Curtain call

I have decided to end this blog.

I've had enough. There's no point writing, all I get are ignorant bits of advice from deluded do-gooders. For fuck's sake just get off my back. You, have no fucking idea what it is to me, YOU do not have to wonder every damn day, every damn night, every damn year, year in year out. It's a curse, to just wonder and never know. I will never 'get over it', don't you fucking tell me what I supposedly feel, you pathetic, unenlightened scrabble of plebeians. Don't you dare tell me how I'm supposed to feel and what I'm supposed to do.

How's this  - this is my life. I do not belong to your world. I do not belong to this world, with its moronic laws and social, crappy rigidity, I am my own. I deserve better than this. I will do any fucking thing I want, you're no one to tell me what I must do. You lot are a sad hemmed-in bunch of people, you can do whatever the hell you want, count me out. I am better than you and above you in every fucking aspect.

So long.

Dawn of maturity

I am completely and utterly, senselessly and uninhibitedly in love. In love with the universe. Moments like these melt away the illusion of separateness. And, I live for those moments. We all do.

For the first time, after a long time, I feel as if I am able to walk forward in spite of everything in me that is holding me back. Earlier, I used to walk forward, but that I managed in the denial of the things within me that weigh me down. Now, for the first time, I see myself managing to work with both, what is driving me forward, and what is stubbornly dragging me backward.

For the first time, I see that the people around me are more similar to me than different. That feels good. I see new people, who are like me, who I can connect with. And, that feels good. I am not alone. My thoughts and frustrations are shared by others.

The only regret I have is, this realisation may have come too late. I have held back from trusting people due to my own deep insecurities. And I regret it because, life is too short to let good people slip by. I fear, it may be too late to revive some friendships, for I have judged too harshly, thought too little, spoken too hastily, spoken too harshly, spoken too critically, dismissed too vehemently, cared deeply but shown it too little, closed myself too tightly. I wasn't fair and I haven't given people the chance which I would like others to give me if and when the time comes. I hope the damage isn't already done.

Que será, será.

  Be careful what you wish for, it may come true.

  I asked for light, here it is. I asked for a chance to prove myself, here it is. I asked to be tested by fire, so I could figure out my own naked value. Here it is.

  I am grateful that I have this chance to prove myself. Though I am beginning to doubt my own value, I appreciate this opportunity because deserving people don't even get this one chance. It is for my own peace of mind. I am fairly sure I have what it takes to devote myself to an idea, to get my pants pulled down by analytical minds, to stick to my guns, to keep at my idea, to make it happen. 

  I know I don't like the feeling of being only lucky. Sure, luck is important, but I don't want to live the kind of privileged lifestyle I am living solely due to my astounding good fortune. How do I put it, I want to earn it. I want to know that I am worth this, and I deserve it. Not just that I was earth-shatteringly lucky. Makes sense?

  So far, it has been all uphill, as it would be. In Einstein's words, I have no special talent, no extraordinary intellect, I am only passionately curious. Will it be enough? It's not entirely practical, and only time will tell. I am happy now, I had asked myself in my suicidal moments - what could possibly be waiting on the other side of this soulless misery that would justify holding on in this time of utter bleakness. I have that answer now, and it is more than I could have asked for. 

  The only question now is, am I worthy enough to meet this challenge?

Well, que será, será. That is; what will be, will be.

 

Who is Rewa?

  If at the end of my life I have accomplished beyond my dreams and have duly earned the right to be named, to be rightfully AJ, I will be satisfied. Until then, to myself, I will always be as she left me - un named.

  I think I am living a fairy tale, one out of Grimm's fairy tales at times, but a fairy tale none the less. Let me be absolutely clear - I'm happy with my destiny mainly because I don't believe in destiny. In the words of Blair Waldorf, "Destiny is for losers. It's just a stupid excuse to wait for things to happen instead of making them happen." I don't understand why, or how this happened back then. The way I see it, I'm better than 90% of the people around me. If they could be kept by their mothers, what kind of a cruel joke is this world? For a long time I tortured myself in believing I was mediocre, because that might justify being unceremoniously abandoned at birth. Well, one, I am not. And, two, it doesn't.

  Don't try to figure me out, you cannot know me. I'm tired, I'm tired of you - you who never responds to me, never answers me, no straight answers, ignores me, ignores my feelings for you, you in your royal indifference. I'm tired of you - you my friend, who lives on his own planet, who doesn't care about my feelings for you. I'm tired of you - you my closest and now lost friend, you to whom it seems to me that I never had a place in your life. I'm tired. I'm tired of you - you because of whom I am where I am, because of whom I am, because of whom; try as I might, I may never be whole. Because of whom I may always be Rewa but never AJ.

