I've always known about you.
when I was little I wanted you to rescue me.
Even though, there was nothing to be rescued from.
I wanted so much to be your daughter. To be the daughter I would have been had I never left you. Had you never sent me away. I took back the name you gave me, because I felt in my heart that was who I was. I loved the name I had- because I felt that that was who I was meant to be. I hate you for making me choose. For making that an option- of choosing to be the person I became and the person I was born. How much is in a name alone? Would my emotions, convictions, trepidations, reactions, and experiences be the same had I remained Chozel Reynoso delRio? Am I different person because my name is Alicia Marguerite Nichols? Am I different still because I go by Chozie... Is it fair that I should have to choose, to define one persona to the next? What does Chozel mean? Why did you choose it? What does it mean to you? What did you feel the first moment I was placed in your arms- while I grew inside your belly? Did you feel my presence and know then that you would never love me the way a mother should? Did you know then that you would never even know me to be the person I am? Is the image of me forever an infant in your mind? When you look into my face- as I am now, do you see you, your family, your history? Can you see you in my eyes. I so longed to see that in another. Yet, I never had that chance. I look into Ate`, and even then I do not see myself. I do not feel any connection. I look at her and I am ashamed. I wonder if that is how I look. How I am perceived. If I carry myself in the same manner...
When I was young, I didn't understand what it meant to be adopted.
Okay- I knew that biologically, my mother was not my mother.
That somewhere else in the world, I had another mother, and another father, another family entirely. I used to imagine what it would be to be surrounded by that family. To be the youngest baby-girl. To feel the love and protection of a father, of four older brothers. To view the world through the eyes of three older sisters- to learn from their mistakes, to live vicariously through their thrills. I wondered if I'd feel such distance between myself and my mother- a mother that was my one and only. One I had no choice in having. I wondered if a mother, who was biologically connected to me, would have seen, would have felt the pain and agony I fought so hard to hide. Would she have saved me from that one day. That one day that has had such effect on my life, on my choices, decisions, my needs and desires. Would I have desired differently? Would I have been able to interact differently. Would I have sought a partner who mirrored my father's qualities? Would I have still been drawn to those who are so obviously not right for me? Would I had sought comfort, protection and love in the arms of evil? Even then, I didn't hate you. Even then, I didn't blame you. Even then, I didn't think twice about the reason you allowed me to be... adopted... when you had never allowed or even entertained such an idea for my four other brothers- or three older sisters. I know about my younger sister. The one who died after only two hours of life. Would you have kept her- if she had lived? While rationally, I can thank you for allowing me to have the life I have. For being able to sit at this computer and type this blog. For having the intellect, the comprehension and ability to convey the emotion that I am feeling... For it is very possible had I not been given the opportunity to live another life, that any of that would have been possible. But a small part of me has not forgiven you for burdening me with the emotional baggage that came with being adopted. A small part of me hates you for that. And even more than that- I hate you for asking for me to be told of you. Asking for my mother to stay in contact with you. A small part of me wishes that I never knew anything of you. Wishes, that I could have lived a lie that I was born to an American mother and a filipino father- wherever he may have gone. I wonder what life would have been if I hadn't been adopted. I used to believe that even though I wouldn't have had the materialistic opportunities and wealth that I've enjoyed, I would have at least had love. But would I have? And this isn't to say that I didn't have love here in the life that you decided for me. Do you know that I don't trust anyone. I want to, I want to be able to love to be able to trust people with all my heart. But I can't. My mother tells me that even as a child, I couldn't be left alone. Was this because I knew then that I couldn't trust the people around me? When you put me up for adoption, you put me in such an awkward position. I have no idea who I am. I'm not filipino- I've had plenty of filipinos tell me I was a 'fake' filipino when I did attempt to claim it. I'm not mexican and I'm not chinese. I'm not white and while I tend to identify more with black and hispanic cultures- by blood I am not either of these. I feel like I don't belong anywhere. The fact that I was raised overseas leaves me even further...without any sense of identity. I don't even have a home, or roots, or any place of origin. I'm not Okinawan and I'm not German. I don't even speak either language. I don't speak my own language for that matter and don't speak enough spanish to fully communicate either. While I consider those I was adopted with to be my family, and in truth they have been more my family than anyone in my life- I still feel as though I perpetuate it further than they even sometimes believe it to be. I have this longing to place my loyalties and pride in something true and strong... only I look around and see nothing worthy of them. Everything I know seems so superficial and so... temporary. I don't trust anything to last. My own life here in Germany is up in the air