Origin Story: Part IV

What do you buy for the person who gave birth to you, but who you haven’t seen in almost 34 years?

About the series: Origin Stories includes a series of essays I wrote on my personal blog in 2018, as I prepared to return to Korea for the first time with a group of fellow adoptees. In the series, I scratch the surface on racial and cultural identity issues as I emerge from the “adoptee fog,” and also share initial worries when I learn I will be reunited with my birth family.

To view more adoption related posts, click here.

The first time I ever went to France, I burned out my curling iron on the very first day. I'd left it to heat while changing clothes, readying myself for a romantic Parisian night out on the town, and pop—a bright, tiny firework burst out of the socket, scaring Joe and me half to death and leaving a distinctive, singed smell in our room which lasted the whole next day. Both the socket and the curling iron were dead. The fact that I had an adapter of course did not matter, and the fact that I had purchased said adapter at a Radio Shack (a Radio Shack!) the day before the trip should tell you how prepared I wasn't for hair styling à la Française. I seem to recall the salesperson being very confused, the words dual voltage never coming up as he lay a slew of plugs before me, unsure of what would work in Europe.

So, I bought a new flat iron last weekend, one which promises to lock out South Korea's inevitable humidity, and has the proper voltage so as not to burn down any of my Korean accommodations. It's one of the many things I wrote on a shopping list a few weeks ago, when I began the tangible part of my trip preparations (the mental preparations in effect since January, at least in theory).

On the list? Puffy stickers of animals and flowers, needed for two classes of school children we'll visit in the city of Pohang one afternoon. A small umbrella, in case of any monsoons ('tis the season over there). A travel steamer—dual voltage, of course!—to undo whatever 13-hour flights and two weeks in a suitcase does to your clothes. New duds also made the list, naturally. Korea will be warm, in the high 80s, but everyone has warned that the humidity will feel oppressive. I keep thinking given my childhood in Texas, I'll know what to expect, but no, it's different there they say. So I bought a few new dresses, skirts, and summery sleeveless tops—all the lightweight things a wardrobe in San Francisco has little use for.

I've tackled the list methodically, steadily, some items easy to find and overnight with the godsend that is Amazon Prime. Others having taken longer to procure. The one which took the longest—not for lack of product availability or expedited shipping rates—was a gift.

For my birth mother.

Are you good at giving gifts? With enough time and the right occasion, I like to think I am. I think about all the times I've run gift ideas (or conundrums) by family and friends and been met with a What a perfect idea or an Ooh, that's a tough one. But this one is, shall we say, unprecedented.

What do you buy for the person who gave birth to you, but who you haven't seen in almost 34 years and have no memory of, regardless?