  Rewa, the name given by strangers to the un-named girl child of the unknown mother, abandoned by unknown persons in an unknown street, exposed, vulnerable, who waited alone for her mother to return, to be found, to survive, in the obscure coolness of the night sometime in early April, 1994.

Fuck you.

Just the sky and I tonight

 
   I've become aware of a gradual loneliness seeping into me through the cracks in my defence. Zen Buddhism teaches its followers that the highest attainment in life is only self-awareness. Though somehow, at the moment, the knowledge that I feel aching and soul-destroying aloneness doesn't mitigate the heaviness inside my chest. They say the more different one is, the more isolated one is. Now, more than ever, I am increasingly aware of how different I am. The mean classmates in Spanish class, my family, friends that come and go, I am in stark contrast to them. Coffee black on egg white. I think this time, I shall handle this emotion differently. To quote Einstein, "One cannot get out of a problem by using the same manner of thinking that got one into it in the first place." Generally I tend to frantically pull away from my loved ones and friends to isolate myself first before they abandon me to my own. This time, I'll keep them near. But at an arm's length. The fact is, we are different people and I can't expect to always be in their thoughts and a part of their actions. And vice-versa. In a way, this decision is devastating in its cruel finality, though undeniably liberating in its promise.

Into the abyss of the universe - whatever else really matters?

Never enough

  I decided early in life I wanted to start my own business. The appeal of becoming a self-made person drew me in. I've always been an independent kid, the adoption issue just added to my frantic efforts to become as self-sufficient as possible. I don't want to rely on anyone, period. I've been told that the only person who you really have to work at being accepted by is yourself. It sounded like a whole load of tosh at the time but now I think about it, and I realise that my whole life I've been pining for someone who is either indifferent or non-existent. Nothing I do is ever enough to bring people back, nothing I do will ever be enough to make me feel as if I deserve to be here.

  At home too, I feel so insufficient. Nothing I do is ever 'right', call it teenage angst, but I never feel as if I am ever really up to the mark. Nothing I do is ever enough, nothing I am is ever enough. There is always something I'm lacking. There is just no pleasing people. I don't expect to be told every three seconds that I am loved and I am perfect the way I am, but hello, I need a bit of love too man. Love isn't just providing food, clothing, shelter, for god's sake, hold me sometimes! I need to be held tightly and told that everything will turn out alright. I'm just supposed to be as everyone wants me to, never supposed to feel sad about anything, never get angry, never miss my natural parents, never even think of them, never no nothing, I'm just supposed to let go, be happy, pretend nothing is wrong, just suck it up and 'move on'. No one ever pats me on the back or gives me a kind word, or even gives me a goddamn acknowledgement for surviving a while decently enough without the medication, but the moment I slip up a bit - all hell breaks loose. Instead of just holding me and validating me, all I get is 'Just go take your medication, I have enough to deal with without this too.' Well, eff off. I've stopped feeling ashamed for these thoughts long back, I don't care because the way I see it, I have every right to feel the way I do. I wish I could feel strong enough standing by myself.

  I can't live in the present, I'm living in the future because it gives me hope that at least I have a vision, a dream or whatever you'd like to call it - when my business is set - up and rolling, when I reach the very pinnacle of success, I'll leave the whole damn world burning in my trail. They'll see it then. It'll be my way of showing Life the finger.

Anger - My Fuel

  I've come a long way. Can only go forward, now. Finally I'm off medications, good riddance. All I need is all I got. It feels beyond brilliant to be able to walk without the crutches of medication and therapy. I don't need that shit anymore. My doctor, to whom I will remain eternally grateful shared his life philosophy with me. Something which I have tried to incorporate in my life, and it feels good. It really is so simple, life. But we always manage to find a way to complicate it beyond recognition. His philosophy is simple - don't take yourself too seriously, in the end this doesn't even matter. Keep the bigger picture in mind, respect yourself, face whatever comes your way with grace. In the end, it's about grace, too. Be graceful.

  On that path now, it works, yes. It works to keep me sane. I'm still angry, that'll never leave me. It's my prime motivator, now, I suppose. I don't need whatever I went through for so long, though. I don't need people to pity me, I don't need to pity myself, I just let it all go, I don't give a flying shit about searching for birth parents, see, this is me being graceful. Tough job. On the outside, I've let it all go, I've 'moved on'. I have, it's not completely inaccurate, but I can't let go. It's a part of me. I can't let go of my searing anger. Screw it because one day, I'll be way ahead of everyone. Anger is my fuel. I hate feeling enchained, I'm better than them, the losers I'm surrounded by. I want to break out, make a name for myself, I want to feel like I am here for a reason, I want to explode and burn myself out completely in the fire of my potential and dedication. I want them to see that damn it, I may have been abandoned but they're the real losers, screw it, it's frustrating that they'll never even know what they lost. I am happy, do you get that? Just go to hell all of you, I'll do something I will be proud of, I'll leave all of you burning.


