My Journey Within
by Paula O’Loughlin

The longest journey of any person is the journey inward. -Unknown

When I was in eighth grade, I was the victim of a very unfortunate haircut calamity.  Today it would probably be called a “Hair Follicle Malfunction.”  I had long, thick, midnight black hair that I loved; as a Korean, it was one of the few distinctive characteristics which I was quite proud to have.  “Just a little trim, to clean up the ends,” is what I had in mind.  I mistakenly believed that my hairdresser and I had effectively communicated how much of my hair was to be cut.  Clearly, she and I had radically different interpretations of what “just a few inches” really meant.  She had cut my hair so short, that she didn’t even need to use a hair dryer when she was done – it was already dry by the time she put down the scissors!  For those of you familiar with Asian hair, you can imagine my horror.  My hair stuck straight up two inches from my head all around my scalp.  I begged my mother to show mercy upon me and to home school me for just one month.  No such luck.

Walking the halls of the junior high that next morning was truly one of the most mortifying moments of my life.  Or so I thought.  It wasn’t until I was in 4^th period Art class that I began to realize the full meaning of humiliation.  Two boys, both named Mike, and one boy named Todd somehow persuaded the entire class to call me Bruce Lee.   It caught on like wildfire.  For the next two weeks, kids I didn’t even know would mockingly shout “Hey, Bruce!” while simulating Kung-Fu kicks in the hallways.  In a sea of Caucasian people, I wanted nothing more but to blend in and be amongst a peer group with whom I could identify.  I often wondered how I would feel walking around Seoul, the city of my birth.  Would I blend in?  How would I compare to other Asian girls my age?  Would I feel “normal?”  Twenty years after the haircut debacle, I had the chance to answer these questions personally, as my husband and I traveled to Seoul, the city of my birth, to adopt our son.

I was born in Seoul in 1971.   Just a few days old, I was found on the steps of a local police station, in a cardboard box with a blanket and a note, presumably from my birth parents.  The police brought me to an orphanage and within days I was placed into a foster family.  At the age of six months, my parents in St. Paul, Minnesota adopted me.  I am the oldest of three children, and both of my brothers are my parents’ biological sons.  For as long as I can remember, my parents have always discussed my history as truthfully and in as much detail as possible.  Adoption has always been acknowledged in my family as a tremendous blessing from God, and one of life’s most precious gifts.  They have always expressed the highest regard for my birth parents, my foster parents and my ethnicity.  I am extremely grateful to them for instilling in me a sense of pride as both an American and as a Korean. 

And yet, despite all of my parents’ accomplishments to help me establish a strong sense of self, there has always been a constant negotiation between my two identities as an American and Korean.  Factor in the additional layer of being adopted, and there can be many complex issues that arise toward answering the questions of “Who am I?” and “Where exactly do I fit in?”   Traveling to Seoul helped me to find certain clarity to those questions.     

As a Korean adoptee, I have numerous anecdotes related to my ethnicity.  Some are rather flattering; many are too silly or too rude to warrant remembering.  Most, however, are born out of natural curiosity.   People in general seem to be quite enamored with families built through adoption.   Throughout my life, I’ve been answering questions such as:  Why did your parents choose to adopt?  Do know who your birth parents are?  Do you think about finding them?  Do you know why they “gave you up?”  How do you feel about being adopted?  Did your parents ever go on to have children of “their own?”  Did they ever treat you any differently?  The list goes on.  For the most part, I welcome almost all opportunities to talk about my experiences as an adopted person, because it is something that I am proud of.  I am proud and extremely humbled by the decisions that both my birth parents and adoptive parents made to bring me where I am today, because I know their decisions took incredible strength, courage and faith.  Most of all, I enjoy talking about adoption because it gives me an occasion to bring honor and gratitude to both sets of my parents, all of whom I thank God for each and every day.  Without each of my four parents, I would not have the enormous blessings I have today:  an unbelievably supportive and loving husband, a daughter who fills our hearts daily with her kind and loving spirit and a son, born in Korea, whose journey from his birth family to our family truly encapsulates the meaning of love.   

The decision to adopt a child came to me through God’s calling.  I have always found it fascinating to hear people describe in striking and rich details about a specific “calling” they had received in their lives, that is, once I fully understood what a calling truly meant.  I recall sitting in church one Sunday, listening to our pastor describe when and how he received his call to enter the priesthood.  As a ten year old, I was somewhat perplexed.  I remember thinking to myself, “What if Father Jim hadn’t been home when he got his call?  I sure hope he had an answering machine!” 

My call to adopt our son came in the early winter of 2003.  I cannot provide for you a date, or exact time of day this happened, but I can share that it was one of the most powerful moments in my life.  I was sitting on the couch, reading the paper when my heart stopped.  Immediately a rush of adrenaline enveloped my body and a flood of emotions rippled through my mind.   Almost as sudden as the flurry of assorted thoughts and feelings arrived, so did an overwhelming sense of peace and tranquility begin to pervade my being.  Adopting from Korea was my calling.  Without delay, I began praying that God would grant my husband and me the will and His grace to be able to make answering my calling a reality. 

As a Korean adoptee, the journey of adopting a child has brought to surface a myriad of questions, emotions and reactions that I had not reflected on in quite a while.  The questions that I have grappled with for most of my life were now ones that I envisioned my son having one day.  My focus has shifted from being the adopted child to becoming the parent of an adopted child.  Somehow I found this responsibility both a tremendous honor, yet a bit daunting to say the least.  I suddenly gained renewed appreciation for what my parents had gone through 34 years ago and hoped that I could be as supportive of my son as they had been to me.  And yet I also knew that his journey would ultimately be his own and that I must allow him to navigate his own path toward claiming his identities as a Korean, as an American and as an adoptee. 

Before traveling to Seoul, I had been forewarned by several people to prepare myself for the deluge of emotions that could possibly overcome me during my visit.  I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.  I just told myself that I would do my best to stay in the moment and to trust in God that the Spirit would lead me to where I was supposed to be, both physically and emotionally. 

As soon as we arrived to Seoul, I carefully studied the faces of as many Koreans as I could.  In their smiles I felt warmth.  In their perpetual acts of kindness, I felt a sense of peace.  In their demeanor, I felt validation and no longer apologetic for my own inherent mannerisms.  And in their eyes I saw the soul of my birth country. 

Traveling to Seoul was by far the most affirming, yet provocative experience I could ever be blessed to have.  In Seoul, I found answers to questions about myself that I didn’t even realize I had.  In Seoul, I found myself answering certain questions with more complicated inquiries that I’ll most likely continue pondering for a lifetime.  In Seoul, I found a part of the bridge to help reconcile the tension between the two identities of which I own.  In Seoul, I found healing and peace in a country where I could finally see my true reflection amongst people who genuinely exemplified goodness.  In Seoul, I found our son, whom with each of his smiles I see the absolute beauty of the Korean people all over again.  In Seoul, I found the passion to explore my journey within as honestly and as completely as possible. 

And in Seoul, I found and claimed more of myself.