Wednesday, January 13, 2010

the Tide

I.

I am not in control.

I never have been and never will be.

But I always have a choice. We always have a choice.

Pain and regret can either inspire us to fight for redemption or drive us to destruction. It is all a matter of choice.

Everyone faces such choices.

I used to destroy. Now, I hope.

Perhaps it is choice flapping on the ends of the threads of blood that stream through my heart.

I feel the tide of these threads. Sometimes, they wash me away with them. Other times, I curl my toes into the shore; I will not be pulled into the current.

This time, I cannot afford to drift. But I cannot remain on the shore.

I must wade out into the riptide with purpose yet without conclusion, with direction yet without destination.

I must find my choices then let them go.


II.

As my “reunion” continues to unfold, more knowledge also surfaces. At certain points, it is knowledge easily embraced.

For example, the trip to meet my cousins this past week was in summary, fantastic.

I was nervous and a bit intimidated initially. I was fearful that I would feel like an alien or that we wouldn't all get along. But as time progressed, much to my relief, I found myself feeling at ease and welcomed.

It was a fulfilling experience and one that hopefully will continue to develop in richness and meaning.

* * *

At other points, the knowledge you gain requires a bit more, let’s say, finesse and time. I guess I’m writing this as somewhat of a caveat or at least to depict, in part, a realistic perspective.

These reunions are almost always complicated. And sometimes things happen that, well, complicate matters. And it may have absolutely nothing to do with the adoptee but could severely affect everyone involved.

I cannot go into detail for the sake of privacy and discretion, but I say all this to communicate that reunion, with all its wonder and hope, also comes with its hardship and tribulation.

Feelings of elation will inevitably merge with feelings of consternation; feelings of fulfillment will blend with feelings of loss.

* * *

And it all takes time—so much time. Even though it has already [only] been a year since I was first notified that my biological mother and father had been found, really we are still in the beginning phases of the process.

The circumstances are still fragile and volatile, unpredictable and unknown. Everything is still too new to avoid uncertainty and the unexpected.

I’m not blighting my own crop here. I’m just trying to understand the process properly while tending to it attentively and with care, so that ultimately the harvest goes well—albeit it will never be perfect.


III.

Also, for those of you who may wonder when in the world I’m ever going to write about what actually happened and is happening during this reunion process—you know, the details, like what happened during the first meetings with each biological parent? What did you do while you were in Korea both the first and second visit? What have you discovered thus far about your biological family and origins? How are the relationships going so far? You know, when am I going to get up off the floor and “show-and-tell?”

Well, I’m not sure.

I am thinking perhaps about eventually attempting to write the story in a “book/memoir” form, but who knows whether that will ever happen. It’s an intimidating and overwhelming endeavor at which very few do well and at which even fewer succeed, and even more importantly requires one to actually deal with the emotion of it all.

[Despite what you may think, I am not passively fishing to be cheered on here. I’m really just trying to let those who were hoping to get details on this blog know why they can’t find the details for which they’re looking.]

However, if by chance, I should ever make such an attempt, my intention is to be able to tell the story as a whole rather than in broken pieces, which is what this blog is—a bunch of broken pieces.

In some ways, maybe this blog is a warm-up, a way to slowly begin the process of working through all the unruly emotion and tangled details of such a journey.

And boy, does it feel as though I’m dealing with a wild beast. I guess that’s the reason for all the broken pieces. The beast is still being trained. And until she has been tamed, you can’t show her to the world. She doesn’t yet know how not to shred all that is around her.

The funny thing is that if I met you in person, I could tell you everything. But there’s something about writing it out that makes it feel indelible. And I’m not ready for that feeling yet.

So, fear of indelibleness and wild beasts, at this point, prevent me currently from being able to give details.

Does this make any sense? I’m being a bit ridiculous and gratuitous with all the silly metaphor.

Tossing out all the metaphorical mumbo jumbo, then, what it comes down to is that basically, I’m just not ready. At least not here and not just yet.

But, hopefully sooner than later, I will be able to reign in the beast, pull together the pieces, and get comfortable with writing it all down, and ultimately, with the inevitably crystallizing nature of finally coming to terms with all that is the complicated yet fulfilling experience of blood and family.


2 comments:

Mia_h_n said...

I'm so glad for you that you have hope :) I know it sounds cheerleader-ish, but you go, girl!

And I'm glad your trip went all in all well. I wish we lived closer so I could hear all about it.

Once again again again I loved and was inspired by the strength in your words. PS. They'd make a fantastic book ;)

Melissa said...

Thanks, Mia. You're always so supportive and encouraging. I wish we lived closer, too! Big hugs and thanks for always being there. :)