Here's to putting a dent in the universe.

I will set fire to the world and watch it burn as I walk away.

Meanwhile, deeper inside, the fire rages on.

  Serenity and agitation are opposites which logically cannot co-exist. However, if you imagine agitation existing not as an anti-thesis of calmness but within calmness itself. Some may argue that in such a case the calmness is not authentic, it is simply masked agitation. That is certainly a valid argument. I don't know, I am trying to understand it in a different way, as Einstein said, one cannot find the solution by thinking in the same way that created the problem. I was pondering upon this because I realised that I seem to be feeling calm in my agitation. Maybe it's acceptance of my agitation, or maybe just my self control. Perhaps trying to understand it in a detached, unemotional way will help me figure how the forces of anger, fear, worry, depression work alongside hope, happiness, faith and love. Maybe then I'll be able to manipulate my feelings in a calculated, uninvolved manner according to what I want to feel. Maybe then I would be able to delve deeper into what gets me ticking, to understand my startling complexity and the resulting inherent instability.

  The strangest thing is watching myself oscillate wildly between moods - being almost a different person in my two extremes. I am submerged in the hollow depths of the oceans in one moment and am exalted to where the mountain peaks meet the heavens in the next. It's crazy.

  I relish my darkness. Yes, the blatant immorality of the thought shocks me as well. At least I am able to understand now why I'm unable to let go of my past. It's simple really - my past, my raging anger, my stinging bitterness, my cutting cynicism, my throbbing sadness, my crushing depression, and my numbing ice cold pain and enveloping darkness are all a part of who I am. Listen to me carefully...See, all these things, while hateful, they define me. And, I'm afraid that in letting it go, I may have to give up a part of myself. Given my shaky sense of self, it's only natural that I am hesitant to give up anything that even remotely defines who I am, what I mean and what I stand for.

  I figure I need a symbol to hold on to and I need that symbol to be bigger than I am. I've come to realise that without a 'centric' theme or idea to stand for in my life, I am utterly incapable of feeling 'complete'. My idea - the one which all my actions and beliefs revolve around is 'excellence'. The theme of revenge and anger in propelling me to the unimaginable giddy heights of perfection and success dominates me completely. Perhaps the pain of being 'rejected' at birth moves me to frantically assure myself that I am not disposable, I am not flawed in any way, I am not worthless, and that I am in fact, perfect. It's pathological, I know. But by now it's been deeply ingrained in me. Without my anger, I feel no motivation to even attempt to write my own destiny. 

  Anger is addictive, it feeds on itself. It's undeniable, the raw power of anger, it is energy and pure force. It burns you, bends you, shapes you, molds you, changes you and in fact I believe it either makes you or breaks you. Inspiration seared by anger lasts much longer than ordinary motivation. Ordinary motivation doesn't satiate me. My thirst rages on. I thrive, I 'move' on the intoxication of anger; self-prophesying depression gives birth to that anger. See, depression is an inexhaustible source of creativity and inspiration. Anger, the offspring of depression and lethargy has come to become my main driving force. The anger directed at my past, the anger and helplessness in not being able to undo what has been. The anger to change, to create, to do and to achieve from this point on will enable me to shape my destiny according to my will.

I seem to have more holes in me than a bit of cheese

  I've been in this place for what seems like eternity, you'd think I'd know my way around pretty well by now. Apparently not. I've managed to lose my way. Again. 

  The confusion really is in the fact that I can't understand myself any more. I don't know what I want. I want friendship, but I'm afraid of trusting. I want love, but I'm afraid of losing. I want happiness, but I'm afraid of letting go. I want peace, but my anger defines me. I want to fit in, but I know my eccentricities inspire me. My mood swings are worsening, it's harder on me when I'm at my saddest because I know the peace of being happy when I was at my happiest. Which usually was just a few hours ago. I'm lost in myself most of the time. I oscillate between wanting to care deeply about someone and being afraid of rejection. I am still so bitter and angry inside. And, so guilty and ashamed of myself for being so. I experience periods of dissociation, blank spaces of pure awareness. Some may call it meditation, but it's too boring a word. It's more like experiencing the vibrations of the universe reverberate within me. I'm not exaggerating, I've come to realise that the awareness that you are made up of the same matter, physically speaking, as the stars and planets, instills withing you a deep sense of happiness. If you're made up of the same stuff as stars, then you are no less brilliant than the stars, planets, and the cosmos itself. As Prof. Brian Cox put it, "We are merely cosmos made alive." And that thought manages to comfort me when I linger excessively on my 'incompleteness' as an adoptee walking the earth with no history, no roots, no story, no nothing. The brief sense of completeness doesn't last though, that's the tragedy of it. It's as fleeting as ever, its maddening brevity leaves me thirsting for more. Eventually I dip back down into the most silent, still places of my mind. Where the fine line between rational and irrational is scarily blurred. 

