Once upon a time there was a beautiful baby. This special child was born in Ellis hospital with her mom and dad who loved it more than anything in the world. The child was motionless, but both the mother and father cried tears of joy knowing how innocent the little bundle of joy looked. Was it smiling? No, it couldn’t be, maybe that was just the way it looked from a mother's point of view. The baby, swaddled in a light pale cloth, opened its eyes for the first time and from that moment on they knew that they would be together forever. Sounds like a regular story right? Perhaps this is your story. You can probably name your parents names at the top of your head; sadly, I can not say the same. I wasn’t born in Ellis hospital, in fact I was born in a whole different country.

I was born in Jiangxi Province, China. Where both freedoms and food were limited. I might have been born in a hospital but it was most likely I was born in the house of my mom’s, along with a midwife. I don’t know for sure what happened and the feeling of not knowing can truly turn someone mad. It’s like a wound that won’t stop bleeding and it will never go away until you find a doctor. Of course I could try to forget about it; I could always use a bandage, but the scar will be there forever. All I have to rely on for answers are the very few wrinkled papers that are tinted ever so yellow.

I was adopted; this means I was either, given away, abandoned or simple unloved. It was possible that I might have had a brother or a sister, but I don’t know and I may never know. During the time I was born a law was passed called the one child policy, which is pretty self explanatory. A family could only have one child and most of the time they kept their sons because they would usually stay in the same house with their parents. When a couple gets married the wife moves into the husband's house and both of them take care of the husband’s parents. It’s unjustified that millions of girls are being sent away simply because their parents are selfish enough to keep a son over a daughter. I was possibly one of those many children; I was ripped away from my parents soon after I was born, but I was considered lucky. Many babies were abandoned in fields to die and some were put to death only to live for a few hours, while others died before they even had consciousness.                                                     

I was lucky enough to live, to breathe and be transported to the “land of opportunities”. And on one fateful day this whole adoption idea hit me as hard as a locker door in the face. I was told the whole adoption spiel  hundreds of times. We owned millions of books about china and life was fine, but it never fully occurred to me how tragic it truly was. When we are young there are concepts we have to learn. Sometimes we don’t understand the meaning of hurt so we may take it out on a pet or start banging on a fish tank. And when we don’t understand the meaning of “no” we throw a tantrum. At the time, I truly didn’t see what was so sad about the whole event. It seemed like a normal part of my life, especially since I was smothered with sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows. I had a little patch of blue in the stormy sky that shone above me wherever I went. However, when I was about seven my mom fully explained what happened to me and how I was adopted which was typical by itself, but it finally came into realization how devastating it must have been.

In the basement of a small blue house my sister was asking questions about China with my mom, when the whole conversation turned into let's start from the beginning and tell you everything. Upon hearing her story she started crying, then weeping, then creating a new ocean on our basement floor. This “Ocean” was filled with the same fear as a night-mare. It consumed everything in it’s path including my sister and mom. It slowly crept it’s way toward me. At first I refused to enter the circle of sadness, but the ocean just touched the edges of my shoe. That’s all it took for me to totally bawl out the salty tears that tickled the sides of cheeks. It was a disheartening moment and I was surely drowning in the ocean. I specifically remember feeling sympathetic not for myself, but for my mom and sister. My mom had to take in a motherless child, only to take the place of a less fortunate mom. My sister was adopted like me, we both ended up in an orphanage. However, she was more sensitive. She still gets worked up over being adopted almost every time it’s brought up. Although it’s truly heart wrenching to bring in the dark past, part of that missing piece is found on the bottom of the ocean no matter where it may go.

Remember the wound I was talking about? Every time I start talking, writing or simply thinking about the past it's like the Hydrogen Peroxide. It may hurt and irritate a wound but it will help in the long run. It’s heartbreaking to bring up such a subject and no matter what I do I can’t help but cringe and pop my elbows up. This is something that’s a part of my life. I have to carry this scar with me till’ the day I die and I won’t be the only one asking questions. I have to admit, I’ve tried avoiding the whole adoption subject at all costs. It’s something that separates me from most of the people in school but I try to think of it as a “unique feature”.

Although I made it over the bridge not everyone can follow me. Even today, many young girls are suffering while I am going to school, living a happy life. There are many children who aren’t wanted and need help, yet many childless couples insist on having their own kid. Why bring another child into this world when there are many that are in need of parents? There are children suffering outside of China in many different countries who are stuck in orphanages waiting for parents who may never come. I was extra lucky that I wasn’t one of those kids. I have learned a lot from what I’ve been told about my story. Although I can’t remember everything, I can still remember in my heart that I had a mother and father. Still to this day it haunts me thinking about my biological parents. I don’t know anything about them except the product of their blood and genes, which is me. To this very day I ask the quiet eerie air questions. Was I ever loved? Why am I here? Are they looking for me? At the same time I realize I’m a fortunate child that ended up in America, the melting pot that takes in the wretched refuse. Sadly, not all the outcasts, and troubled people of the world can pass by the lamp and the golden door, but I am thankful that the homeless tempest toss, is me.