the Price of Translation: the lack of post-reunion assistance

[Note: there is a "Part 2," or follow-up post, to this, if you are interested: "a Metaphor for the 'Price of Translation']

Okay, I have a gripe. It has been building for a while.

It's simple: translation. Post-reunion translation and assistance.

It's practically non-existent, particularly through the adopting agency. This increasingly disgusts and incenses me.

I know taking on the role of victim is not going to get me very far. Ultimately, I have to be proactive and do my part. I say this simply to clarify that I'm not looking for a pity party.

I just think it's ridiculous that an adoption agency that specializes in mediating and promoting inter-country or transnational adoption provides so little post-reunion services.

The adoption agency is a major reason as to why the adoption even took place in the first place. Would it not be logical and considerate that the agency would provide equally developed services and assistance programs for post-reunion, since the agency's adopting practices are a primary reason the adoptee was adopted out to another country?

But instead, if I were to go through the adoption agency for translation, I would have to pay $15-$25 a page to have a letter to or from either one of my Korean parents translated. If it happens to be a two-page letter, well, then I'd be paying half a benjamin. Ouch.

Or I can pay $75 an hour for translation services during a [conference] phone call. Slap.

So, basically, I have to pay in order to communicate with my own flesh and blood. And in particular, I have to pay, even though I didn't make the decision to lose my original language and culture. I have to pay, even though I had no control over the circumstances and choices that determined my fate.

I have to pay, even though the agency is in large part, the entity responsible for my current predicament.

I know all the things people would say to justify and support the agency's fees and practices. Well, their staff can't work for free, you know. This post-reunion stuff takes a lot of energy and time, and well, the demand is so high these days...

Exactly my point. Well, then, maybe the agency needs to consider this and pay to have someone on staff to provide translation and post-reunion services, so that the adoptee doesn't have to shell out hundreds and hundreds of dollars just to say hello, how are you, to her own flesh and blood.

Maybe the agency needs to be a little more willing to focus not only on the front-end but on the back-end of its adoption practices. Maybe the adoption agency needs to think a little more thoroughly about the consequences and repercussions of what it's doing, and change accordingly. And of course, the consequences and repercussions go much deeper than translation services. But that's another post.

Learn the language. Sure, okay. No problem. Become fluent enough to discuss deep issues like "Why did you relinquish me?" or "Why didn't you tell my Appa?" Sure.

It's one thing to have a basic conversation but dealing with intense and unresolved emotional issues requires an understanding and fluency in the relevant language that normally comes only with a lifetime of exposure.

Or at the least, it requires living in the nation of origin for years and years. And even then, expecting to speak like a native understanding all the nuances and subtleties is something that even years of experience may not fully develop.

Yes, maybe I'm feeling a little resentful, bitter, angry at the moment. I won't allow it to consume me or steal away the good in my life. And as I stated earlier, I ultimately have to take responsibility for my part.

At the same time, this is a very real dilemma--one that affects my every day life and obviously, my ongoing relationships with my Korean parents-- that resulted from a set of circumstances and a series of decisions over thirty years ago that had nothing to do with me but affected and continues to affect everything about me.

So much is lost in translation--more than simply words and meanings. Who you are, who they are remains lost...Finding one another has certainly been a dream come true. But trying to know one another has been and will continue to be a slow, daunting, and painful process.

Only so much can be grasped when getting to know one another through translation.

What not to say to an adoptee...

Wow, you're [adoptive] parents must be such special/good people to have adopted you. [Translation: You're parents must be such amazing people in contrast to you--the lowly little charity case. They really must be saints to have been willing to take you into their family and home because, man, obviously neither your original family nor anyone else in their right mind wanted anything to do with you.]

You're so lucky. [Translation: You're so lucky that you don't know a thing about your original family--whether they are dead or alive.]

You must feel so grateful. [Translation: You must feel so grateful that you lost your original family and have no idea what happened to them].

You are so fortunate that someone adopted you. [Translation: You are so fortunate that someone wanted you.]

Don't you feel blessed that you got to come to America? [Translation: The country you came from was such an awful, terrible place and the people didn't want you anyway, so you should feel fortunate that America is so much better and so much more willing to accept someone like you--someone your own country and own people wouldn't take care of...]

Wow, you must be so glad that you didn't have to grow up in [country of origin]. [Translation: The country you came from was such a poor, uneducated crap hole, it is best that you stay away from that place anyway.]

You're not [ethnic origin], you're AMERICAN. [Translation: Just ignore and forget about who you are and where you came from, how different you look and how differently others treat you--it's not important anyway.]