  Medicines have kept me sane and on track. However, for the last few days I have stopped taking them, I don't wish to continue like this, living a lie. I feel like a coward. I have decided I'm strong enough to last it out on my own, I am enough.

Pills. Ups. Downs. More pills. More downs.

  This is the stage in the treatment of my depression, and in the post- 'failed-search-for-roots'; when I should start feeling better, throw my darkness into the winds, embrace life and forget my rotten past. Well, that's just not happening. I'm beginning to wonder when the feel good part is going start. I've forgotten what it is like to smile. Not just a 'camera-smile'. A true one, out of real happiness.

Looking back, what saddens me is that it isn't as if I've gotten nowhere at all. I have come forward a lot since all this started 3 years ago. I've learnt a bit about how life works, friends, relationships, how to prioritise, how to control my sadness, how to channelise my anger into my work, how to hold it in sometimes to avoid upsetting my parents. The fact is that all this doesn't seem to count anywhere at all! I don't feel any better. I still manage to alienate my friends, lash out in anger at my little brother, collapse into depression when I'm needed the most by friends, in college etc.

This is one point I had held onto, repeating it to myself, trying to convince myself that not managing to find my biological mother doesn't mean that this period shadowed by anguish and angst has been all in vain. I tell myself I've grown up, matured through my pain, maybe even become a better person..? Who knows.

Now what do I tell myself; when even that collapses around me. I'm back to the beginning. Yearning for my roots, enveloped in depression, lost in myself, isolated within my own mind, my fears, my anger, my desire to break out, and my reluctance to do the same. I'm crushed in defeat as I realise I'm back to square one.

A drowning soul - an expression of my rage and frustration

  Immersed, only salty sea water for miles in every direction. Struggling to breathe, thrashing against the treacherous white-capped, demonic waves. Lashing furiously with every last ounce of my strength against the roughness. How can anyone so lost feel anything but fear? Like hell, I don't. I hear nothing but the angry pounding inside my head. Rage turned inwards sears every fibre of my body. The frailty of my body and mind repulses me. A soul that wants to dive into the sky is cruelly contained, chained to this base and incapable physical form. Salt water everywhere singeing my skin raw. The red rawness I carry with me everywhere goes unseen under my facade of sanity. My mind, torn, cleaved like the Red Sea which by Moses was. What does it matter where you stand, you're only a slave to your demons. You are but enslaved by the raging battle within. I'm at the mercy of conflicting emotions and raw anger, anguish and ambition are my cruelest tormentors. I am consumed by aching numbness, weary of the fight. Aim for recognition, and it slips by you to someone undeserving; aim higher than that - to excellence -  and be crushed by disappointment to learn that the world applauds talent, yes,  but ultimately seems to  reward conformists who follow the rule book like the Bible. All around heat, blood, salt water and empty blue-gray skies. Choking on the metallic taste in my mouth, savouring the tug of the seaweed coiling itself round my neck, whipping my shoulders, cutting into my flailing arms. Stinging saltwater in my eyes and mediocrity all around me. Where can the pain inside me be allowed to explode? External beauty fails to inspire as much as the deadening rawness within. Give me a chance to turn it into something beautiful. Set fire to me now, let the fire outside and within me be one.

Potholes on the path of recovery

  In my last post I promised I would start writing positively. However something happened recently which has set me in a spiral of doubt and insecurity. It's pathetic how unstable I am. It's revolting even to me, I implore you to stay by me though.

I've been in touch with a lady from an NGO. She's a social worker and a very good person. She basically helps adoptees locate their biological mothers. Well, I had approached her for help a few months ago. And then as you know, I had changed my mind rather abruptly about searching for my birth mother. I had decided it wasn't worth the heart ache. And, subsequently, with therapy and meds somehow that deep-rooted primal urge to know the woman who gave birth to me lessened in intensity. You know, it's surprising how many times I've got myself to believe I'm over it, only to find that I'm far from closure.

