Opinion: A Chinese adoptee’s continual and bittersweet reckoning with a life lost

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Levi Lee/The Occidental

I’ve always known I was adopted. It’s hard not to when your parents look nothing like you. My family occasionally gets stares in public, but I hardly notice since being a transracial adoptee is all I know. I spent my childhood in Texas trying to make sense of who I was while defining my own Asian America situated in the shadows of the American South. No matter how complex my identity is, my desire to remain close to China is a constant, grounding force. I think about my home country and romanticize the person I could have been in China despite everything my adoptive parents have given me.

I have mixed emotions about China’s recent decision to halt international adoptions. I know there’s a sociopolitical perspective that can be used to interpret what it means for China’s economy and population. However, when I first heard the news, I couldn’t help but think about the 160,000 Chinese children who have been adopted internationally since 1992, a majority of them being females due to the One Child Policy. I am fulfilled with my life here in America, but I mourn the culture I could have experienced if I never came. This is undoubtedly because of my appreciation for and proximity to Chinese culture from a young age.

A common misconception of Chinese adoptees in America is that they are all “whitewashed” and want to be more “Americanized.” However, I’m very conscious that my experience as a Chinese adoptee is quite the opposite of that.

My parents sent me to, not one, but two, Chinese language schools a week to ensure I was exposed to as much Chinese culture as possible. I was also fortunate to grow up in Austin, TX, which has a sizable Chinese immigrant population. I befriended their kids at school. I attended their holiday celebrations. I was accepted into their community because of our shared knowledge and culture. They couldn’t have cared less about my parents’ ethnicity. I always felt like “one of them.” It never bothered me that I was adopted, because I felt so secure in my Chinese identity and had successfully assimilated into the culture I was surrounded by.

A few years ago, my mom mentioned that when I was younger, she urged my dad to get a job in China so our family could move there. She said she wanted me to experience life like an “ordinary” Chinese kid. I realized that as much as I “completed” my parents’ lives, they also felt guilty about taking me away from my home country. No matter how much they have provided for me in America, nothing will replace the loss they indirectly caused.

Many conversations about transcontinental adoption are only positive — the fruitful life the child has in the new country, the wonderful family they gain and the job opportunities available to them when they’re an adult. However, adoption is full of loss. I lost my biological family. I lost a language, culture and country. I lost an entire identity. Looking back, I now know that my parents crammed my week full of language school and cultural activities to give me back any bit of my lost Chinese identity. I wonder who I would’ve become if I never left China.

Strangely enough, I haven’t returned to China since leaving 19 years ago. However, I think about China every day. I want to visit where I was born in the mountains of Guangxi and smell the misty air. I want to see the lush, towering landscapes and hear the chatter and bustle of my people. I want to experience everything that was taken away from me. After all, it wasn’t my choice to leave.

I feel conflicted about China’s new adoption policy because I recognize everything that Chinese adoptees abroad have lost. While this doesn’t discount the quality of life we currently have, I am still unsure about how to feel because we were forcibly relocated, even if it was for the better. I can’t say if this policy is a completely positive or negative thing for children in orphanages now. My opportunities in America are probably far better than anything I could’ve imagined in China, but there is a life in China that I will never live. I have a whole lineage that I don’t know, and it hurts not knowing where you came from.

My adoption story is bittersweet. The Chinese adoptee experience is not monolithic. Everyone’s story is different. Be open to hearing other’s stories, especially if they don’t fit into the preformed mold you have in your head. It’s okay to let certain parts of your past define who you are and shape how you perceive the world. It’s okay to not know certain parts of who you are. Allow yourself to accept the difficult journey of unearthing your past.

My adoption never gets easier to talk about — it just gets easier to sit with. I feel secure enough in myself to talk about my identity and sense of belonging. I hope my conversations inspire other Chinese adoptees to confront their pasts and recognize everything they lost, no matter how heartbreaking and uncomfortable it may be. At the end of the day, I’m still just a girl from China.

Contact Anna Beatty at beatty@oxy.edu

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