Searching for Connection, Identity, and Community as a Honduran-Born Adoptee
I wanted her language, her understanding of Honduras, a family like hers. I wanted things she could never give me.
born I felt my heart wilt at the thought of her thinking less of me. If I explained that I’d been adopted, in her eyes I would no longer be someone like her. Maybe I would no longer be Honduran at all.
Enter your email address to receive notifications for author * medina
You have been added to the notification list for author * medina
More in this series
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.