VOICES OF KCCNYC ADOPTEES: Rylee’s STORY
Voices of KCCNYC Adoptees: Rylee Kennedy’s Story
By Rylee Kennedy
I arrived in America December 29th, 1999.
Like many adoptees, I knew I was adopted from a very young age. When the infamous “where do babies come from?” came out my mouth, my parents were quick to inform me that my story had a few extra chapters tacked onto the end. In addition to coming out of my mother’s “stomach”, I also got to take a long plane ride across the whole world, after my birth mother (who loved me very much, of course) decided I needed to live with other parents who wanted a child. My brother, as well as two of my cousins, are also adopted, so understanding this was easy. But trying to explain the additional backstory to my second grade classmates who have never met an adoptee, let alone a Korean child, was rarely worth it. I usually waited until the inevitable surprise during parents day, when everyone pieced together the fact that my family was white, and I was not.
Middle school can be a tough time for everyone, and for me it was a time where I was faced with the uniqueness of my family dynamic. I found it easy to befriend almost everyone, but I struggled when it came to other Asian students. Most of the other Korean kids in school spoke Korean to each other, would get dropped off at the same Korean churches and language classes after school, or lament about shared experiences token to the stereotypical Asian childhood. Looking back, it’s funny to think I wished I got to live through the stress of supplemental study lessons, or the fear of Eomma slapping your hand with a wooden spoon if you wore shoes in the house. The longing of living the life I was expected to live left me with so many complicated feelings, and an awkwardness towards potential friends that left a wall between us. I ruled myself disqualified from the imaginary “Asian Kids Club” in my head before I even gave any effort to try.
Me wearing a Hanbok.
In high school and college, I finally learned to embrace my ancestry, and took an effort to learn about my birth country. The Hanbok gifted to me in middle school was worn proudly at culture festivals. I performed buchaechum at my audition to become an NFLcheerleader. I tried to learn Korean on my own before starting to take formal classes, and a DNA test revealed I was 100% Korean - a fact I found unexpectedly surprising. Learning more about Korean history and culture has also allowed me to accept myself. Others will make assumptions about who I am because of what I look like, and I am slowly forcing their expectations to lose their power.
In many ways, being an adopted Korean left me feeling like I wasn’t enough. The disappointment people expressed when they discovered I can’t speak Korean, the sadness when I would say that I don’t know my “real parents”, or the confusion when it is discovered that I do not have a Korean last name. There’s a uniquely adoptee moment where someone states that their pet has a similar Gotcha Day to you. I can say I am proud that the feeling of otherness and isolation have been replaced with confidence and resilience. I hold these memories and so many more without pain, because I know who I am now is a result of what I have overcome.
My father, brother, and I. My brother graduated from college this past May.
My mother passed away a few years ago, and it was only after her passing I learned that even if she could have had her own children, adopting a child was always a part of her vision of her perfect family. There is a special grace in knowing this that not all adoptees will share. Transnational adoption leaves many adoptees with trauma, unresolved questions about life, and conflicting feelings of identity and community. While I continue to work on these myself, I do find some peace in knowing whether I had other adopted siblings or not, I would have always been welcome into my family.
I have always held the belief that valuing the perspectives of others is what makes communities strong. I just never realized that this could include my own.