She posted on her organisation's facebook page about an adoptee who was reunited with her biological mother yesterday after 31 years. It hit me in the gut, I'm close to tears as I type this because I cannot get over the magnitude of my feelings. I cannot bear it. How much longer am I going to be in denial about my raw yearning for that woman who left me without looking back 18 years ago? I'm trying to be realistic, the chances of finding her are less than slim and I know I don't deserve the heartbreak of not finding her. It physically hurts me in my chest to even think of the possibility of never finding her, or worse, finding her and being rejected again, or worst, never being able to pluck up the courage to search at all. 

There are splinters in my soul.

A rocky return to the path of normalcy

   It's been very nearly a year since I posted my first entry on this blog. Time about, I think, for a bit of soul searching. I'm happy to report the adoption issue has gone from burning me in flames of deep agony and guilt to have finally been melted into the candle wick of my personality. To say it hurts no more would be an outright lie. It throbs away still, in the deepest recesses of my heart and soul. How can something so damn straight forward be so difficult to process? I still don't think of it as having happened to me. Still think of it in the third person.

However, the deep depression is slowly receeding and the darkest of my sorrow is now behind me. There is rage and shame, still. That may take a while to go, I suppose. The sadness lingers, but thank heavens, it's manageable now.

Life has changed a lot since I started off on this blog. Many positive and happy things have happened. Many positive and happy people have entered my life. College is off to a great start. I'm trying not to lock myself away within myself any more, I'm trying to participate a bit more. Joined up as a volunteer for a college event. I think it's just what I needed. It's weird how once you stop looking for happiness, it simply presents itself to you, waiting to embrace you around every corner. I met a few good people here - our coordinator (by far the most gentle and approachable senior I've had the good fortune to meet so far), my closest friend (the rock of stability in my life, and the driving force of all things positive - my deepest gratitude to him), a few new friends (thankyou guys), my piano teacher (a gentle soul) and ofcourse, a favourite professor (she's beautiful).

The therapy is on as usual, so are the meds. I owe it to them that I am alive and well today. In the worst of the depression, as you are aware, I contemplated suicide. I'm happy and grateful to a certain good soul at the other end of a phone helpline who got me through that period in my life. Thankyou,

Yes ofcourse bad days crop up all the time. Thankfully, I'm more mature now, I can deal with it. I listen to a lot of Eminem now because he understands the anger and pain. I listen to a lot of Enya now too, because she reminds me that there is more to life than sadness and rage. Things are still rocky in my head but I think I'm doing okay.

Last but not the least thankyou to you, my readers who have been with me throughout. I'll keep updating now and then. I've decided to write positively about my adoption in the coming posts. (Well, at least I'll try!)

Who am I?

  One of the most obvious and common issue adoptees have is a missing sense of self. Most teenagers, adopted or not, wonder who they are but for adoptees they have no one to look to for a 'blueprint' of what they will turn out to be physically speaking. For example I have no biological family to turn to to see whether that acne I have is genetic or simple hormonal, or whether I will always have average height or whether I will grow taller, whether I carry any potentially deadly disease etc the list goes on.

  In this post I'd like to talk about the psychological sense of 'self' rather than the physical component. I write this from my own experience. It's difficult to describe who I am exactly. I've been thinking about it and I've realised that I am nothing. I am basically made up of pieces of other people's personalities and influences, the people who I come in contact with in my life. I may be wrong, only those who know me can comment on it, but it feels to me that I change myself to suit whatever situation I am in - how many of you feel the same way? For example, when I am with my extended family, I laugh and joke around with them, when I am college I am quiet and withdrawn, when I'm at my father's office I am brisk, efficient and business-like. Everyone, to a certain extent, changes themselves to suit a particular occasion, and maybe what I have experienced is only normal, but I can't help feeling slightly troubled by it because I can't help wondering who I really am under all these layers.

  Dr. Nancy Verrier (renowned psychotherapist, lecturer, author) has stated the similarity between the identity issues of an adoptee and that of a person suffering from borderline personality disorder (emotionally unstable personality disorder). Here is a quote from a person who has acute borderline personality disorder -

 "...it is very difficult for me to let other people get close to me. I am simply too afraid that they will discover that I am nothing at all, that I am nobody, a shadow, a ghost. I am afraid that they will find out that I don’t have any opinion about anything, no attitudes, no ideology, that I don’t know anything about anything, and suddenly they will figure out how boring I really am..."

And, I can't help but feel similar...
 

Another mothers' day gone by

  The two days in the year I dread the most are my birthday and mothers' day. They both are meant to be 'happy' days, but they both remind me of my biological mother. Both days, therefore, are spent in pretending to be happy, trying to keep up with everyone's enthusiasm and in trying hard to appear merry and carefree. If only.

