Adoption Stories

This is a piece I made about my reunion with my biological family in Seoul a year ago. I found inspiration from Deann and other adoptees who had searched for their Korean families and had shared their experience with the adoptee community. I’m not sure I would have had the courage to search and share my experience without knowing about those who had done so before me. I hope we all continue to share our stories and inspire new generations to explore their identity and relationship with Korea.  —Schuyler

On December 4, 1979, I flew from Seoul, Korea to the Philadelphia airport to be adopted by my strong, independent, single by choice, white mother. I was a two-and-a-half-year-old newborn. I have no recollection of the flight, or my life in Korea, or that transitional moment where I became American and lost my Korean self.

Now as an adult, when I look back at early baby pictures, I am stunned to discover that Ling Ling, my first oriental doll, was there on my first night at home in America (evidence from this picture). The thing is, I remember hating that doll. I hated her unflattering bowl shaped haircut. I hated how her face, although made of rubber, was supposed to resemble porcelain (like a little china doll). I hated how flabby her plush arms, torso and legs gave her an ironing board body shape. I hated her white lace smock dress with matching pants that screamed Chinese. Back then I couldn’t articulate why I felt such an intense rage. But now, I’m pretty sure that my childhood feelings were a mirror reflection of how I didn’t want to be seen. As oriental. Foreign. Ugly. Chinese. I have to wonder what my mother’s true intentions were. Did she think that if I held onto a doll that looked like me, it would bring me comfort and I’d adjust faster to the white world I was plopped into?  Did it really not matter to her that Ling Ling was Chinese and I was Korean—a fact that I would spend most of my adult years trying to make sense of—figuring out my identity once and for all. Just as my hatred for my oriental skin disappeared, so did Ling Ling. I have no idea what happened to her.

Lynne Connor, Brooklyn, NY, writer

Growing up in an area where it is not sensitive towards other cultures has truly scarred me. I was verbally and physically bullied for being the minority and not the majority, which consisted of being either Caucasian or African American. Such traumatizing events truly made me ashamed of who I was… It made me not want to go to Korea, meet my biological family, or have any interest in Korea.

During the summer of 2006, I applied and was accepted for Holt’s Summer School Program. This program was and still is designed to unite 20 adoptees throughout Europe and the United States. During our stay, we had the opportunity to learn about Korea’s culture, history, food, language, and Tae Kwon Do. Additionally, we traveled throughout Korea. This trip was a life altering experience for me which I’ll never forget. The bond and love that I have for each Korean adoptee that I encountered during this stay is eternal. Because of this trip, I finally felt proud of where I came from.

The above photo is of my adoptive father, myself, my biological mother, and my maternal uncle. My journey in searching for my biological mother began in 2004 and I finally met her in 2009. Regardless of the dedication and time it took to locate her, I never lost hope. I strongly believe in fate and if two people were destined to meet then fate will bring them together regardless of the obstacles blocking their way.

My name is Lynn Evans. My Korean name is Seo Jihyun, and my case number is K86-391.

“I remember seeing my adoption papers Christina Hope Peters. I was adopted at the age of 2 1/2 in November of 1957.  I lived in Latham NY with my adopted family of Chinese descent.  My name was changed to Elizabeth Chen.  I blended into my family after all we were Oriental looking. People always said that I looked like my father or my mother. Oh really? Fast foward  to 2012.  I finally got to go on a Motherland Tour to Seoul Korea.  I finally found a place that I looked like everyone else. I saw the adoption home that I had come from and actually found a place where I felt that I belonged. My name is Elizabeth Hotaling. I hope I get to return again. Kim He Ja my Korean name.”

This photo was taken in Seoul, Korea in 2007, the first time I met my twin brother (far left) older brother and mother and father. I was given up due to pure superstition as it was believed it was ‘bad luck’ to keep boy and girl twins together for fear that they would grow up to like each other.

I often wonder who I would have been had I had grown up in my Korean family. Would I still be me? Would I be different or the same? The roots to my tree are still in question, even though I have the answers I longed for for so many years.

This is one of the few photographs I have with my family and not just them. 

This is was taken the day I left Kimpo Airport in Seoul in March, 1966. I’m the one with the jacket. I look fat because I had several layers of clothing on underneath. The man standing behind me was the director of the orphanage. Just before he nudged me toward the plane, he told me, “Don’t tell them who you really are until you’re old enough to take care of yourself.”   - Deann Borshay Liem, filmmaker and curator of this blog (www.mufilms.org)