It shouldn't matter to you whether you ever find your biological parents, you already have a family. [Translation: You're being ungrateful and foolish. You shouldn't want to know who or where you came from or what happened. You should just be grateful.]

* * *

I know that when people say things like what I listed above, they generally mean well. That's actually one of the primary reasons I posted this list.

Just because someone is well-intentioned, does not automatically mean therefore, what he or she is saying or doing is helpful or beneficial, and in fact some of the most "well-intentioned" words or acts can often have the most unintended detrimental and hurtful effects.

Particularly when it comes to adoption, many people have good intentions, but they are MISGUIDED or MISINFORMED intentions.

If you've ever said these things or thought these things or they just generally reflect your view of adoption, I'm not bashing you. I'm simply trying to "enlighten" you, or in simpler terms, just trying to educate you and correct your misconceptions.

If you're an adoptee and someone has ever made the above statements to you, I also recognize that such statements may not translate in the same way to every adoptee. Other adoptees may be less sensitive or may have different perspectives regarding their own personal adoptions.

I'm just sharing these things based on my experience and the experiences of other adoptees I personally know.

Certainly it is not an exhaustive list, but I think it communicates the overall point: Generally, most people prefer to see adoption as an act of saintly charity in which the heroes are the adoptive parents and the adoptee is the lowly, grateful recipient of their charity.

Often, ignorantly and unintentionally, people end up coating adoption in thick layers of euphemism and misconceived notions, because the practice of adoption is more comfortable and more digestible that way. To others, it feels better to view it that way.

But it doesn't feel better to the adoptee.

It's not that I do not love my family. I do. More than I can even express.

But it's also not that I do not grieve and ache over what has been lost. I do. More than I can express.

And the ongoing struggles and issues with which I must cope as an adult adoptee do not diminish or magically disappear, simply because I have found my biological family or because I am now an adult. Rather, they grow and intensify. They remain.

In more ways than I know how to explain.

adoption: generally misunderstood

The persisting lack of knowledge and awareness regarding the issues that adoptees face continue to astound and confound me.

I was reminded recently how rampant and pervasive are the utter ignorance and incomprehension when it comes to the profound loss that adoptees experience.

My husband was speaking with a friend. We'll call him Clark.

Clark and my husband, Mike, happened to stumble into a conversation about a friend of Clark's. Basically, Clark's friend has a daughter in her early 20's, who Clark described as troubled and distant. Clark's friend was described as being a father who is removed and frustrated by his daughter's apparent disconnection and detachment.

Well, eventually it came up that Clark's friend's daughter is adopted. And not only is she adopted, but her [adoptive] Mom died recently and suddenly--only two years ago--in a car accident. (The first loss of her biological family is compounded by the loss of her adoptive Mom).

Of course, as Mike was listening to Clark describe the situation, Mike was startled by the lack of awareness and understanding and proceeded to try to explain to Clark how being adopted most likely accounts for much of the daughter's behavior.

Clark demonstrated difficulty grasping the concept, and in response to my husband's efforts to educate Clark, Clark asked, "Well, do you think it's just better for parents not tell their children at all that they're adopted?"

Inside, Mike is thinking, "!!!!!!!!" There seemed to be no acknowledgment of the double trauma experienced by Clark's friend's daughter as a result of being adopted along with the recent loss of her adoptive Mom.

Although frustrating and alarming, neither Mike nor I should have been surprised.

As much progress that has been made, we still have a long way to go.

It is estimated that there are anywhere from 6 to 8 million adoptees living in America. Sure it may only be a small percentage of the overall population but it's significant enough that most people know someone who is adopted, if not multiple persons who are adopted.

And yet, the adoption experience remains one of the most misunderstood and misinterpreted issues even today. It is subject to repeated euphemism and often the general public thinks they understand when they really have no clue.

What other trauma or loss is treated in the same way? Divorce, death of a loved one, returning from war--all of these major life events are viewed appropriately and treated with matching sympathy and compassion.

Yet when it comes to the adoption experience, society ignores any acknowledgment of trauma to the adoptee. It's not simply frustrating, but it is detrimental and hurtful to all of those involved in the adoption triad.

When a woman experiences a miscarriage, generally, most understand the loss involved. (Although, certainly, there will always be people who say well-intentioned but utterly misguided things).

How great is the loss when a woman relinquishes the child she has born? How deep the grief when that child must spend his or her life having lost the first mother and even more so having no answers, no knowledge of what happened.

It is indescribable the frustration and angst I experience in response to the lack of respect and understanding for the situation that adoptees face.

