Her Logic

I was adopted when I was six months old. Sometimes people will ask, “Where from?” and I will look at them, wondering if they can read the astonishment in my eyes. “China,” I will tell them. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes.

The reaction to the place of my birth is positive but also mixed with surprise and disbelief. People will say, “But I thought you were born here.”

If they are familiar with the country of my birth, sometimes they will ask, “Where in China?” To show off their knowledge further, they might add, “Like, what province?”

Here is where I must admit that I do not know. 

“I think it was Hunan, maybe?” I say. “Or that might have been my sister. I’ll ask and get back to you.”

My parents have told me, over and over again, where I was born but I always forget. While telling me of that place my father will go on the inevitable tangents of some baby story I’ve heard a thousand times—the trip to China or the day he first saw me. My mother will ask, “Why do you want to know?” Casual, curious, maybe even a little concerned.

Once they finally tell me, again, where I was born, I make a point to store the name in my memory. I tell myself that I will recall it perfectly next time, but it always slips away.

In comparison, the place and the circumstances surrounding my abandonment are much more clear. I was left on the police station steps in my town, with no name or food or parents. My mother left me with only the trust that I would be found.

When I think about this, it is a strange feeling to process and like all adopted children, there have been times when I wonder questions like, “Was I loved?” And then I will tell myself, “Of course I was, don’t be silly.  Circumstances just got the better of us.  Things were beyond our control and forced us to work with what we had.” My mother could not control the government and the rules they made. She couldn’t change the position that life had dealt her. Or maybe she could change but whatever that entailed, I was never planned to be part of it.

I’m sure she was scared and young and all too aware that by doing this, abandoning me, she was breaking the law and would be so twice. The first time—you cannot abandon your child. The second time—you cannot have two children in China, only one. 

But I see her logic. When a male grows up, he takes care of his family. When a female marries, she leaves her family and goes to help her husband take care of his. There is more support in a boy, more money, more value.

So how do I know all this reasoning?

I don’t. Of course I don’t.

I can only imagine.