  It's hard for my parents to understand where I'm coming from, with these periods of depression. My mother lost her mother when she was only 19, and my father lost his father when he was approximately the same age. And, both of them are doing well today. They probably wonder why I am acting this way. They can't fathom how a child with two loving adults to call mom and dad could possibly feel anything lacking in his/her life. And, honestly, after knowing their story I feel like an idiot. I have it much better than they did in their time. Really, what are you complaining about?

  Nothing is more awkward than trying to explain to my parents why, then, I'm feeling this way. I sound as if I'm trying to justify this slump I'm going through currently, but I'm not! And though they give me a patient hearing, caring and loving as always, I can't help feeling weak in my betrayal to them. And...God, this is hard.

Apparently I just won a lottery

 A few days ago I had a conversation with a friend, and the topic turned to adoption, specifically my adoption. I asked him what he thought about it. He's a rational person, he has an unique ability to emotionally distance himself from an issue and view it with the air of detached interest.

The conversation went somewhat like this -

Me : What do you think?

Him: I think we're going to lose hands down-

Me: -not the match!! I mean about this thing...(he laughs)..very funny...

(the next two minutes continues in somewhat this manner, till...)

Him: You've won a lottery - (Me: -what?!) no wait just listen - think of it this way, okay. You, out of all those kids out there, by some crazy, humongous twist of fate were adopted by your parents

Me: If this is leading towards a general conclusion that I should be 'satisfied' with my life and be 'grateful' then just shut-

Him: -Listen, you went to XYZ School (name hidden for privacy), it's the best. You wanted to learn spanish - voila - you're learning spanish, you wanted to learn the piano - voila- you're going to start with piano too, you're living in the city of dreams for god's sake, you don't have to fight just to make ends meet, you're doing well. You have some real great friends...like me! (I laugh)...think of it like this, you have come so far, so far..and you have gotten some real great opportunities, think about it, just for one second alright, 18 years ago when you were an abandoned baby (I wince at the word 'abandoned'), they didn't think you'd make it this far. But now? Now, you have a chance. (I'm dead silent)

(that line of his just hit me like a rock)

Me: I didn't - I never thought of...(I'm reeling)

Him: Don't throw this away.

Me: I can't stop being selfish...you'd think I'd feel happy about this, but I don't, I just feel worse. It's all just luck for god's sake!

Him: Just remember one thing, whatever you do, do it for yourself. You don't have to be grateful, look I'm sorry I said that I didn't know it upset you so much, but you have to make the most of where you are in life right now, luck or no luck. And don't make any decisions when you are feeling emotional alright because it messes things up a lot. Just take all the emotion away from this stuff and then think what you're going to do next. It's a video game, you got the bullets, just plan your next move properly, shoot the bad guys, don't do anything stupid and you're a winner!

Me: (laughs) I'm glad I told you about this.

Him: Why were you so hesitant that time?

Me: I didn't know how you would react.

Him: There's a lot of stigma attached to to this, in our country especially...

Him: Listen, don't talk to people who make you feel unworthy. Don't take what everyone says to you at face value.

Me:..

Him: Think for yourself. Do you have anyone to talk to?

Me: I try to...yes, I told my friend from college.

Him: That's good. Don't shut people out. And just chuck all this now it's late, you'll figure it out.

 (long pause)

Him: I'm good at this, huh? (laughs)

Me: Yeah...maybe you should become a counsellor instead!


(we both laugh)

(and so forth)

But some of his comments really made me stop and think. I don't know why I can't think in such a clear, rational manner when it's most needed.

Baby Rage

  
  I have tried to understand what exactly it is about my being adopted that rankles so bitterly. Adoptees out there would know, the feeling is hard to describe. It's like trying  to explain why getting your socks wet is so annoying. Socks apart, I read an interesting theory in The Primal Wound - Understanding the Adopted Child Dr. Nancy Verrier (I am deeply grateful to her, her books have been of immense comfort to me when I had no one else, and the the enlightenment I received lit up those times.)

  The concept of 'baby rage'

  She says, inside each adoptee, there is an infant self. This 'baby self' has no reason, and it is responsible for the immense rage some of us tend to feel about our adoption. (I'm not suggesting that all adoptees are an angry lot, but some of us are a little annoyed, no doubt) The key is to placate this baby self by reassuring and affirming it but at the same time firmly taking control of our own life. She explained that when we act out of this rage - distancing ourselves from loved ones, taking out the anger on them etc, it is actually the 'baby self' in control.
  This baby is actually a psychological manifestation of the babies we were at the time of our abandonment. That sad, angry and helpless baby, in a way, lives on in our psyches.

  It is a scary thought to have an angry baby in control, at the same time, it is so difficult to get past the rage that consumes me when I think of being abandoned by my birth mother. The unfairness of it stings. I admit I experience a lot of self-pity. It is a tough situation to be in.

