I Was Told

I was told I was left at the doorstep of a police station in Seoul, South Korea, in 1975. 'That was the thing to do if you wanted to make sure the baby was taken care of,' I was also told. The police station contacted the Holt Adoption Agency who paired me up with an eagerly awaiting family in Boston, MA. On September 16th I boarded a plane and on September 17th I was handed over to my new mother, father, grandparents, and my two new older sisters.

My family grew to include one more sister and three brothers. But I was the special one--and the only one planned, I was always told. And given my spot in the middle of the family, I was secure of my right to be there since I came before so many.

To an outsider, I didn't look anything like my white American family. And to me, I didn't look anything like the few Asian girls you'd see in a magazine or on a commercial. I didn't have to declare one over the other until I was faced with my first standardized test where you fill out the bubbles with a 'No. 2' pencil. After careful consideration, I filled in 'Asian' although I didn't think that was quite right even if it was more accurate than 'Caucasian'--which was closer to how I felt inside, although not quite right, either.

Sometime around when I was about twelve years old, my grandparents came back from lunch much happier than usual one day. They told me of the 'Bizarro Jessica' (my words, not theirs). She was my age with my name and my story. When they saw her walk into their favorite Fish n' Chips joint not far from our summer house in Maine, her white parents were a dead giveaway. They arranged for us to be pen pals, but we only wrote one letter before the excitement in both families just had to throw us together in person. She became a good friend of mine for many years, but sadly we lost touch as we became busy growing well into our teens in separate states.

Aside from going to the Holt International Camp for two weeks with the Bizarro Jessica, fooling around instead of learning how to make Kimchi, I suppose I resisted my South Korean heritage. That's not who I was, I felt. 'Who I was' was a collection of so many things. Why did I have to be forced to learn about things like Tae Kwon Do when I really wanted to write American pop music? There are enough other pressures to worry about as a pre-teen or teenager growing up than to be dragged into random learnings of a place so far away.

But in January of 2006, my boyfriend was being sent to Seoul on business. By then, I had recently uncovered buried feelings about my abandonment, the story behind the story I was told--you know, the six months of life that was supposed to be forgotten, and much more. I was encouraged to go with him and I did.

It wasn't until I had been there for a few days, wandering the streets by myself like an alien from Mars, that I decided I should try to learn more about my story. The original plan was to just visit the place I was born, see the sights, what it's like over there and all that. But I guess 'being there' again really brought out the urge to know more.

After several failed phone calls, emails, and online searches, I managed to connect with an English speaking person at the Holt Adoption Agency. A couple days later, I found my way around the complex subway system and before a roomful of Korean women whose heads turned around to see this awkward looking woman unsure of what she really came to find out.

And then I sat across a small table in a very small room with a map of South Korea and a few frames of adoptee reunions. And I was told by this stranger a story that conflicted with what I had always been told growing up. It's not like my old story was even so special. It's just that it was the one thing I had ever known to be true.

When I was about five years old, I remember standing in the long hallway of our old house and asking my mother, "How do you know that March 16th is my real birthday?" And she told me they knew for sure because I was found on the day I was born and the hospital can tell how old a newborn is. "Fair enough," I thought, and never questioned it again.

But sitting across the table from Yang, I learned that I was found on the hospital grounds in this city called Daegu that's not even close to Seoul. And I wasn't a day old, I was estimated at one or two weeks old. And from there I was brought to the Daegu Police who then arranged for me to go to the White Lily Orphanage, who then arranged for me to later be adopted through Holt.

So of course, I had to go to Daegu and to visit what was once the White Lily and the Daegu Hospital since I had already gone this far. I met this very nice woman named Sister Hye who was kind enough to give me a tour of what was now a daycare. And it was there that I learned about the discrepancies around when I was with them, with Holt, and for how long I was with a foster mother who I was unable to track down.

My particular journey back to Korea left me with more questions and some answers to things I didn't think were questionable. But what I did find, after all of that searching and wandering around alone as a foreigner in my birthplace, was that 'who I was' is what I've always known: a collection of so many different things. Yes, I was born in Korea, but I am not any more Korean than my family is Irish/Italian/Scottish. I am American, but I prefer to just say 'human', really.

Out of all the dates that were confused, assumed, and falsely imposed just for the sake of paperwork and answers, one date I knew to be true. On March 19th, 1975, I was found on the hospital grounds in Daegu. It was the date that set me off on my journey that is now my history, my life. Once I returned back home, I was unsure of what to consider my birthday... and it was coming up shortly, too. March 16th came and went and I felt weirdly about it, knowing it was no more significant a day than any other.

But throughout my return trip, I kept an online blog for my family and friends back home to see what I was up to, and so that I had a way to remember it all as I saw it at the time. And on March 19th of this year, I was given a gift. I received an email from a woman who had stumbled upon my blog, thanking me for sharing my journey, the photos and other information. As it turned out, we were likely at the White Lily at the same time, although her story was very different from mine.

I can't describe the feeling that came over me while reading the email. There was an instant feeling of empathy, a close connection by chance. In the past, although my grandparents found the Bizarro Jessica by chance, we were thrown together by other people. And anytime I met someone who knew another 'one of us' adopted Koreans, they'd try to arrange for us to connect somehow. But what was especially emotional about receiving that email on that special day, was that she had found me on her own quest to learn more about herself and her own story.

Since then, two more women sent me individual emails upon doing a search for the White Lily. And what occurred to me was that they could have just found my journal, read the story, seen the photos, and never contacted me at all. But, they did. And knowing this has impacted my life greatly, in some ways that I'm not quite sure I know fully just yet.

The women I've met through the White Lily connection expressed how nice it would be to create some sort of place for us to reunite, share stories, information, anything. And as it happened, this summer I was connected to this site through my design occupation.

I was told by several people that we all want to be part of something bigger. Growing up--and maybe even as recent as last year--I'd have told you that I'm just fine being myself, thank you very much ;-) But now I understand. I can be both: A part of something greater AND very much just myself.

-jlee*

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If you'd like to read about my journey back to Korea, you can find my online journal at: http://www.jessicasdream.com/korea

Quick links:
- my visit to Holt: http://www.jessicasdream.com/korea/011806
- my visit to Daegu: http://www.jessicasdream.com/korea/012406
- photos i took in Korea: http://www.cafepress.com/shutterfly