I don’t know when I was born. I’ve stopped pretending that I do.
Will my intestines turn the sacred bread into holy shit, or does the miracle not extend that far into the digestive process?
I wanted her language, her understanding of Honduras, a family like hers. I wanted things she could never give me.
This folder contained memories I did not have, information about a family I did not know.
Adoption is one of those forks in the road where many of us try to glimpse through the trees to the other path, the other world.
“I hated when attention was brought to my adoptee status. I was American, and that was all I wanted to be.”