  What is your take on the baby rage issue? Does it make sense? It makes sense to me, albeit in an annoying academic fashion. It reduces very real emotions to abstract theories and concepts, I'm not sure I like that. That being said, I have nothing but immense respect for Dr. Nancy Verrier.

Custard, anyone?

  
  If you'd imagine being dunked in a swimming pool sized vat of sick, thick, yellow custard and trying to get out of it, it would accurately describe what I feel right now. No matter how much you flail your arms or try to swim,  as you may already know. custard is too damn thick to allow any movement - it'd weigh you down like a ton of (yellow) lead. Even if you do manage to stay afloat and swim, you can't get far. Not with all that stuff of toothpaste-ish consistency all over you making you feel sluggish and lazy. In such a scenario, I imagine the only thing you can do is...get used to the smell of custard.

 ...Does anyone have any idea why I am talking about custard?

  The thing is, I'm running out of ideas about where I want to reach with this adoption angst, the search, the general anger towards everyone who I feel is holding me back - though I fully realise that that person is probably only me. It's one thing to be strong and firm in the face of nothing working out, it's quite another to be foolishly optimistic about it working out in the first place. I don't know what I hoped to achieve by all this crusading. Apart from hurting everyone around - people I care for, my parents and close friends, I haven't achieved anything. So, what next? I would like to take this ahead, use it for something. A friend suggested I write a book about my struggle (what kind of end would this book have? I can't fake a happy ending with a blissful reunion if that didn't actually happen), maybe I could set up an organisation to help others like me search for their biological parents, I could become a singer/artist/musician/writer and indulge in a bit of Freudian sublimation...?


Note :
*No offence intended to anyone who has a fondness for custard.
*No custard was wasted in the making of this blog post.

Fatigue

 It's been around six months since I began my painful journey to the heart of my adoption issues - the therapy, talking to social workers, reading about adoption, trying to initiate my search for my biological mother (in vain). You know what really gets to me about this? It's the fact that half a year later, I am still stuck in the exact same spot!! I haven't reached anywhere new, I haven't gained any new insight into myself as such. What I mean is, mentally I am in the same place - denial/anger/self-pity and otherwise too, I haven't really managed to find any information at all. I don't know what's holding me back.

  I'm feeling distinctly fatigued now, I was afraid this would happen. I hoped that this quest would be a genuine attempt to understand myself, something mature and adult-like. Instead I feel like a four-year-old who has been denied her favourite toy. I feel like throwing a tantrum (and I do too), I cry till I'm exhausted until I feel a little relief and then *wham*, I'm back to normal - for a few hours at least. That's what it has come to! I'm so ashamed of myself! I wonder - Am I doing all this just to prove a point? Is this really what I want? Hell! Ofcourse not! Why on earth would I willingly search for someone who doesn't care about me?? Maybe I should get this masochistic streak checked out by a professional...I seem to be purposefully and meticulously marching towards self-defeat.

  On a serious note, I don't know whether this will really make me a happier, more complete and well-adjusted individual. It's a case of me lunging blindly after what I don't have under the delusion that - somehow what I lack is what I need.

I don't know what it is I am looking for - through this experience, or otherwise.

Your thoughts?

My story - part II

  My childhood passed innocently enough, no disturbing thoughts troubled me at night, I asked no awkward questions to my parents (Why did I not grow in mom's tummy?). I think my parent's thought we had all safely cruised over whatever 'adoption angst' they had been warned about. Not really.

  The real horror started in my teens, about five years ago. I kept it all within me ofcourse, but my sleepless nights wondering about the 'other mother' started affecting me deeply. Then in tenth grade, we had a chapter on genetics. I think this was the turning point, I only slid lower after this point. I hadn't thought of my adoption as an actual experience of mine - in my mind, it was just an irrelevant fact, a theory. I couldn't (and till date, still cannot) imagine myself as the protagonist of this story. I still think of my adoption in the third person (Will 'she' ever find her birth mother? etc.) That slowly started changing though, I never became accustomed to the shock of realising that that girl is in fact, me. It still jolts me every time I mentally correct myself (Will 'she' ever - no, will 'I' ever find my birth mother?)

  You know, for adoptees, it isn't really about finding someone who 'looks like us', out on the street there may be 50 to 60 people who have the same shade of eye colour as we do, or the same hair texture. It goes a little deeper than that. It's about seeing a definite 'proof', a validation of our own existence. For us, our birth is only a theory which we accept using our common sense which tells us - 'this is the way it is'. Secretly, deep inside we all believe we are just a file out of a drawer, or that we simply fell from the sky and landed up in this (warm and loving) family with absolutely no past, no personal history whatsoever. It feels like I am simply 'floating through life', never really rooted anywhere. Maybe I am afraid to be rooted anywhere? I don't know.

