Back2goforward

Well the New Year has started, and I’ve taken some time to put this post together. No, it hasn’t been because of the extensive research, but more so, finding the best way to put it all on paper. Even the title has changed from what I first intended it to be. The original title was “Water, Just as thick as Blood” and the story, it’s about me being adopted, yes I am adopted.   This is something that I’ve rarely grown up talking about, since I use to be unable to deal with the reactions I’d get from people. Imagine telling someone, and they begin to cry, another, thought we were playing 20 questions, and just started asking away. Yes these are just some of the reactions I’ve received when telling someone I was adopted, also the fact that I always felt people look at you differently once you share something like this with them, kind of your an outsider now. I know that doesn’t happen with true friends, but when your’e young, you don’t even know what a true friend is.

Being adopted has been a crazy journey for me personally. I can’t speak on behalf of all adoptees, but it has showed me the true definition of family and friends alike.

See I was adopted around the age of four or fives, so I was aware, that things I couldn’t explain were happening in my life, things that weren’t normal, I guess! While I can’t honestly say what exactly I remember from my prior life, (yes that’s what I call it “My prior life”), I do have faint memories. Memories I have spent the earlier portion of my second life trying to put together and give some sort of reason. If life has taught me anything its that, memories can betray you, and their only your perceptions, so the truth you hold dear, is always subjective.

What I recall from my prior life, is living in an apartment with a yellow kitchen, having an older sibling of sorts, he had a work-out bench in his room, and I had, two full size beds in my room, which one would be occupied by what I’ve always thought to be a friend, though am not sure who the other child was anymore. Be aware, I was three or four at the time, so don’t expect a Stephen King type description. This is all a can recall of this previous life.

Fast forward two years, I’m one of eight siblings, in a house with two cars and a family dog. This is my new life, sort of like the witness protection program, where in order to enter you have to cut all past ties once you assume a new identity. My previous life was NEVER a topic of discussion. Though I would hear tidbits here and there at times. Just nothing to give me any real information of my past life.

The problem with this new life wasn’t that it was bad, in fact it was great. The issue was, that I knew something, yet had no idea, what exactly. I knew, I had a prior life and no matter how good this one was, daily reminders were always there to make sure I didn’t forget, that this was not my first life rather my second life. See I am the only child out of the eight who has not seen a picture of myself at two years old. When the family would get together, and stories were being told, there was none of me and my first words, first steps, nothing, like I didn’t exist, and for all purposes, I didn’t. Like those old movies where the unable parent drops their newborn at the church to be raised by the Nuns, except I was not dropped at a church, and, nope, I wasn’t a newborn, fact of the matter I was held by my hand and walked my damn self. I do remember a phone call from someone supposedly my mother. I also had a mug, yep, a big coffee mug which I used every morning to dipped my pan con manteqilla into my cafe con leche. This mug was one of the only things I had, that belonged to my previous life, it was an opaque white mug with the American flag wrapped around. While everyone had there own cups no one had one like mine.

Moving along, to my pre-teens and early teens, where my first life really weighed down on me. Every so often late at night while I laid in bed I’d start thinking about it. I’d question my memories, if they were even real at all. Was that my brother I remembered, or maybe I was in foster care at the time, I’d wonder what kind of a mother would let her child go, I wondered if it was me, maybe there was something wrong with me. Maybe, I was the problem, but how could it be, I was just a baby. Everyone loves babies, why not me. With these rambling thoughts I’d cry, and I’d cry more, then the snots would run down my nose and I’d soak my pajama sleeves wiping snot. When I was done and, could find no tears to shed or snot to wipe away, I’d fall asleep like a baby. I kid you not, the following day I’d wake up feeling like a million bucks. I look back and tell you, I swear I went through this routine at least every other month, and I don’t regret it, as it help deal with my emotions and issues. Even now to this day I rarely share what’s going on with me.

Going into my twenties I finally came to the realization that no matter how many tears I shed that the past was out of my reach, and I could not change it. I’m not saying I raised a middle finger and said to hell with my first life, I just took it for what it was an experience. Yeah, I soon came to forgive actually more like came to peace with myself. I would still would like to meet my mother in person to give her thanks for her part in my life, because at the end of the day she did give birth to me. Though it was Mamita, who raised the man that stands before the mirror everyday, and to that I give thanks. One thing I know about my first life is that it couldn’t have been that bad. Why? Well anyone who has raised kids or been around some will know that the first few years are some of the most important years in a child’s life and is where the foundation for future is laid. That being said, I was fully bilingual by the time a was adopted, a well behaved, and more or less self-sufficient, I even did my own bed in the mornings, and was skipped from Kindergarten to first grade after the first few weeks in school. So I have to believe that I wasn’t miss treated. So while I spent many nights crying growing up, I’ve come to realize, my prior life left me with a decent foundation. In no way I’m I saying that the love I’ve received from the Ciscarts had nothing to do with who I am today, but to denying my prior life would be just wrong.

While my story is far from complete, and I do have more to share, I will not bog you down with everything in one sitting.

Writing about this subject is really a first for me, and I’ve choosen to share it, because I know that I am not alone.

So, if you have any question(s) you’d like to ask, or if you like to leave some thoughts feel free. Also any adopters out there or even adoptees, I’d like to hear from you for possible group stlye post!