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Me 1: MyungSook Kim born in April, on the 7th page of my family registry (On the first page is the name of my father, the family chief and on the following pages are the names of my mother, my siblings, my brother-in-law, and other relatives).

Me 2: MyungSook Kim born in November, on my orphan family registry (made by Holt adoption agency), the chief family is me, I am born to unknown father and mother.

Me 3: Kim Goudreau born in November, daughter of two Quebeckers, on my birth certificate.

 

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I miss you

I miss you so much that I’m

Awake while sleeping
Starving while eating
Thirsty while drinking
Suffocating while breathing
Sad while laughing
Homesick while at home

Fuck you, Korea!

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When I was kid ( a non-adopted kid in Korea), after I entered first grade, we became so poor that we once searched in the garbage dump for foods and we gleaned  radish and cabbage left in the fields after the harvest.

My sister was friend with the daughter of a rich family in our neighborhood. They lived in a house of more than one room, they owned a TV, and a piano and they had a beautiful rose garden in front of their living room. Everything they owned was unusual at that time. Compared to a family in the Western country, they weren’t rich, but they were the richest in the world to my knowledge as a child. She always wore beautiful clothes (while other children had only one set of clothes to go to school and one set for home). My sister would draw her new clothes for my paper doll. I thought she was lucky until the day I heard she was adopted. I didn’t know what adopted meant, so my sister said her parents were not her real parents. I then had assumed that her real parents were dead, and although she didn’t look unhappy I thought it was terrible. The sad revelation made me appreciate my life and my family. I tried to imagine my life without dad but couldn’t. It was too horrible. I didn’t want to live with another family for all the clothes in the world, nor even for all foods in the world.

That’s how much my family meant to me.

Ironically I got adopted three years later into a rich country where there were clothes and foods in profusion, while my father was still alive. When you take a child from the poor and give him/her to the rich in exchange of money, what’s left to the poor? Nothing.

My father had nothing else after losing me. I was his only child left after his other older children were gone. He died in loneliness of liver cirrhosis three years after I went missing.   But the “birth” parents don’t matter for people who promote adoption.

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Someone to the post Almost Aborted wrote, “Be a round Korean, learn Korean and serve in the Korean Army.”


Korea sent me to a white community  where there were no Asians.
A community where I was mocked, bullied and threatened for my slant eyes.
I was called “The Chinese” or “La Chinoise” if not “la sale Chinoise (the dirty Chinese)” by everyone around me, even by the few black people.
Korea sold me  to white people who taught me that to be an Asian was a shameful thing, that to be Asian = to be a geisha.

Koreans sent me to a foreign land where there were no Koreans around me.
As I mentioned in the post “Almost Aborted”,  Koreans crossed off the date of bearer’s return on my visa to ensure I wouldn’t go back to Korea for a long time.
I completely lost my language within two years of my arrival on this land for having nobody to talk to.
The loss of mother language was traumatic.

To be told to to be around Koreans, to learn Korean  and to serve in the Korean army sounds sardonic to me.

 

 

 

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