I continue to encounter individuals who not only do not understand but make no effort even to acknowledge the simple fact that adoption involves a profound loss and the accompanying grief and sorrow, confusion and pain that such loss involves.

I hope with time, more and more people will be willing and open to acknowledge the inherent trauma that adoption involves.

And if you're reading this and you think that perhaps you're one of the folks who perhaps does not quite get it, but you're willing to try to at least attain a basic understanding, please keep trying.

And feel free to contact me any time. I am more than willing to help you understand. And I promise I will be patient and considerate--just as I would hope that you would be patient and considerate toward me.

flashback: my 19 year old adoptee self

Okay, brace yourselves. I've really dug out a few things from the archives...and they're simultaneously disturbing and cliche, and easily mistaken for melodramatic teen angst.

Despite the above disclaimer, and the rudimentary and novice nature of both the writing and the art, I assure you that the following pieces were born of more than the temporal and whimsical woes of adolescent rebellion.

I created the combination pieces of art and poetry in 1995 at the age of 19, although only one month away from my 20th birthday.

As mentioned, the writing and art are comparatively unsophisticated and reflect the young age at which they were written. But nonetheless, I think they are poignant and honest examples of the sometimes horrific inner struggle I faced as I dealt with the confusion and despair that have come to characterize, in part, my experience as an adoptee.

I often think of myself as a more extreme case. But maybe I'm not. Perhaps I simply have been limited in my encounters with other individuals who express thoughts and emotions similarly dark and dismal.

(Although there are certainly a few "kindred souls" who come to mind, whom I know will connect somewhat with this darker side...).

Furthermore, whether one is adopted neither precludes any single person from experiencing such emotion nor does it necessarily induce such emotion. It is simply to be human that gives any individual the potential capacity to experience such depth of emotion.

It is clear from the pictures and the accompanying writing that I was wrestling with very intense emotion--some intensely dark emotions. Regardless of their origin, the self-loathing, the confusion over my identity and place in the world are nothing more and nothing less that what is known as the human condition.

However, in my particular case, I now realize, of course, that so much of my struggle was directly connected to being adopted. But at the time, my family and I were clueless.

The darkness that poured out from me seemed inexplicable and without cause. None of us knew any better.

Now we do.

And although these pieces remain a bit shocking and unsettling to me even now, they also give me hope. I do not see myself in the same way that I did when I was 19, almost 20--well, that is, most of the time.

At least today, the confusion and emotion are not as self-abhorrent and self-destructive, and seem now to be directed in a healthier, more self-actualizing way.

It is not that I never enter into darkness again, but rather that the light is now allowed to come in.

[oil pastel on paper, 9x12]

Skeleton

what an ugly sight

who would build such a thing as this?

all measurements out of proportion

especially there in the middle

unpleasant bulges

unbecoming shapes

beyond disgusting

what a shame

a shameful site

in that black tunnel

through that brown window

i see her strangling herself

for she broke the scale

and she is swimming in her 24-hour meal

just an addiction she cannot stop

just a coping skill

to kill

the emptiness

it is all or

nothing

she would prefer nothing

but

the art of self-control

the ritual of discipline

she cannot maintain

she wants to be a skeleton

so she can hide in her closet

undiscovered

never hungry again

never full again

but just a plain old skeleton,

with skin.

[oil pastel on paper, 9x12]

The Missing Stanza

judgement stares her in the eyes

condemnation orders her

on her face

on her knees

she doubts to grasp the offer

bloated head

bloated heart

bloated stomach

hazardous consumption

staring in the toilet,

her reflection

swims in defecation

urination

lacking explanation

perhaps a dance with that

fiery gentleman

until she is silver ashes

dancing on the breezes

winking in the winds

embrace his freedom?

taste his milk and honey?

then cease her staring

in the toilet

and her visions murdering

each other

in her bloated brain.

tip toes

I am feeling anxious about writing letters back to my Omma and Appa. I am feeling anxious overall about the current situation. I want so much to move forward. I want so much for things to progress.

But just like I didn’t develop the relationship I have with my American parents overnight, or even over several years, I can’t expect my relationships with my Korean parents to automatically emerge as though we’ve always known one another. It doesn’t work like that.

We’re not old friends who simply lost touch over the years. We can’t pick up where we left off. I was a newborn infant when my Omma last saw me. My Appa, well, he never got the chance to even look at me.

Now, fast forward almost 35 years. I’m clearly no longer a child. I'm a grown woman.

