I wanted to say: Oh Nana, I missed you so much. What I truly wanted to say, was not what I said. My response didn’t evoke how I really felt about my grandmother. I made it past that hurdle and now it was time to anticipate the next one. I guess that was good enough no errors there. But how would I respond? How could I come up with a response that showed my understanding, but also wasn’t too complex in that complexity would make errors very probable? So I simply responded by saying, “Da, hvala.” Yes, thanks. She suffocated me with kisses and exclaimed, “Dodji ovamo draga moja, zar si me ti blagoslovila.” I could easily process what she said. They only have one country and I have two. But maybe, just maybe, it was jealousy that rang through their voices.
Sure I didn’t live their ultra cool Euro lifestyle and didn’t speak their language with 100 percent fluidity, but that didn’t give them the right to treat me in an inferior way. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be around people who undermined me, who thought less of me, and who took me for a fool.
And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be apart of a judgmental group anymore. They were haughty, vain, and ethnocentric. A girl like that would make everyone say, “Look at this dumb American girl, with Montenegrin parents though she cannot speak the language like we do.” Those who looked down upon me were of course ignorant to the place of my upbringing. Why did they need an American girl who pretended she was Montenegrin anyway? Why did they need a girl who couldn’t speak the language of the locals without a two minute pause trying to find the right word to say? They didn’t need a girl like that, a girl like that would ruin their fun. And, yes, family is about love not about looks, but when you're 10 years old and everyone else looks the same, you can't really help but feel like you're not supposed to be there.Īfter some time, Milena and Stana stopped inviting me to go out with them, especially when they were to meet up with their fellow Montenegrin friends. It gives you a visual representation that you're different, that you're 'other'. It makes it hard to know what you're supposed to look like as you grow. Because it's pretty hard to link the genetics of why you look the way you look when you're an Asian in a white family.īecause when you're cross-culturally adopted, you don't look like everyone in your family. You know, the one where you write down everyone in your family's hair color, eye color, widow's peck, etc. Ever have to go up to your third grade teacher and ask if you would still be able to do a family tree since you're adopted? Or have your sixth grade teacher tell you that it wasn't necessary for you to do a genetic traits chart? On a lighter note, it also makes some school assignments a little awkward. You could be a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off. Sometimes it's knowing that you were never really wanted. Sometimes it's knowing that your adopted parents tried to have their own children first. Sometimes it's knowing that you were ripped away from a beautiful culture and language. Sometimes it's knowing that she carried you for nine months but didn't think of a name for you. Sometimes it's wondering if the woman who carried you in her belly for nine months ever even held you in her arms. I can tell you that it isn't always being grateful that your birth mother decided to give you life and give you away. I have felt and lived in the pain that can come with being adopted. If I wasn't given the choice to keep my child, if my only options were adoption or an abortion, I would choose an abortion. Personally, I think that once you give the government control of reproductive choices, you cannot take that power back. Some have put restrictions on the number of children women could keep. Some have forced women to become pregnant and bear children.
Other governments have put laws in place governing children. I'm pro-choice because, if the government took away my choice, I would choose abortion.Ĭonfused? Don't worry, I'll explain more.