In 1972, my twin sister and I were adopted from Seoul, South Korea when we were six months old. For thirty-two years, the issue of our birth county seemed to be insignificant to us. We believed that we were 100% American citizens, and nothing less. We loved our lives in the West, even with all its bumps and bruises along the way. After all, what life does not have challenges? Like most people, we’ve just learned to face our problems, work through them and be successful, ultimately giving back to the country that gave us a home. Because I grew up in a Caucasian family, I didn’t think of myself as Asian or an immigrant (even though my ethnicity might dictate a different story). I was (and still am) Westernized, but now I realize it's with a twist. My sister and I have always loved and appreciated our lives as Americans and because of our loyalty to this country, never felt the need to investigate our origin. We simply assumed that we belonged to our adoptive family—no questions asked.

The last thing, I suspect, any adoptee would appreciate, is for someone to question the validity of our adoptive family unit. While growing up, our adoptive family was considered our “real” family even when there were disagreements. Although I love my adoptive parents like any normal human loves the family s/he is born into, I did not think to acknowledge that there could be more to me than what meets the eye—and that that “addition” to myself is a significant missing piece—a piece that deserves my attention. In The Search for Mother Missing, I discover this hidden piece of me.

I think international adoptees are loyal to the country we’ve been raised in, maybe even more so than the country of our birth. I know from my own experience that I was totally indifferent toward South Korea. To me, Korea was as foreign as life on Mars—a place I did not need or want to travel to. I did not identify myself at all with the Korean people, although as an adult, I am proud to be Asian, I enjoy my marriage to a Vietnamese-American man and we have lots of fun exploring our ethnicities with our two daughters. In my youth, however, to admit that I had any Korean in me would have been considered irrelevant, since it is only natural to compare oneself with one's surroundings and family. I held the same careless stereotypical images about Korea as the society who raised me did.

I think international adoptees can be the harshest of critics toward our birth culture. Never having been around Koreans in my youth, I was most certainly detached from the people and country—seeing the land with the eyes of the nation I was raised in—and not with eyes that actually belonged to it, as if I was an active member. My body may be Korean, I would think while growing up, but I am not. Now that I look back, I see how being sent to a community that does not match the child's ethnicity can actually produce stress and tension for all involved unless the new parents appreciate and respect the treasures within all cultures.

During the short two week vacation to our “motherland,” I decided to give Korea and my birth family a chance. Like any human, I’m sure they will have made mistakes in their lives and, I’m sure, they will have had successes. In fact, I may have been more open and optimistic to the possibilities, than compared to most adoptees. Throughout the book, you’ll notice I romanticize a potential life with my Korean family. In reality, however, I really do not picture that they will be perfect. I know that life with them would not have been without problems like any typical family and it would not be flawless.

Prior to the idea of going to Korea, the concept of a birth mother hadn’t entered my mind—even during the worst of times in the great United States. Although my adoptive parents had their own issues, I accepted them, satisfied with the knowledge that they did the best they could using the knowledge they had—and a lack of knowledge when it came to addressing my race. Only until I had heard that there was a possibility to travel to South Korea and since my own (adoptive) mother had already died, did I decide to go ahead and make the search.

The Search for Mother Missing is the result of my vacation, life experiences and several years of research regarding anything surrounding international adoption and respective cultures; I do not intend to represent the voice of all Korean-born adoptees. I believe every adoptee has a unique story to tell. Due to protecting the privacy of all adoptees who attended “The Gathering,” I do not disclose full names unless information is from already published materials. I do not reveal names discussed inside workshops intended for adoptees only. I’ve changed names and identifying characteristics of some adoptees.

The International Gathering provided fun activities, an opportunity to network, presentations, and workshops about the Korean culture, and shared experiences both positive and painful. Adoption agencies’ business activities were not the focal point during “The Gathering.” The purpose of this account is to give voice to individuals who are unable to speak their truth due to concern for the people in their lives.

Hope this finds you well and always remember, during the best of times and the worst of times, you always shine!

All the best,

Janine Vance ; )