Additionally, the relationships I have with my Mom and Dad are hard-fought and hard-won, and we’re still growing. We were not always as close as we are now. There was a time when the chasm was so vast that it seemed insurmountable. The tension was so dense and seemingly irreconcilable that I would often despair and subsequently withdraw, which of course, only deepened and magnified the chasm.

We were people lost and estranged from one another due to misunderstandings, ignorance, miscommunication, and a resevoir of tumultuous, misinterpreted emotion. But we continue to work through these obstacles, and although it’s not easy, it’s certainly possible and attainable.

My Omma and Appa and I were people lost and estranged from another in the truest, most practical sense. We have no shared history. We share no common language or culture or experiences other than the loss and grief initiated over thirty years ago by a series of events. We, of course, share our genes. But nature certainly cannot compensate entirely for the absence of nurture.

Yes, there remain many things about my adoption experience that my Mom and Dad do not understand. But similarly, there remains the past 35 years of my entire life that my Omma and Appa do not know and therefore do not understand.

Truly, it is a double-edged sword that cuts going in and coming out. The wounds can be treated, but in many ways they will always be vulnerable.

* * *

I will say that it feels good to read the letters from my Omma and my Appa, to feel their love, their longing—to feel the sincerity of their desire to reach out to me and to know me. It is so hopeful and comforting. Their words, although not completely but in part, do act as a poultice to the deep pain and persistent uncertainty that writhe within.

Yet things still remain so fragile, so delicate. As much as I feel their love and longing in the letters they wrote, I also hear their sorrow and desperation, fear and anxiety.

We still tiptoe and dance around one another, testing the ground on which we gather, whether it will be solid enough to withstand the burdens we carry or whether it will split open under the weight and tear us apart once again.

the language barrier

I received a letter from each birth parent last Friday.

Of course, someone else had to translate the letters from Hangul into English so that I could actually read them.

But once I could read them, both letters were parturient with deep emotion and longing. Even after a year has passed since the News, so much remains unfinished, incomplete, and almost desperate at times.

The rift of the language differences remains expansive and not easily bridged. I am grieved deeply by the inability to communicate with them directly, yet I am equally UNmotivated to learn the language. I know it is what I need to do if ever I am to have a functional, more normalized relationship with each parent. But I seem to shrink back and somewhat wither beneath the heat of such intense pressure.

Even though it was only six months ago that I last saw my Omma and my Appa, the language barrier makes the months seem like years.

For instance, I don't actually get the chance to visit my Mom and Dad but once a year or every other year, yet we can talk on the phone at any time. I can fire off an email to them whenever I'm thinking of them. We can talk weekly or daily, and hence, close the distance that would otherwise corrode and steal away the time that we must be apart.

But with my Omma and Appa, time apart is truly time lost. I cannot simply pick up the phone and ask my Omma, "How was your day? What have you been up to?" I cannot call up my Appa and have a conversation about how each of us has been spending our time over the past month or week. The time is lost.

Rather, we communicate in truncated, concentrated chunks of information, saturated with emotion.

So, although we have "reunited," it is as though we cannot move past the initial stages. Our relationships remain somewhat stunted and unable to grow.

However, I am not complaining nor am I taking for granted the incredible opportunity I have to even be able to deal with such a dilemma.

It is simply the reality of the situation. Although I feel very fortunate and grateful to have found those whom I thought were lost forever, I would be lying if I said that it's easy, or that it's everything that I ever dreamed it would be.

The dream of finding my biological parents has no doubt been realized. Now, the dream of having a functional, healthy relationship with each of them--well, that remains to be seen. I am ever hopeful, but one never hopes for what one already has. The very nature of hope is to seek after that which seems intangible, untouchable.

Ultimately, I suppose all that I am saying--like I always say--is that being an adoptee, particularly one who is in post-reunion, is not the fairy tale that some would be inclined to assume.

It just is.

old art therapy

[dimensions: 18x24]

[dimensions: 18x24]

[dimensions: 18x24]

I have been trying to do some organizing lately--you know, going through the closet where you stuff everything that you don't really know what to do with, but you hold onto anyway because it has sentimental value, or something like that...?

In doing so, I have come across some old "art therapy" that I did over ten years ago.

I don't particularly like these pieces now, but I have clearly held onto them for a reason: they function as reminders of where I have been and from I have come.

I look at these paintings and recall where I was in life at the time I painted them. I simultaneously feel both relief and nostalgia as I gaze at these old paintings, realizing that so much has changed since then, in ways both unimaginable and indescribable.

Nonetheless, I am glad to have moved through and lived beyond those past phases in life to be where I am now...it is not always easy but it is always needed and ultimately welcomed...