Above are the wrist i.d. tags they put on me for the flight to America. Old name on one arm, New name on the other. Kind of like being born, yet dying at the same time…
And then there’s the little square photo. The one we all have. The one with our orphan cattle number identifying us from all the other cattle being sold.
I’m getting this number tattoo’d on my chest, btw…
Along with the sell by date tattoo’d on my backside.
Extreme? I don’t think so…when I read accounts like Janine Vance’s critique, Saint or Sinner? you decide or when I read the statistics on somewhere between 160,000 and 200,000 children shipped out of Korea since the Korean war (that’s almost a quarter of a MILLION babies!) that staggering figure first brings me to my knees in silence, and then makes me want to scream from the mountaintops and carve my number into my chest.
I was SOLD. I had a family for two years. I wasn’t an orphan! Nobody gives up a fat, happy baby unless they are under duress. My parents were unsupported. Holt Korea exploited their weakened state. My country shirked on their duties to protect its citizens – both me and my parents – and I was purchased by a couple who wanted a new plaything.
the living doll with her new owners
I was emotionally deprived by my mother and sexually abused by my father.
Damn right I’m an angry adoptee.