37

-

37 years ago I met my mother for the first

and

last time.


I don't recall this. I can't recall this.

But I know my body remembers it

the trauma of being separated

from the woman that gave birth to me.


37 years ago, the last time I saw my mother

and

I don't know if I even met my father. 

I doubt it.


37 years.

Gone 

without knowing my kin.

Will I know them again?

Can I?


The first 34 of those years, strange people bought me

and

lied to me

said they were my blood.


34 years, two strangers gaslit me.



They were strangers to the boy that was separated from his mother.

They were strangers to the boy who grew up wondering why he never fit.

They were strangers to the boy that questioned why he could never bond with his so-called kin.

They were strangers to the boy who stared into the mirror and wondered why his own reflection was strange to him.

They were strangers to the boy who didn't understand why his own reflection did not reflect the person they told him he was.

They were strangers to the boy who knew the identity that was given to him did not match with the identity he felt inside.

They were strangers to the boy who thought he was the crazy one for all his thoughts.


For 34 years, my body knew something was off. 

Something was different.

It was not fair. And it was never right that I was lied to.



~Kris~

Popular posts from this blog

Discovery

-
I am a Late Discovery Adoptee. This is a term I only discovered fairly recently in August of 2019. I was browsing the web, looking for any sort of answer to understand this crazy new discovery about myself. But, yeah, turns out I'm adopted. And I found this out at 34. Some of you reading this already know me. Some longer than others. For those that either didn't grow up with me and know how I was brought up, or just don't know me at all, let me start at the beginning for you. I was born to a Cuban mother and an Indian father in February of 1985. It was 10:55 pm, in a hospital in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Well, this is what I was told by my parents. I had an older sister at the time, and we were a family of 4. Growing up, I never questioned our parents who I was. They, and by they I mostly mean our mother, shared stories about the day I was born. There was never any question about it. My older sister and I were and obviously still are brown. My older sister however, has a l...
Read more

The Letter

-
On January 17th of 2020, I sent my a-parents a letter. I wrote down my thoughts and feelings that I've been having up until that point. Today is May 14th, 2020. As far as I know, neither of them has read it yet. When I first sent it, my a-mother shared a lot of her thoughts. Much of which were hurtful. But, she didn't read the letter. It would have brought to light a lot of what I was going through. Maybe she would have replied differently. But then again, in her words, "Whatever you feel or think I validate even without reading anything." A month later in February, I sent them a message in the group chat asking whether or not either of them read my letter. I got zero responses. Not even an acknowledgement of my question. Then again in March, I sent them another email letting them know I still wasn't sure if any of them read it. And so, I will post that letter here. If it helps someone else, great. But at least it will be read by somebody. It’s been a ...
Read more

I am Adopted

-
Recently two Adoptees that I follow on Instagram shared posts on what it means to not be adopted. It inspired to me write a new blog post. Wendy ( @wendyfabulous on Instagram) posted an image  with the following words: "Please describe to me what it feels like to be first choice." In her description, she mentions that it's mainly directed towards non adopted individuals. But I still felt it. I grew up believing that I was a "first choice". That I was "kept". It's a very strange place to be when I think of being a late discovery Adoptee. I feel stuck in the middle. And even though I am adopted, I am an Adoptee, because a majority of my life I thought I wasn't, sometimes I feel like I don't belong in that conversation space. And yet, I do belong. I think back to a thought I once had - As a late discovery Adoptee, I feel like I can relate and can't relate to Adoptees all at once. From my upbringing, I can certainly tell you what it’s like...
Read more