and dependent upon the military occupation- which is fading fast- and my logistical support through my place of employment. And even if both of those were to prevail, unless I were to receive a raise- I would not be able to exist here. Ate` wants me to marry a German. But I cannot even conceive of this- for one, I would not be able to sustain the life I feel I need. And that... I don't trust relationships to last either. I don't trust men, and a smaller part of me doesn't even trust friendships to last. Where and who am I supposed to turn? I have no place in the world. And I blame that on you too. I don't know anything about myself, I don't know who I am, I don't know my own temperments, desires, dislikes, abhorrencences... I feel as if though those parts of me are ever changing... Entirely dependent upon those around me and the circumstance of the present times. I never knew what to do with you. I was able to find a place in my heart for my father, for my sisters and brothers. But you... I never knew what to do with you. I couldn't love you, because to do so would be to betray the mother who raised me. The mother you gave me. The mother you allowed to replace you. I couldn't hate you, because of the life you allowed me to have. You did so out of selflessness... didn't you? Did you? I want to believe that, but part of me wonders if you saw me and my circumstance as a bartering tool for getting you and the rest of the family out of poverty? If that's true, how could you put that on an infant? On a child, on your child? You always wrote and asked for money. Did you care about me at all? Later you asked about my education. Did you care about me the person, and who I had become? Or were you merely disappointed I had thrown away the chance to have the life you dreamt I'd have? Do you regret giving me up? What made you decide, this one, this one I can give away? When you gave me away, did your heart break? Or did you feel a tremendous weight lifted from it? Did you see me in this opportunity or did you only see what you could be gained for yourselves? When I never came to visit. Never came to see you when you had your first heart attack- when my father had his strokes... did you hate me? I have to admit. Part of me hated you, and that is why I did not come. I did not trust that you were truly ill. I thought it was merely another ploy to get money out of me. So I sent nothing. I heard nothing. Which only confirmed my initial suspicions. When I spoke to you on the phone, I felt my heart go dead against you. Against the pain I heard in your voice. What was that pain? Was it a pain at not seeing me? Not knowing me? Or was it a pain at the situation not having worked out the way you had intended? Would you have been happy with me?? Were you happy with me? With my choices, my lifestyle? Did you see yourself in me? All my life I've looked to see myself in another. But there was no one there to look to. I don't want to hate you. I want to love you. As is my contradictive way. Does that come from you? My hate, my anger, my frustrations and impatience? I always felt out of place in my emotions. Like somehow- they didn't really belong to me. No one around me portrayed these same emotions, nobody demonstrated them to me... I'm so loud and outspoken, when at home, both my mother and sister are quiet and fairly introverted. Especially when it comes to emotion...
When I think of you and when I think of what it means to be adopted, I am so filled with hate and anger. I want so badly to know why. Need to know why you chose this life for me. Need to know whether you loved me- or if you chose not to- in order to protect yourself. I need to know if you thought of me as a person, as your daughter. If you wondered what color my hair was. If you wondered if I smiled, and if I did- did my eyes light up simultaneously...? Or did you only see me for what you could gain through me and my situation? Why did you never come to see me? You could have come to visit Ate`- why didn't you? What did you expect me to do? Are you disappointed? I haven't been able to cry for you. Does that fact hurt you? When I first received the phone call- I didn't know what to do. How to react. What I was allowed to feel. Did you deserve to be mourned by me? Did I deserve to mourn you? I feel as though I did not know you well enough, as though I chose not to know you well enough. I know I should have gone back to see you. But I didn't- I chose not to. I could have come- several different occasions. But I didn't want to. Do you hate me for that? If I had told you that while you were alive, would that have made your heart hurt? Would you have understood? I have so many questions I want to ask you, so many questions I need to have answered. And now, you will never have the chance. Never know me. Maybe I didn't want you to know me, was afraid I would not be enough for you. Would not have lived up to the image of me you saw in your head to keep you company. What if I had failed you. Would you have said so. Would you have turned your back on me as I did on you? I still want to hate you, still want to hurt you for all the years of emotional baggage you condemned me to. I want to hit you and hurt you until all the pain in my heart is gone. I don't understand, but I hate you, I do. I let you die without saying that. I hate you because I could never love you. There is no room for you in my life. But I feel guilty for not loving you, for hating you, for being relieved that you died. I have nothing more to write. For it will only be redundancies of hatred and regret. In life you took away the ability to know me. In death you took away the possibility of knowing me. You have left me in limbo and I hate you for that. Hate that you will never understand. Never feel the pain I feel- never know the irreparable damage you caused, when you chose to send me away.
