Being only 15 months old when I was stolen from all that I had ever known. I can’t exactly remember what life would have been like. However, days would have consisted of old cloth wounded around my body. In order for my foster mother to work. I was surrounded by light while she worked all day. Rice and dumplings being my primary source of food, memories of delicious odours. The people who loved me would look over me, keeping my mischievous self out of trouble. Sleeping to the sound of engines roaring, and mechanical giants clattering into dusk. That is what I thought was home. That was my family.
13 years and I still hate the thought of going back. I loved my life here and had a family. My mother always mentioned going back to China, but I always said no. I thought It was ridiculous. They gave me away for a reason they didn’t love me. They hated me. What a preposterous idea of going back, getting rejected again. I didn’t need that nor wanted it. I always wondered what was wrong with me, my parents said nothing they tried to convince me. My parents told me ” They just couldn’t take care of me “. What lies they just didn’t want to hurt my feelings. I used to have dreams about meeting them, but I never saw their faces. Dreams that would show me how my life would have been like. I used to call them nightmares. I mean there was always an option to go back home to China (Shangrao), to search for my birth mother. I would just disregard it and ignore it.
The decision, that I knew would not only affect me, but it would also affect my mother, it may even affect my birth mother. I didn’t want to be the one blamed for the disrupt in everyone’s lives. 1 in 7.2 billion, that was the chance of finding them, and even then they could be dead. 13 years later and I knew dead or alive I had to thank them for the gift that they gave me. The gift of the life I have now. Fear wasn’t exactly what was stopping me. Although I will admit there was an ounce of fear that lurked in the shadows below. The thought of going home became my source of light, a new part of my story was unfolding excited me. I just knew that I had to find the people that I owe so many thanks to. My life has been amazing and I had them to thank for it. I understood that I was being harsh, and not understanding that they didn’t have a choice, they had to give me away. I knew leaving New Zealand for good was not an option, my life was here, not China. Yet, I have always been curious to why they had left me in the hospital, why didn’t they take me with them? I wanted to know if it was because I wasn’t good enough for them. Was I a burden? I wanted closure. I wanted to see if I could answer some of my burning thoughts and try to answer their questions.
After months of looking, I never found them, I had no success. Honestly, though I was a little disappointing, but relieved as well. I didn’t have to worry about them taking me back, I could come home and get back to my life that was in New Zealand. My mother and I found that the people we met were so sweet. Some of them would say “I wish I was her mother” or “you are doing such a great job” to my mum. There was so much positivity surrounding my search. My heart swelled at the curiosity and kindness. In all, honesty, I met some of the kindest and welcoming people in my whole entire life. I experienced the love and support from so many wonderful people. I now call them my family, even though they are not biological, they are still family to me. All my life growing up adopted I don’t see family as blood, but as the people who love you for being me.
I learnt about how many infants came through the hospital. How their mothers would leave them. I learnt about how cruel the orphanage was to the women we used to call our mothers. I learnt about the life I could have had if I hadn’t stepped outside of my comfort zone and search for my birth mother. I am so grateful for all the relationships and connections that came out of this experience. There are still so many unanswered questions and it’s not over yet.
