Anthem
ANTHEM BY LOGAN JULIANO Often brassy, percussive, and proud, anthems are commonly associated with nationalism. As a citizen, even if I can’t hit the high notes, I can absolutely sing my inquiry about the United States flag’s visibility at dawn. On an intellectual level, I struggle with rhetoric of the “land of the free and home of the brave” with ever-unfolding histories of land loss and conquest. Yet I understand
Rooted
ROOTED BY LUCIA BLACKWELL Jennifer pulls under the carport at her favorite cabin on a bluff overlooking the expansive Pacific Ocean and the log-jammed mouth of Kalaloch Creek. She lugs clothes, a Pendleton blanket bought on a previous visit, and groceries inside. She turns on the wall heater but leaves the front door open a crack, despite the October chill, so she can hear the surf murmuring below. She sinks
Beyond the Fantasy
BEYOND THE FANTASY BY JULIAN WASHIO-COLLETTE I do not remember explicit fantasies as a child about who my birth parents were. I do remember, after my second adoption at age nine, feeling so estranged from the human race that I sometimes wondered whether I was from another planet, that maybe this was all some grand experiment to see how I would respond as an alien creature among humans. Or was
What’s in a Name?
WHAT’S IN A NAME? BY HAIKU KWON What’s in a name?A name… My name… What’s in my name?
Because of Sex
BECAUSE OF SEX BY SUSANNA DRBAL Trigger Warning: This story alludes to sexual assault and rape. One thing Tammy knew: she existed because of sex. She knew how babies were made, and she knew that sometimes people just went crazy and took their clothes off and writhed on a bed together. It seemed like people sometimes regretted it afterwards and snuck towards the door with their shoes hanging from the
Mirrors, Windows, and Doors
Mirrors, Windows, and Doors BY ERICA CURRY VAN EE The purpose of a mirror is to reflect a clear and accurate image. We look into mirrors to see the truth about ourselves in that moment. If a mirror is dirty, we clean it so the image won’t be distorted. If it is shattered, we toss it, because it can no longer project a true picture. Mirrors teach us who we
Take Me Home
TAKE ME HOME BY DARYN WATSON My favorite all-time song is “Take Me Home” by Phil Collins. I first heard this song when I was fourteen years of age, living in Canada with my adoptive family. I didn’t know why this song spoke to me so much, but over the years, I’ve continued to love this song. In the first part, Phil Collins sings of “an ordinary man” who is
Message in a Bottle
Message in a Bottle By Sara Streeter The journal was a gift to the girl. Her best friend had embellished the simple composition notebook with photos and poetry glued to its wide ruled pages, bells strung to the binding, and enough glitter shellacked on it to make a pixie puke. The girl loved the journal. She wrote in it nearly every day about school, boys, friends, and, occasionally, her parents.
The Imposter in the Mirror
The Imposter in the Mirror BY LORAH GERALD I was raised an adopted, only child. Growing up without any connection to a DNA relative left me without biological mirroring. I searched faces in the crowd, on TV, and in the movies for a glimpse of the familiarity I saw when I looked in the mirror. I knew my family was out there somewhere. Where they looking for my face in
Dear Prospective Adoptive Parent
DEAR PROSPECTIVE ADOPTIVE PARENT BY MICHELLE MADDEN Dear Prospective Adoptive Parent, It’s exciting to think about building a family through adoption, I know. You think of the many possibilities and fun things to do while loving a child and nurturing their growth. Adoption is just a legal event. It’s one day. Then the past is officially over and not important. They become your child, as if born to you. Why
Memory
MEMORY BY AUDREY B Adopting parents, adapting child, “coming out of the fog,”
Conversation with Claudia
CONVERSATION WITH CLAUDIA BY REBECCA COHEN I’d been watching her, this girl, my stepdaughter, for three years. Feeling her. Feeding her. Here she was, curled at the other end of the couch: nose in a book, heart in another world. The first time my then-boyfriend introduced me to his girls, I heard the howling in her eyes. Rebecca, the adopted one. None of my MSW coursework had prepared me for
To Those Who Came Before Me …
TO THOSE WHO CAME BEFORE ME … BY REBECCA CHEEK I am not a history buff. I never have been. But this summer, I attended my first adoptee conference, The Korean American Adoptee Adoptive Family Network (KAAN) Conference. I still think about my experience attending the conference, and it makes me ruminate on the past. My thoughts center not only on my own past but also those of my adoptive
LETTER FROM THE FACILITATORS
We are thrilled to present the largest issue yet of the Adoptee Voices eZine: Mirror. Submissions are from adoptee writers who attended our eight-week writing group this fall, from two groups that met on different nights: One group, with a focus on craft and publication, and the other, with a focus on writing as an emotional playground. We were inspired to see many writers attend both groups.
Dedicated writers, intent on exploring their stories in communion with others, met in a supportive virtual space to write. Crossing many time zones, writers from varied backgrounds explored the one thing they had in common: the unique experience of being adopted. Writing prompts were designed to help writers delve into their childhoods, explore the experience of being genetically uprooted, and look deeply into feelings evoked by adoption.
Listening to the writers read their pieces, we were all transported to the distinct world of the adoptee reading. We learned from each other and heard many of our own adoption experiences reflected back to us. The fascination with mirrors was one such shared experience. As happened often when someone read, all heads in individual Zoom squares nodded in recognition of the complicated relationship with mirrors, and the search for self in a flat polished surface.
Just as a fascination with mirrors was shared, so to was the sanctity of aloneness. Being adopted is a lonely experience. We are often alone with our grief about so many things related to adoption, not just relinquishment. Coming together to write, share, and support each other is brave, especially when being alone is more comfortable.
Thirteen of these brave writers have submitted their reflections to this edition. We thank them for lifting their adoptee voices so we can all be seen.
-Kate, with Alice, Jennifer, Ridghaus, Sara