On October 23, 2020, in Seoul,
My first years of existence in the cradle shaped my first sensations, my first stammerings, my first words, my first gestures, my first interactions, my first awakenings to nature, and to the beauty of the world, as well as contacts with others. I have no precise image left, no actual memory, no words either; everything has been erased–everything…except this immense permanent tear, buried and invisible to others but still present in me: this sensation of a tangled umbilical cord, inaudible, like an alien or another foreign body developing in my gut…talking to me and trying to communicate beyond space and time, beyond all understanding. Like a time bomb…a being who does not want to forget and who keeps the memory of the tear intact. Don’t they say the stomach is the second brain in the human body?
This tear, I would understand later, when I went to find my biological mother. A mother who one day long ago came back to look for me at my paternal grandparents after her work but would fail in her quest; a mother whose life was shattered by my mysterious disappearance; a mother who could never remarry; a mother who looked for me for all these years during my absence and who dreamed of me every night as I haunted her sleep. Time had stopped dead is how I felt when I saw her for the first time after more than 20 years of separation. The first desire she had was to give me a bath and wash me in a huge basin— Korean style—as if I was still two years old.
I found out that I have a biological brother with the same father and same mother, who is two years older than me. He too seems to have been devastated by the ordeal our mother endured. My cousin, who is a little younger than us and who was raised with him for a time, does not know if he ever had any girlfriends because he had no life apart from living under the same roof as my mother. They virtually never left each others’ sight. My brother said he was concerned about our health from all the abuse we withstood when we were kids. Our youngest uncle quarreled with us all the time. I have no recollection of any of that.
However, I do have absolutely amazing memories of my arrival in France. My first memories are those of the physical differences between me and my new French family. Their eyes were like nothing I had never seen before—bulging globes—how strange…and my new father’s white beard. I spent countless hilarious moments pulling at his beard and laughing out loud to see his reactions perhaps going too far with some really off the wall jokes at his expense…things no one else was allowed to do to him. It was like a privilege! I really had the feeling of being transported to another planet. I lived a daydream throughout my childhood and felt like a princess in the kingdom built by my French parents, overprotected by the fact that they are extremely respected within their school where I lived permanently and of which I know every nook and cranny (and those of the playground too) and know the books in the library by heart. My father is really feared by everyone except me because he is the principal of the school. He teaches older children and my mother teaches in a preparatory school. She taught me how to read and write.
Of these first ten years, I have an incredible memory, a gaze perpetually in wonder with the discovery of the many regions of France—such disparate and incredibly magical landscapes. Because my parents traveled a lot, and because they were very dynamic and open-minded, I had the chance to live this wonderful childhood.
Then when the alien suddenly woke up at the time of my puberty, it was like an absolute crisis: I had to know who I was, where I came from—it was a matter of life and death! My precious ethereal flame was extinguished forever; I fell into a nightmare because I suddenly realized that I was another being, had come from elsewhere, from so far away, from the other end of outer space, and suddenly I stopped growing…because I could not create my future without knowing who I was. So I became an immovable idea that could not be let go of. This idea: to find the cause of this tear. And the buried memory resurfaced in spite of myself…
Our grandmother reportedly said that she found one of our shoes after we disappeared, like Cinderella and her glass shoe…
In 1996, the Korean Roots Association was formed, and the then president’s Korean girlfriend (who succeeded the co-founder) miraculously agreed to help me. Her father was a businessman in the lint business and he organized everything when I went to Korea for the second time (the first trip was a real disaster in every respect). He brought in a reporter from the Dong-a Ilbo Daily and he published a little article with a photo of me.
The following anecdote is miraculous, to say the least …
The day before my departure, I got a call from the adoption agency which processed my adoption to France. They said someone had contacted them saying they were sure I was their niece. They had found the article about me in the newspaper. So at that time, I assumed my family must have been somewhat well educated. Also due to the fact that in my grandfather’s photo (which I have kept all these years as a priceless valuable), he has a posture which is very solemn, and he is wearing glasses, and he looks like Jean-Paul Sartre
Twenty years later (only three years ago), I was invited to visit my youngest paternal uncle who happens to run a small restaurant and he told me that it was he who had discovered the newspaper article with my photo in the gossip section of the paper; and that was the first time in his life that he had ever bought a newspaper!
In short, it would seem that the blood ties are truly indestructible and I was incredibly lucky to find a part of my history; I finally felt anchored within the sea of humanity. Before I was a ghost, a wandering and floating soul.
Even today, I must continue to put forth energy to be resilient but the hope of a renewed existence softens this long road as I know that every existence is precious, even mine… Also during this time, I discovered an indestructible faith as evidenced by the fact that I was the only one who believed that it was possible to reunite with my family, despite all odds. It really forged within me a character of steel (and total faith in myself knowing my intuition has been my best guide).
I have measured out all the steps I still have to take to find myself (especially in learning the language), but I am happy to be on a new adventure in Korea after having decided, after careful consideration, to apply to become a Korean citizen again.
Soon I would like to turn to the next chapter of my life, and attempt to make an investigative documentary about the real reasons for my disappearance – because neither of my parents ever signed any relinquishment paper. A mysterious cloud hangs over the conditions of my adoption – and thus I want to document and preserve the testimony of the witnesses still living before it is too late since my four parents are still alive. I will take advantage of my stay here to conduct interviews with people who were a part of my past. If I manage to do this, I can then assist in other biographical projects of overseas adoptees who would like my help. See you very soon, so I hope!
