Such an existential question.
A month after turning 30, it was confirmed that my father was adopted by my paternal grandparents. Granted, I sort of suspected as much more than a decade ago when I was still in high school, but having my grandmother finally tell the truth to my mom really hammered the point home.
I don’t have any problem with adoption per se. It was customary for Chinese couples like my grandparents to adopt a male child to carry on the family name in the old days, if they were unable to have one.
However, for a large part of my life I was left wondering who I really was. I was raised to be Chinese, raised by my parents and grandparents to be proud of my heritage. And I’m damn proud of being Chinese, my ancestors, the traditions and trappings that came along. I knew that the grandparents who adopted my father, were both from Xiamen, China, and I still regard that as my ancestral homeland.
It was just strange when I realized in University that I didn’t have eyes like my “pure” Chinese friends (e.g. those who could trace both sides of lineage back to China). And back in High School when I heard hints that my father was traded for two sewing machines from a half-Japanese couple who needed to make a living, for some inexplicable reason I bawled my eyes out. That’s teenage angst for you.
I’ve entertained idle thoughts about going to the Japanese community that settled in Calinan, the part of my country where Japanese settlers set up their plantations before World War II, and embarking on the grand search for my true grandparents like what I’d read about in Reader’s Digest. I’d think about the teary reunions. Hey, I might be related to the Japanese Royal Family for all I know, or at least give me the excuse to move to Japan and get a Nissan Skyline.
But nah. I don’t want to. I wouldn’t know what to do if I ever found them. And I certainly wouldn’t want to trade the memories and times I had with the grandparents who raised me. Those who put me through school, and loved me as their own grandson. The Amah and Angkong who helped me become who I am.
Anyhow, I’m okay with it now. Enough with the sentimentality, it doesn’t suit me, as my friends would say.
Regardless of who I came from, I’m still the Chinese guy who’s reasonably intelligent (well, I know how to use the Jinternet but not so sure if that’s a sign of intelligence), if a bit awkward person who rose up from being a lowly network cable crimpler to where I am in the IT world, with a moderately successful business on the side.
Well.
Writing this was certainly cathartic. I feel better now.
Thanks for reading, fellow denizens of the Jinternet. Trust that I’ll still continue to put more Junks on your Internets.
