To my birth family,

You want to hear the story of my adoption? Well, this is all I know:

I was found near a police station. I can only assume that one night not long after I was born you realized that I couldn't stay with you. I imagine you holding me in your arms for the last time, cradling me in a soft blanket and rocking me so I wouldn’t cry. I imagine you placing me outside the station in the early morning when no one was around, but soon enough that someone would come and find me.

Mum and Dad began the adoption process before I got put up for adoption. When came time to adopt me they booked their tickets to China, telling their families and friends that when they got back they’d have a new addition to the family.

Dad filmed the moments leading up to meeting me. He and Mum had gone with another couple who were adopting from the same orphanage. Together with their translators, they entered a room with white walls and a door opposite to where they’d entered. They all looked so nervous, yet so excited.

Then the door opposite opened and two nannies came in. They both wore the same beige pants and white shirts, their black hair tied back into slick ponytails. Each carried a baby girl dressed in blue, their pink faces poking out from under their matching hats.

The other girl adopted alongside as me was called Olivia, and she cried from the moment she was given to her parents. I, too, eventually burst into tears after getting handed to Mum, but for some reason I stopped when Mum and Dad switched; Dad took me and Mum took the camera.

I have this theory that I was close to my birth father, or maybe someone at the orphanage who was male. For whatever reason, I seemed to be more comfortable around men. Of course, that changed as I got older and puberty hit.

The videos following that day were of the parents bringing Olivia and me around the island to see where we came from. Some days later we left for the airport, boarded the plane and came back to Canada.

We used to see Olivia’s family a lot, along with several other families who’d adopted from China at the same time. We don’t see them so much anymore, though. Everyone lives in different cities, and to be honest I don’t think we were that motivated to keep in touch.

Olivia and I didn’t talk about our adoption anyway. I think she wanted to forget it had happened and just be a normal Canadian girl. As normal as being an adoptee from another country can get, anyway.

So that’s the gist of what happened when I was adopted. I’d like to meet with you one day so you can tell me the prequel, and then I’ll tell you the sequel, you know, what happened after that.

Please look forward to my next letter.

Sincerely,

Lillian

P.S. One of my favourite videos from the trip was after Mum and Dad met me. They’d gone to one of the island’s beaches, and it was in November so the tourism was less crazy. A bunch of the locals came up to Dad, who was holding me, curious about the Chinese baby in his arms, and of how hairy he was.

Dad’s Irish, so he’s got lots of leg and arm hair, and facial hair. It was like they’d never met an Irishman before; they were completely fascinated. They kept rubbing his arms like he was a cat or something I still laugh about it today.