Taking lessons has really been good for me, simply because it gives a little focus to my life apart from school. Now that I’m doing this, I can’t imagine going back to the dichotomy of school or not school: it’s been a poor excuse for a life thus far, and adding another dimension is so enriching, even if I am a crappy student. I hope all my fellow English teachers DO SOMETHING besides just working for the money and living for the weekend as well. Because that gets old, real fast.
Saturday morning after my Friday night lesson, I felt so industrious. I made board games for my study abroad class and laminated them. I reinforced my large English subway map (I’ve gone through three already. This might be the world’s largest subway system, and most of the maps you need a magnifying glass to read – AND – most are in Korean. There are only about four stations w/ tourist information centers, so my subway map is pure gold) with scotch tape so it will last, I re-arranged the kitchen dishes, I went shopping, I cooked. Felt great.
Today I must dye my hair, go have coffee with a friend, meet another friend for the annual lantern festival in Seoul, and then write a short bio essay for YTN appealing for my family to come forward, which will be recorded on Monday. Kind of dreading that.
I actually hate talking about adoption and always have. I hate its constant presence in my life, even when I’m NOT doing a birth family search. You can’t go one day without something thrown in your face that makes you hesitate, shake it off, and go on. Hard to describe, but whenever anyone talks about their mom or dad, for instance, ADOPTION pops into your head and you have to beat it away. Or sister or brother. Or any mention of any family by anyone ever. And there are hundreds of other triggering words that bring up adoption. And you brush them all aside. But there’s never any respite from these reminders that you never had what they all take for granted.
I just wish the whole world would stop talking about their families for one minute. It’s always been just me. The thought of something beyond that is unfathomable. It’s enough to make your whole world come crashing down, the fact everyone has what you’ve been denied. So all that love everyone else gets hurts me. And I have to build a shield against it all. It’s a delicate super structure that’s taken a life time to erect. And every reminder by people that humans have a legacy and foundations and support and, etc. rips a hole in that fabric. And like an insect, I must repair, repair, repair. I will spend the rest of my days repairing this shelter I have made. Without it, I am like an organism with no skin. raw. susceptible.