Touched by a stranger, sister, kin. Goodbye.
All my life, I struggled with my identity. I tried to become an ‘Aussie’, but when that failed (my naturally tan skin tone and stereotypically Asian almond eyes made fitting into mostly European/White suburban Sydney impossible), I tried to embrace my Korean heritage - which failed miserably when I moved back to Korea.
Majority of my life was spent in a sort of limbo, a sense of displacement, feeling a part connection to both cultures but still feeling like the outsider. Only in the past few years have I started to feel more grounded, more understanding of where I stand and who I am, and I am forever grateful to my mother who has patiently stood by me the whole time, guiding me (well, pushing when necessary) and helping me to develop my own unique link with my heritage and past in a way that made sense to me.
While celebrities have made adoption from Africa and Cambodia popular, one thing that many people may not be aware of is that many many people travel to Korea to adopt babies - growing up here, I’ve come in contact with many Korean children who have been adopted into Australian families, and I hear that the adoption rate for America is greatly higher. One thing that all the adopted folks that I’ve met have had in common is a deep thirst for knowledge of the culture that I was fortunate to still have been immersed in whilst they were removed from it as mere babies. Pleas for recipes, understanding of cultural events, social quirks - even requests to come over and try my mother’s cooking have all been put forth to me, and while I’ve always been happy to provide assistance and knowledge wherever possible, I never delved much deeper and never tried to understand just what drove this desire for knowledge.
And then, a few months ago, I got a short, quiet email from a Korean adoptee called Julia Mendelson. She told me that she really appreciated the Korean recipes and the Korean food app on Facebook, and that was it. We added each other but never again exchanged words, though we followed each other’s blogs.
Reading her blog, Julia’s JAM, was undeniably an eye-opener for me. Here was someone who wrote so eloquently about a sense of displacement that ran far deeper and cut much painfully than mine ever could, who struggled to understand her adoption, her adoptive Jewish culture, the Korean culture which she had been cut off from as a baby but still felt a strong connection to. I read about her struggles and frustrations, developing a deep admiration for her strength and honesty.
And then, despite her abstract references, I came to understand that she had developed cancer, a cancer which had genetic markers, which possibly could have been caught earlier had she had any family history to warn her of this genetic predisposition. Her only connection to her past had previously been nothing but a photograph of her young mother cradling her in her arms, and now she had this to add to her legacy.
She rarely mentioned it, and when she did it was in short sweet abstract prose…but it wasn’t until about two months ago that her readers became aware of just how serious the situation was, thanks to a post her family made on her behalf. Then radio silence.
On Saturday, a brief post was put up to announce that Julia had lost her fight. Never in my life have I felt so overwhelmed by the passing on of a stranger, someone half a world away from me yet connected by blood, like me, to the Land of the Morning Calm.
Her struggles helped me to appreciate my fortune in having my connections to my homeland, helped me to develop more of a tolerance and understanding of the separation, and made me realize that my connection to my heritage was a pure blessing.
Thank you, Julia, for everything. Thank you.
And goodbye.
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Tonight I went dancing (I do swing dancing) and tonight was actually a bit of a special night because we were celebrating and remembering the life of one of our dancers who also passed away from cancer a year ago today (well today being the 4th that is); with all the proceeds from the night going to the Olivia Appeal. She was only 28 when she did, and even though I wasn’t especially close to her it was so sad and her passing had a surprisingly powerful impaact on me, especially given her young age. She was just a little younger than with so much life to live. I am just glad that she got to travel and see and enjoy and experience the world around her. She had kept the knowledge of her illness to just her family and close friends and so it was a huge shock to at first hear about how sick she was and then so after for her passing.
I know this is not the same context as what you have come across here Ellie, but it did make me think about things again, and when I went to Julia’s blog the emotions on reading the entries was again surprisingly powerful (given that I didn’t know her, or of her until your post) when you realise that she had so much in her life to live for.
Thanks for posting this Ellie.