. For a little while I just wanted to be ‘normal’ like any other kid who resembled their parents, even if in the slightest detail. I wanted to be able to have my parents volunteer on school trips without people turning their heads, and regrettably, I was ashamed to walk with them down school hallways and in public places. Perhaps it was because I was tired of dealing with the questions. For years I repeated myself with rehearsed sentences and responses to people’s ignorant questions and I guess I was exhausted. But there remained to be one question that to this day I desire to have answered. It has only been asked once, and it was: “Do you know if you have any biological siblings?”
Grade 10; it was one of those days when I was sitting in the car with my mother waiting to go to a Tibetan Cultural fair just for kicks. I laid it all out to her, I felt like I was dying inside. There was a time when someone had hinted that I was not the first-born child to my biological parents. Adoption papers proved it. There was one before me. And somehow in that mix, someone informed me that my biological parents had had a girl before I came along. Not until Grade 10 did that fact hit me hard. There could be someone else in this world that shares my gene pool, that shares my biological parents and to be honest the thought scared me. Now I knew why I felt empty. When people grow up with their siblings it is like any other day and people seldom think about what it would be like without them. They have never lived any differently. For me I was torn, I grew up with friends who were like brothers and sisters to me but now there could actually be a biological sibling out there. But I would have to search for them, they would not just be there like other families. Information like this isn’t laid out there like the daily facebook feed. It was not fair.
The other day, I emailed my social worker who helped my parents complete my adoption when I was little. I desired to re-open my adoption history and search for my biological family. Through regulation of the children’s home, I had to do this through my parents email account. I could not find this information out on my own. For years I thought people who opposed ‘closed’ adoptions were narrow-minded. You may hear people discuss how closed adoptions and sealed records are a form of child abuse. Only now have I realized that there is a bit of truth to what they say. Closed adoptions have their complications, my desire to seek out my roots will take me on a lengthy-journey where no one knows what the ending will be. This investigation could go through into my adult-life and end up with no answers. Why do I have to go through this? Why is it so hard to find out who I am?
When I look in the mirror, I want to know myself. It is hard to face the world when you don’t know where your face came from.