I haven’t posted for several days. To tell you the truth, I have been feeling a little “stuck”. I had been thinking that I could continue to blog about what I have learned so far in my Spiritual journey but that seemed kind of boring to me so I decided to take this blog in a slightly different direction.
I think I would like to tell my story. The story of my actual journey and how I got to where I am now. How I came to know what I know and what got me here. I realized that this meant that I would have to share with you some of the details of the past that have caused me such pain. Only then I think, will the reader appreciate how anyone can overcome or get past their pain.
So I will start my story from the time I was 3 years old. My sister and I were adopted from Korea by parents who had not been able to have children of their own. They had been married for 12 years and lived in Japan. My Father worked for the civil service and grew up in a Christian household on a farm in Minnesota. My Mother was Japanese who spoke broken English but studied to become an American citizen.
My sister and I were not biological sisters. My sister is full Korean and I am half caucasian and half Korean and we became very close. We spoke only Korean and often used our little hands to communicate with our parents.
Little things would excite us like the flushing of the toilet or, hearing the clanking of the pots and pans in the kitchen. Yay! This meant we were going to eat a full meal! Something that was very rare in the orphanages of Korea. Ice cream was great too! I thought bread was fantastic but I didn’t care for buttering my bread. Just give it to me plain please!
We lived in Japan for about 6 months until my Father’s job took him to one of the Pacific Islands.
My sister and I picked up the English language fairly quickly and I started kindergarden at 4 years of age. I liked school. The other kids thought it was neat that I was adopted. Of course the teachers had to explain to them what adopted meant. In the islands where we lived, it wasn’t unusual to see many kids being adopted by a distant Aunt or Uncle, but an international adoption was rare back then.
My sister and I were always very close. We shared a bond of having been torn away from our birth country by people we did not know at the time and because of this, we were each other’s strength.
The early toddler years seemed to be ok. Our family would take vacations every year alternating back and forth between the relatives in Japan and Minnesota. Our Aunts, Uncles and cousins were always nice to us. I think it was somewhat of a novelty for them to have Korean cousins who were adopted. They really liked my sister’s jet black hair and my cousins seemed to have more of an interest in her because of her hair color. Maybe it wasn’t so much an interest as it was a curiosity. My hair was a light brown color which was slightly darker than all my blond cousins. I remember my Paternal Grandmother. A strong willed woman with a solid Christian background who was so proud of my sister and I. She would often show us off to her friends and have us dance the hula. Of course she loved all her grandkids but somehow she made my sister and I feel very special.
It was the same with our cousins in Japan. They loved having us over and their curiosity was peaked more because of my half asian, half caucasian features than that of my full Korean blooded, jet black haired sister.
When I think back, I remember things around the house beginning to get strange when my sister and I were around the age of 7 or 8.