Indian Late Discovery Adoptee

I want to come home. How can I? My mother should be my "home". My home couldn't shelter me. Couldn't keep me. For whatever reasons, It is still my home. She Is still my mother. And if she truly didn't want me Fine So be it. That'll be my burden to carry To deal and cope with. But I have a right to know. A right to know why I can Or why I can't Come back home. There is no path forward without those answers. How can there be? I have a right to know my home. And it is madness that society finds it okay to deny people like me our authenticity.

I recently had the pleasure of sharing my story with Trishna on her podcast, "The Chai with T," and it was an incredible experience. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and I appreciated how Trishna truly listened and offered insightful follow-up comments and questions. Over the past few years, I've shared my journey in various spaces and platforms, often as a panellist on adoptee panels. However, this was my first time doing a podcast. I've been meaning to do a podcast but felt like I needed to wait for the right moment and the right platform.  I am now finally at a point where I can share my story comfortably. I'm able to speak about my experiences with full acceptance of the things I've lived through, without reliving the trauma. It was especially meaningful to do this on a podcast hosted by another South Asian adoptee. The experience was different from writing about my journey. When I write, I have the time to reflect, edit, and ensure everything is just...

Five years ago, on a seemingly ordinary Saturday like today, the results of a DNA test I took for fun shattered my world. For 34 years, I'd built my identity on a foundation of sand. Biracial, half Cuban and half Indian, that's who I was told I was. That Saturday, I was putting my daughter down for a nap when my phone buzzed with those DNA results. I called out to my wife, and together we looked at the results on the screen. Speechless, I stared at the screen. 100% Indian. Thinking about it now, I wasn’t surprised by this. I felt a strange sense of understanding. It explained so much - my upbringing, the outsider feeling I'd carried for years, and so much more. Then came the shock. Shocked by the weight of this revelation. It meant I'd been lied to, deceived repeatedly. I was flooded with all the moments in my life when I questioned the nature of my being, only to be dismissed as imagination. I was gaslighted more times than I can count and made to feel gui...

I've been away from social media for a while now. Even blogging. Last year I took a break from a lot of it. And as 2023 slowly rolled in, I still took my time. There was just too much going on. Trying to be present and in the moment while still balancing all the emotions. In 2021, I was working with a lawyer on getting any paperwork via FOIA request from US Custom and Border Protection, and the Department of State. USCIS turned up empty. On May 4th of this year, after nearly 3 years of when I initially started all this, DOS responded and they had nothing on file for me, aside from one passport application from 2002. I suddenly found myself in a position where my citizenship status in this country was unknown. I wondered if my adoption was done correctly. And I was even advised not to vote. Anxiety. Stress. Worry. Would I be deported? Could I be? What about my job? So many unknowns. And anger. All this because what? Two people adopted me and then lied. And proceeded to lie still, an...

It's been a while. It's been hard.  Mother's Day is tomorrow. And today I came across this poem. I don't know who wrote it. It reads: Isn't It Cruel If I had one hundred lives to live, I would want to live every one of them with you. And isn't it cruel, isn't it cruel, that the only one I get - I have to live without you. There's so much unfairness when it comes to being an adoptee. So much loss. That's all I got for now.

Back in March, I wrote about anger for Lynelle to share on her website . Here’s that post: In 2019 at the age of 34, I learned that I was adopted. Since then, I have become insanely familiar with the grief cycle. In a non-linear fashion, I have been relentlessly experiencing all the emotions associated with grief. Of all the emotions, anger, however, has become the one constant emotion when I think about adoption. In the case of my experience, as a late discovery adoptee, I am angry for being lied to for 34 years. I feel deceived. Conned. Duped. Whatever words I can think of to describe it, ultimately for 34 years I was manipulated into believing I was someone that I’m not. Manipulated into believing strangers were my biological and genetic kin. The identity I was given never seemed to fit with the person I knew myself to be, and I was gaslit into feeling like the crazy one for my thoughts.  The thing about anger though, is that it is perceived as a negative emotion. All my life gr...

 Every now and then I get asked the question. “Hey Kris, I know someone that’s adopted, but they don’t know it. Should I tell them?” This is a question that I have given a lot of thought to over the last few years. And what I’ve realized is that it’s not a matter of IF you should tell them, it’s WHEN and HOW. I firmly believe that everyone deserves to know their truth. It is, without a doubt, abusive when a “parent” lies to their ward leading them to believe that they are their biological parents. So what then? Honestly, you really just have two choices. You either don’t tell them and let things run their course, or you do tell them. Just know that sooner or later, somehow or the other, they will find out. There is no good way to go about it. Whether or not you tell them the truth, there is absolutely no way in which this experience won’t be traumatic. This is an upending, identity-shattering mindfuck. When I think about my experience as an LDA, it infuriates me at times to think a...

