I turned 36 yesterday, so here two reflections I have about March 8th: I lost my grandfather on my birthday in 2012. When I was sitting down earlier, it was the first time I’d realized it had been 14 years. That feels like a long time, and it is. I was lucky enough to have seen him early in the day before he took his last breath. And he had been struggling for a awhile, so it’s not like it wasn’t expected. But, like most weekends (I think it was a weekend), I had come up to Rensselaer from West Lafayette to eat breakfast with my mom and grandma. After eating we went to my grandparents house so I could see him. It was emotional, and both my mom and grandma told me to go enjoy “my day.” So I gave my grandpa a kiss and said I’d see him later and drove back to West Lafayette. If I’m being honest, I didn’t really think that would be the last time I’d see him alive. About an hour after I got back, I got the text: he’s gone. I lost all control of my emotions. I was at a friend’s house and told them through tears that I had to go. I got in my car and floored it back to Rensselaer. What is normally an hour drive took me all of 30 minutes. I was screaming at the world, at god, at the ether. I was screaming at myself, furious for having left, feeling like I’d abandoned him. Even tho there really was nothing I could do, I still felt like I shouldn’t have left. I had a song on repeat during that journey: Soul 4 My Soul, a song from my favorite artist about a relationship. I’m not sure why I chose that song, but it was the one that played, over and over. And I felt like I needed to give my soul up, too. I was broken; “my day” was forever changed. The next four years I never celebrated my birthday. It was a day of mourning. I’d go see my grandma and my parents, but March 8th became something different. It wasn’t until I met Emily that I really felt like I could celebrate again. And even still, when I think about what March 8th means, I can’t help but feel the weight of his absence. Miss you, grandpa. Some of you probably know this, but I had the opportunity to “potentially” reconnect with my birth mother a roughly two years ago. Well, one and a half. Anyways, I didn’t do that and so the true truth of my origins remains elusive. This is (one of the many) problem(s) with adoption. Here’s my maybe unpopular opinion: even if an adoptee is lucky enough to reunite with their biological family, or get some semblance of information that helps clarify their relinquishment, how can we ever know that to really be the truth? This is not meant to invalidate anyone who has had that experience. I probably hold this opinion because I carry a lot of guilt for the way I’ve handled my own situation (which I stand by and will always stand by). But for me, even if I were to reunite with my birth mother, or father, and they told me everything about why I was relinquished, I don’t know that I could fully, 100% believe them. One question rings throughout my brain whenever I think about this: how do I know they aren’t just telling me what I want to hear? This is very selfish of me, because they’ve gone on their own journey and have their own reasons and traumas and triumphs and everything. But I can’t get it out of my head. Even knowing all that I know now about the system of adoption and the systematic ways they force people into relinquishing their children, and knowing that my own family probably experienced some level of these systemic issues that forced their hand, I still find myself struggling to believe I could fully accept it. That sucks. Also, what the f**k does it have to do with my birthday? Well, despite the fact that I have, basically, all the documents that the adoption agency has (I verified this myself in Korea in 2024), too much of my soul harbors this uneasy feeling that most of what’s on there is not true. I think a lot of that stems from my name, given to me, not by my birth family, but by the agency itself. Yung Jin Kim Bright star, according to my (adoptive) parents and some of the paperwork that was sent with me. Eternal or precious according to google. About a year into my identity journey I started using that name, or the hangul of it, in my bio. It was part of my reclamation. But the more I learned and the more I listened, the less I felt like it was mine. And the less I felt like it was mine, the more I felt like I was truly alone in my ancestry, my history, my origin. The more alone I felt in this way, the more I began to question the accuracy of my information. This was somewhat lessened by my trip to the agency in the aforementioned 2024 trip to Korea. All the files I had, they had, save for one that was about the foster family whom I was with prior to my adoption. Everything else was word-for-word the same. Since then, though, Korea’s government called a Truth and Reconciliation Commission to investigate their adoption program. So far, the investigation has only turned up severe human rights violations. That knowledge has only exacerbated my anxiety around whether my information is real. And, even though the agency went behind my back to contact my birth mother and she apparently did reach back to them and then I did not, I did have a brief glimmer of an opportunity to potentially ask these questions. And it’s gone now, at least for right now. Which brings me back to my birthday: was I actually born on March 8th? Am I really 36 right now, or maybe not for a few months? Maybe a few months ago? Maybe I’m 34? Maybe I’m 40? If you listen to the Janchi Show, then you know I’m not aegist. And while I’ve probably been experiencing what most people call a “mid-life crisis", age really doesn’t mean shit to me because I feel like there’s a lot in my control that can help me live a healthy, happy life. But there will always be this: the unknown, the uncertainty, the lack. So, in addition to this lack of certainty about my true date of birth, I also lost one of my closest family members on the day that I’ve always believed to be that date, therefore it will always be inextricably linked to me in that way whether I want it to be or not. Then what was the point of all this? Well, I recently saw a clip of an interview Prince did a while ago where someone asked him about his birthday and he said he doesn’t really believe in them. When asked why, he said something to the effect of you’re only born once and that’s your birthday; you don’t get born again each consecutive year. You’re just growing, evolving, becoming. I don’t know how much of that definition I just said is what he said, but that’s how I’m remembering it and I am currently too lazy to look for the clip and link it here. Just trust that he said something like that. And whatever it was that he said, it really resonated with me. A lot happens in a day. My birthday is my grandpa’s death date. It’s also International Women’s Day. It’s also three other people I knows “birthdays.” So what’s a birthday if not just another day to live? And for as much as I am personally struggling with stuff right now, at the end of the day I just want to live. So I’m gonna do that. If you’re in Indy, my next live Conversation Piece Podcast is Tuesday, March 24th. Get your tickets before they’re gone. Check out Hayes' work with DRAWL. This space will be changing a little going forward. Less personal, more political. But there will be a space for my personal stuff like what you just read. If you want to be part of that, comment PERSONAL on this post and I’ll make sure you’re tapped in EARLY. Love y’all 💙 This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit patrickintheworld.substack.com
