“Where are your parents from?” Who knew that such a simple question could be so easy for most people to answer, yet stir up a lot of mixed feelings for others? I tend to find myself unintentionally pausing whenever I’m asked that question. You may be thinking to yourself “what are she talking about?” and I don’t blame you. I almost always ask, “Which parents are you talking about?” (Meaning, are you asking me about my birth parents or about my adoptive parents?) To most people, this question may seem like I'm not content with my adoptive parents, but that’s not it at all. I’m just curious about my birth parents because I know very little about them.

People who live with and know their birth parents have a significant advantage. They don’t ever need to wonder which parent they look like, their mom or dad.  They don’t need to wonder whose eye color they have, whose hair color they inherited, and what physical features got passed down to them from their parents. I am, unfortunately, at a great drawback because I don’t know who my real birth parents are. I was adopted from Santiago, Chile, when I was three months old.

The only information that I know about my birth parents is that they were not married and that my birth father immediately left when he found out that my birth mom was pregnant with me. My birth mom was around 29 years old when she gave birth to me. She had a couple of other kids besides me, with different men, and had trouble taking care of all of us. With no other option left, she gave me, along with some of my other siblings, up for adoption. For all I know, all of my siblings could look exactly like me. How weird it is to think that there could be another girl who looks exactly like me, an identical twin. I wonder all the time what my birth mom looks like. I don’t care at all about my birth dad because he bolted from us at the first sign of commitment. I wonder if my birth mom has gorgeous, natural red hair like mine, what color her eyes are, and if she is astonishingly beautiful.  When I look in the mirror, I basically wonder how much (if any) do I resemble my birth mom.

There have been quite a few people who have told me that I look like my adoptive mom, and whenever I tell her, her face just lights up with joy. When she takes me out and introduces me to her friends and they tell me that I look like her, we just both look at each other and smile because we both know that it makes her feel like she’s my real mom.

Don’t get me wrong, I totally love and am so grateful to be with the loving family that chose to bring me, a complete stranger, in to be a part of their family for life. Without a doubt, I consider them to be my “real” parents, but there’s always a small part of me that feels like I shouldn’t be thinking that, like it’s wrong to do that.

I can never be right. If I think and wonder about my birth mom, then I feel like I’m letting my adoptive mom down, and that I am hurting her feelings. I feel like she thinks I don’t think she’s good enough for me or that I don’t love her.  When I ask my mom questions about my birth mom, I feel like I am betraying her. I could never call someone else “Mom” because it wouldn’t be fair to her. She is the one that has raised and taken care of me my whole life, along with my dad.  So it just wouldn’t be fair to call my birth mom, “Mom.” I can’t ever forget the fact that I’m adopted. I feel like if I try to forget, then it’s like I am trying to ignore the fact that it’s true. But then again, I don’t even know if my birth mom ever thinks about me at all. It’s like a constant heartache every day, thinking and wondering about my birth parents, not knowing them and not being able to miss them or their specific personalities.

The next time you question someone about the origin of their family, pause for a second while you take into consideration the fact that they might be adopted and make sure that asking the question is completely necessary. So, “Where are your parents from?”