 I read this today on Reddit. "It's your parent's job to raise you. Your adult relationship with them is their performance review." * Father's day is coming up (this Sunday). I've been thinking a lot about it. Not just from the context of being a father, but also as a person who doesn't know their father. I was raised by strangers. By people who made the conscious decision to lie to the children in their care. By definition, they were people who parented. As a late discovery adoptee, it's difficult to see them as parents. The lying and deception make it feel that way. Whatever the case, my adopters raised me. And while that technically makes them parents, they had a job to do, and they did not do it well. My adoptive father never wanted children for starters. The day he told us this, is a memory that lives clearly in my mind. It was about 14 years ago. I was 23. Sitting at the dinner table in a Texas apartment that we once lived in. Just knowing that e...

I came across the above Indian based podcast called  The Filter Koffee Podcast  hosted by Karthik Nagarajan. He sits with a guest and as he describes it, has a conversation. “The kind that leaves you richer. The kind that only coffee can bring out.” In this particular episode released in January of 2022, he sat down with Poulomi Pavini Shukla, a supreme court lawyer, and spoke about orphans in India. This particular episode was titled “Why India's orphans are twice abandoned?” Without getting into too many details of the podcast, here are a few key topics they went over: The different schemes that have been put in place for children in need of care. (Government Schemes in India are launched by the government to address the social and economic welfare of its citizens) The money/budget put towards orphans. Which equates to less than 1 rupee per day per child. The estimated number of orphans in India as reported by UNICEF. How orphanages are run and how many should be set up in e...

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. Being a Late Discovery Adoptee is the perfect example where someone experiences a form of psychological abuse where a person or group makes them question their sanity, perception of reality, or memories. — Kris-404:RootsNotFound (@adoptedindian) November 22, 2021 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-cal...

Definition of estranged: having lost former closeness and affection: in a state of alienation from a previous close or familial relationship Definition of estrangement: a feeling that you do not understand someone or something, or do not have any connection with him, her, or it It has been 2 years since I've spoken to my adopters. I've been thinking a lot about estrangement during that time, and what it looks like to me. By definition, estranged means to have lost former closeness and affection. Estrangement is a feeling that you don't understand someone or something, or do not have any connection with them, or it. I feel like to be estranged is to have lost that bond on an emotional level. Estrangement encapsulates not just that loss of closeness, but the need/desire to alienate for the sake of oneself. To me, I was estranged the moment I realized there was no connection. That the abuse I experienced as a child had an impact on me that I had no explanation for. I just, in ...

What's it like to have childhood memories? Memories that aren't blemished by lies and deception? Memories that don't feel like a manipulation? The holidays are really hard this year. We all have memories. Good ones. Bad ones. The ones we cherish and the ones we wish we could forget. Memories are brought up either by reminiscing the good times or triggered by an event. Others brought about at random via sense. Sensory memories. A smell, a taste, anything that hits the senses just right bringing back the past to the present. What happens when all your past memories are stained? Blemished? Not just because of wrongdoing, or abuse, but because of a lie? Because of a deception that affects your identity?  I was lied to about who and what I am. And for 34 years, I was raised to live a lie about my very being. 34 years of lies from the people that raised me. And not just them, but everyone else that knew the truth, but kept silent. As much as I knew something was strange and didn...

I recently shared my story on the @officialpeopleofindia  page ( click here for the link ). It went pretty much how I thought it would. I knew by sharing my story with them, it was going to reach out to a much larger audience. It was nerve-racking and anxiety-inducing. But I knew I needed it to be done. Let people see the other side of a system they believe is best for abandoned and unwanted children. The comments to my story included those confused and angered by me saying I was brought up with love and abuse. Like it's impossible to experience both. To them, I can explain my trauma to you, I cannot understand it for you. As I read through more, there was empathy and backlash. Backlash because I was shedding adoption and my adoptive parents in a negative light. And this is why it was important for me to share. Because there are a countless number of adoptees afraid of this backlash. Afraid of what society will tell them how to feel. That we need to suppress all the bad and just be...

My heart is heavy today. Here are some thoughts: Everyone affected by adoption is holding trauma. And anger. How you process the damage that was done to you is entirely your business. What you did to survive what you lived through should not be judged by others. How I survived is simply that. It's how I survived. Not all of us handle trauma/grief the same way. At the same time, it has taken me a while to understand that how I heal also affects those around me. There's that quote, "If you never heal from what hurt you, you’ll bleed on people who didn’t cut you." And I'm just trying to heal from what I survived through. I for one am angry about my experience. About my adoption experience. About my late discovery experience. It was, and is, filled with pain. I will do what I need to do to survive. And to heal. Within reason. Because I don't want to bleed on anyone else along the way. How I choose to deal with those who "cut me" is 100% up to me. I will ...

𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 𝘯. 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩—𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘴𝘺, 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘪𝘵𝘴, 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵, 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘭𝘺, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦. Source: Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows Two years ago on this day, June 8th, I received the results of a DNA test that would confirm a doubt I always had, just never fully confronted. As I've written before, on that day, two of my families died. The one that raised me turned out to be a sham, and the one that did not remains an enigma. A few days ago, I came across this word, monachopsis. It is ...

This year has been a difficult Mother's Day. This year I was able to obtain my Indian adoption paperwork from the Texas court. The ones that my adoptive parents never kept. This is the year I learn more about who the woman who gave birth to me than I've ever known. Within the paperwork was an Affidavit from the Indian government that stated I was abandoned. This is what it said: There is a male minor child 'Anoop' (corrected with pen to Anup) born on [date of birth] to an unmarried girl and hence he was abandoned by his mother, who gave a necessary written declaration to the Institution and, therefore, the Institution has automatically become the legal guardian of the said male minor child Anoop (corrected with pen to Anup) and has a right to give the said child Anoop in adoption. My entire life determined by my mother's marital status. My mind constantly focuses on her description. An "unmarried girl." A "girl." How old she was that it states sh...

I am not for adoption. I am not against adoption. I am anti-bullshit. I was on Twitter the other day, and I came across a concept that blew my mind. I never thought it could actually be a thing. Ever since I learned about my adoption, the one thing I've always abhorred about it is the fact that I lost everything regarding my first identity. And I lost it all legally. I lost my name, ancestry, heritage, history, and culture. I lost everything I already had when I entered this world. And it was replaced with that of the adopters. So much so in my case, that my adopters never even told me who I really was, or where I came from. This concept of adoption, where individuals lose their first identity is actually called plenary adoption. It erases everything, and it is legal. Adopters not only get parental rights over the adoptee, but also get to pass their identities onto them. In other words, plenary adoption terminates the relationship between birth parent and child. And sadly, many ado...

This pandemic has taken a heavy toll. It hurts. Having just received my adoption paperwork and finally knowing which institution I was adopted from in India, it feels like I'm step closer to finding some roots. However, it hurts knowing that people are dying in India because of Covid. And that the Indian government is failing it's people. My people. Last week I read a post on Reddit about someone losing their uncle in India. They expressed anger towards the handling of this virus in India. And it angered me the more I thought about it and how it affects me. I tweeted the following: Just thinking via tweet. My biological kin are in India. I don't know who they are. Cuz, adoption. Just read about someone losing an uncle from covid in India. Even if it wasn't for covid, fuck if I know how many of my kin are already dead. #fuckadoption — Kris-404:RootsNotFound (@adoptedindian) April 17, 2021 Today I came across the following: Devastating images of patients dying for lack...

On Monday, April 19th, 2021, I filed a motion to order and petition the Texas court to unseal my adoption paperwork. This is something I had been working on, but I just never knew the best way to go about it. Biggest concern being that it might be rejected. I filed it electronically on their website, and after multiple calls with the county clerk for assistance and clarification, I was able to submit my order and petition. Once that was done, I prepared myself for the worse, and potentially a long wait. Yesterday, April 20th, 2021, at 12:09 pm, my phone rings. I recognize the number coming in from Texas. To my suprise, it was the county clerk, and he let me know that the Judge signed the order to unseal it. Holy shit! First off, it was less than 24 hours. Second, I got it! I asked him what was next. How do I get the paperwork, and can it be emailed? He transferred me to their records department to figure out the details, and if I had to pay any fees. I spoke with a lady in the records ...

They did the best they could . This is a statement that people usually tell me after sharing a bit of my story. For the most part, it is with best intentions. But I have issues with that statement, and it makes me rage internally everytime I hear it. That statement sounds like an excuse for their behavior. Their choices, and their decisions. Also, how is it that the best anybody can do has to include lying, deception, and abuse? "One doesn't have to operate with great malice to do great harm. The absence of empathy and understanding are sufficient." - Charles M. Blow, journalist I don't believe my adopters had any malicious intentions at first when they decided not to tell me I was adopted. I've mentioned before that they were initially denied adoption for telling social workers that they wouldn't tell us we were adopted. That decision itself shows me that they did what they wanted to do. even after being told and taught what was best. The fact is, they did th...