I want to disappear from this household.

I wish I could be un-adopted to escape this nightmare.

I’d take the isolation in Taiwan over this headache-inducing crap.

I can’t think about much other than the Night From Hell, which was last Thursday, and then the Phone Call From Hell first thing this morning. And it’s not even about me, it’s my sibling and mom – but things have gotten so bad that it’s spreading to the rest of us.

“Every family has its own problems.”

Oh, I’m fairly sure right now that mine can top the scale on that statement.

“We are just like any other family” – Xiao-Ping

I’m pretty sure your family hasn’t been like this.

The Night From Hell involved a bunch of screaming, slamming doors, and a threat to break all familial ties (That won’t happen, but I’m not sure the relationship itself can ever be recovered at this point). I ran up to my room, closed the door and stuffed my earbuds into my ears.

I have nothing to blog about.

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I’ve been thinking about things in terms of my adoption journey – namely, thinking back on my thought processes from 2 years ago, sometimes 3 years ago.

Now that I’ve been back to Taiwan, seen the type of lifestyles they have, it’s been very intriguing to go back through my original blog archives and observe what I was thinking…

April 2007: Part of me just wants to cry, because this is the person I should have known, the person I should have had a close friendship with. After all, she’s only a year younger than me. We probably would have gotten along well.

January 2008: Sometimes I want to rename myself Huang Mei-Ling. Legally. As in, have people call me that on a regular basis. But at the same time, it just doesn’t completely fit me anymore. I’m not Huang Mei-Ling. And acknowledging that I have not been raised by Huang Shui-Quan (Father) and Huang Feng-Ying (Mother) is a truth.

October 2008: I want to tell her to get Mama and Baba. I want to hear their voices. I open my mouth to ask where Mama is, if I can speak to her. But then, as I listen to her type and click away, I want to cry out in frustration. Instead, I’m throwing a fit inside my head, I am blaming myself for not being good enough, for having to use a translator. I know it’s not my fault, but knowing that it’s not my fault isn’t making me feel better.

March 2009: It hurts because it brings out the realization that they only became parents through my mother’s tragedy and lack of support, it hurts because the reality is that I have two other parents who wanted to raise me but were helpless to find resources, it hurts because they [aparents] were advantaged and did not realize to which extent it would imprint on us all.

May 2009: It’s just… the reality is starting to sink in. As excited as I am about going, it’s going to be really difficult to say goodbye. Reality isn’t quite setting in fast enough. It won’t set in until we head off for the airport, even though I’ve known since February that this was going to happen. Everyone says I am not alone, but I beg to differ – after I walk through customs, I *will* be on my own.

Even as “recent” as 2008, I still had so many misconceptions of what reunion was going to be like.

After nearly 3 years, having studied enough grammar and basic vocabulary, I am finally able to read almost all of this letter in its entirety:

But there are always things to continue processing, to ponder about, to look back and reflect on. Now it’s too late, because for all the basic things I can read, there’s still so much more I want to uncover.

There are always questions, always answers that will only lead to more questions, answers that have been buried within the passage of time.

It doesn’t end.

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It is a bit frustrating that people only see the simplified version of what it means to be adopted.

I could say:

I miss my mother

And then people will look at me strangely because I have an adoptive mother, because I have a good family, a good home, a proper education.  And then they think something along the lines of, “But you were given everything you could possibly want or need.”

Doesn’t a child need their mother too?

*

I would be happy over there – in a different, bittersweet sort of way.

I would get to be with my parents, at least until I found another place to stay for a shorter term. Perhaps I could eventually get to know my mother. But could I last in other aspects? Could I put up with the challenge of finding food, of re-explaining my existence as to why my face and speech do not match, of being linguistically locked out?

I’m not sure if I could stay for a longer term. There is so much at stake.

Could I really do that?

Could I face the vacant loneliness?

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Taiwan, sometime in mid-August

The sound of an alarm beeping on the table in the living room gently rouses me out of a light sleep. I hear the sound of my mother turning over on the nap-mat as she coughs herself awake. It must be six o’clock, or nearly that time. She must get up and leave for work in about ten minutes.

The ten minutes pass quickly; I hear her make her way to the kitchen, to the bathroom, and then out the door. She will ride on her bicycle to work, wherever that is. About 20 minutes later, my sister’s bedroom door opens. Her light is on; evidently she had already been up and getting prepared for work. She is already wearing her helmet and carrying her purse; she leaves the room and locks it.

Silence once again descends upon the residence.

Gege is still sleeping but around 8:30 he will leave for work, too. And then I will be left to either stay at their place, or head out and explore.

*

I cannot shake the vacant loneliness

*

I finally get out of bed around ten o’clock. God, I am hungry, but I will need to get dressed and then head out to find something to eat. Finding breakfast has become a ridiculously notorious task, and for a moment, I dwell on the luxury of remembering that in Canada, I could always go straight out to the kitchen and eat breakfast immediately.

This is one aspect of the culture that wears me down…

My growling stomach reminds me that it will need food very soon. I get dressed, grab my purse (with dictionary), the house key, and take a deep breath. Another day of facing the challenge of finding something to eat, struggling to name it or point, and then paying for it.

I head out down the alley and make a right. I suppose I will just have to buy dumplings again, even though I am getting quite fed up with them, because that was all I could eat (and name) for the first month. At least they are relatively cheap and only 5 blocks down the street.

*

There is nothing for me

*

I have no life here.

I have no (real) school.

I have no work.

No purpose.

*

I don’t belong here

*

I constantly have to explain why my language does not match my appearance, why I do not or cannot respond the way the natives do. I constantly have to explain why I am in Taiwan since it quickly becomes evident I am not “one of them.”

When I return to Heping for dinner, I am then faced with my own disappointment that I cannot understand my parents’ native tongue, and that sometimes, I feel as though I have not progressed even in Mandarin enough to make any sort of [real] connection.

I am faced with the reality that I have become a cultural exile in my own family.