Hello? Still here. It has been too long since my last posting. I am most grateful for the messages I have received this past week from strangers who have taken comfort from my words. Having that sense of connection has been the single best gift this blog has given me. So, here I am, poised to do more.
Why so quiet? Perhaps it’s because I am a year older again! Perhaps the change in weather. Perhaps it is because I have gotten lost in the world of Korean dramas and find my heart missing and longing for another way of life right now. Perhaps the duties and obligations of volunteering for the PTA has gotten me so aggravated that I can’t look at the computer. I don’t know, but I was in a funk and who wants to read yet another diatribe of angst from a middle aged adoptee?
My brain has been foggy though and I am not one to put something out there if it doesn’t have some order in it. My conclusion is that I miss my Umma and especially my brother. It has been two years now since Umma has been here. Since then, our lodging situation has changed and I keep looking at this place thinking it would have been so much easier if we lived here back then. We would have had more space to move around and I would not have felt so stifled. I looked at my three piles of laundry waiting for me and find myself thinking if she was here, my space would not be in such disarray. I know when I am too busy when things stay on the floor past their requisite 24 hours. I am not sure if I miss her, but I am missing having a mother to worry about me and to keep tabs on my well being. I hate the way Koreans make blunt observations and feel the necessity to say it out loud, but I feel a need for it right now. That stream of consciousness dictating my pulse.
There is this belief that when you hit 30 you are really an adult, whereby the wrongs and injustices of your childhood is no longer squarely on the shoulders of your parents, but have made their way onto you to make with it as you see fit. There comes a time when you can’t keep looking behind you to blame for your being stuck, being angry, being hurt and being childish. I felt so liberated when I hit 30. I was no longer in charge of my sisters, I was thinking marriage, I had a career and I paid for everything all by myself. I could come and go with no one to account for. But, now in my 40s, I am dumbstruck by my simple childish desire to still be mothered.
It is a complete pipedream. I am terrible at being mothered. My skin nearly begins to crawl thinking about this fantasy. I am a nurturer, the mother. My supervisor loving reminds me, “mothering oozes out of every pore of your body.” But this past week, I was tired and weary of standing up with arms outstretched to comfort someone else. I wanted it to be my turn.
Perhaps life is too good now. I have the luxury of wishing such a wish. All basic necessities of life are mine and so I want more.
I spent yesterday with two old and marvelous sister-friends – adoptees, Korean, mothers. We don’t talk about much in great detail about anything, but it felt so comfortable to be with them over kimpap, fried chicken and a Hite. Our kids are growing up and while they don’t see each other often, I was struck by how nice it was to see them all play together, no squabbles, no tears. We are all Aunties to them. They have more mothers in their lives than the three of us put together. Perhaps they sense the loveliness of this family connection. I am relieved for them and bit wistful for me.