  I turned eighteen recently. In India it is the legal age where one can search for one's biological parents. It isn't so easy folks. The legal aspect is only one small component of what is holding me back. My family, my parent's hesitance, my own doubts and fears for myself, for my family, for my birth mother (Will she be mad at me for finding her? What if she really didn't give a shit about me? etc). 

  It's a curious feeling - knowing that the time is right, having the resources, being young and able to adapt, but yet holding back due to some un-describable reason. It's crazy - this is what I want, but I can't proceed. How can I explain that to anyone? How can I even explain that to myself?

  Almost everyone who has a hold over me (my parents, my counsellor) have advised me to 'wait'. They want me to wait till I'm mature enough to handle the emotional recoil of the process of searching, and subsequently the result of the search. My question to you is - Why wait? Who are we waiting for?? I am here, my birth mother is presumably here as well, who then, are we waiting for? If I don't find my birth mother today, it will hurt the same as if I don't find her tomorrow. The time delay will help nobody. In fact, it will only make it worse for me. What do you think? I know and accept that it will not be a cakewalk, but I feel you will agree when I say that every adoptee deserves a chance to attempt searching for his/her birth parents because we deserve at least one attempt to know how things would have worked out if this had never happened.

  Has anyone succeeded in the search for one's birth parents in a closed adoption in India? Please do share your story, I would really like to hear about it.

My story - part I

 My story begins back in the summer of '94. In April, at the cusp pf a full blown Indian summer. In April it's still mild, the December's cold has melted away by then leaving us a a mild pleasant atmosphere. Anyway, coming back to my story, I was born in Mumbai in early April. (Dates not mentioned for privacy)
  
   I was born to a woman whose face I will probably never know in this lifetime. Sometimes I stare at my face in the mirror and squint, so that my features appear a little blurred, I try to imagine a woman's face in mine. 

  Barely 24 hours old, I was left on the steps of a government run nursery. I can't imagine what she must have felt. I truly hope when we grow up, we build a world where no mother has to abandon her own child and security is guaranteed to every human being regardless of the circumstances of his or her birth. 
  
  Three days later (now I don't know what happened in these three days, I don't know who took care of me, but somehow I survived), three days later I was found by the police and a police case was filed against the woman who had given birth to me. No one knew the lady, it is almost as if she never existed. She had disappeared without a trace. The police got me admitted to a general hospital where I was taken care of and my nutritional needs were met. Finally, 13 days after my birth I was shifted to the adoption home.

And, exactly 3 months and 25 days after my birth I was adopted into a loving family. Phew!

In part - II I will skip directly to my teen years and how all this came back to me, and how I am now moving back into my past in order to move forward with my life. Stay with me.

Adoption and relationships

  Is therapy of any use in working your way through the barrage of emotions that arise while coming to terms with your unique status as an adoptee? I was thinking about this issue, as I am currently undergoing counselling, myself. What I realised is that the answers are obvious to me, I don't need the therapist to guide me because I know what I have to do to move out of this situation. But, I don't feel 'ready' as yet. I think, it's because of the 'why should I?' attitude - the 'why should I get on with my life the way everyone wants me to? I will jolly well take my own time in it' sort of thing. Ms. Nancy Verrier (1993) states that the basic issues in adoption which affect relationships - identity, trust, belonging and tolerating separation can be worked through in our current relationships themselves. Basically, these issues can be worked through in the framework of your current relations - with your friend, spouse, acquaintances, etc. I've decided to try this out, my adoption issues seem to have affected my relationships with my closest friends more than anything else, and it feels terrible.

What do you guys feel about this? Have you been successful at working their way through these problems? Do you ever feel lonely due to being adopted? Talk to me.

Being adopted : any spiritual significance?

  I have been trying to pen this complex thought down for a while now, with little success. It probably comes across as childish as the musings of a 5-year-old wondering about the existence of Santa Claus. Here goes, on a serious note then, does being adopted mean anything, you know, spiritually speaking? I've seen many adoptees online saying they feel like 'second-grade' people. And I realized that most of the time I feel that way too.

  We all feel at times that we have been sentenced to wander blearily through life without really belonging, without really allowing ourselves to love anyone too much, without letting anyone get through to us. I personally feel (in my weaker moments) that I'm nothing more than a mistake, an inconsequential, logical result of a cheap act of passion, just a cosmic error. Like I'm just 'here', but with no destiny or purpose. It feels as if I was never meant to be.

  It makes me wonder at times whether there is a god at all. And if there is, does he truly love everyone equally...?