“Where Are You From?”––Reflections of a Transracial Adoptee
Photo of Sabrina Murray with her older sister and mother
What is it like to be a transracial adoptee (TRA)? The experience differs for every adoptee, but personally the next statements are how I define what it is like to be a TRA: When friends talked about their astrological sign and their rising moons/suns, I couldn’t add in because I have no way of knowing the time or place I was born. When a form would ask for information about the medical history of my mom and dad, I stared at the blank line wishing I even knew their names.
When we had a class assignment investigating our ancestors and family history, I cried because my birth family didn’t want me. When I was ashamed to be in public with my White mother because people would stare openly. When I wanted to talk about Chinese culture but not be questioned why I could not speak the language. When kids would call me “chinky” and my mother couldn’t relate because of her White skin. When I look at my family pictures and see the contrast between my dark complexion and the fair skin of my cousins.
I am from a mother and father that I will never know. I don’t know their names, stories, faces, feelings, or thoughts. I am from a rural part of China known for their panda sanctuary and spices. I am from a place where it was a law that parents could only have and keep one child.
A country with a billion people and no hope of finding my birth family. A place that values male life so much that parents would rather abandon their healthy baby girl than see her as a valuable contribution to society. I was left on the steps of a police station next to a laundromat. After I was adopted, my mom found out that I was called Sabrina. I am from a place of uncertainty, loss, trauma, and loneliness. A place where I do not belong and a place I can’t truly call home.
I grew up in a small, white, privileged and colorblind town in Washington state. Where you would see at least 10 people you knew at the local grocery store and knew the mail man by first name. Where I was asked if I was a legal citizen and complimented on my really good English skills. Where my childhood was shaped by questions like, “Why were you abandoned? Didn’t your parents love you? How much did your mom pay for you? You must miss your real parents?”
Where every sports team and club I was the token minority. Where students assumed I had a Chinese father because that was the only explanation for why my mother was White. Where all my classmates had their own cars by 16, wore Lulu Lemon and thought Panda Express was the most authentic exotic food. Where I would rather pretend that I was White than claim my Chinese heritage. Where people didn’t understand why a family could look different, especially one without a dad. Where people accepted a part of my identity but still left me questioning if I was enough.
I also come from a place of everlasting love and support. A home where I do not share the DNA, facial features, or skin color as my mother. I come from a family of women who taught me to always love myself and be independent. A family that values hard work, compassion and diversity.
My sister and I are both adopted from China; we are not biologically related and yet we are still real sisters. Having a sibling that can also understand the same adoptee experiences is a wonderful thing. She is someone I can always look at in restaurants when the waiter assumed we were on a separate check than our white mother. Someone that I could always talk to about the microaggressions that happened at school. Having this support system has helped me embrace being Chinese in a very white family.
I am so grateful to have a mother who has seen past skin color and loves us the same. Our single mother not only supports our cultural and racial identity but also creates a multicultural environment normalizing our transracial family. She makes it a point to celebrate our adoption day so we knew that we were loved. She creates spaces for Chinese New Year celebrations and meeting other TRA families. In all of these experiences our mother has made sure that my sister and I saw other families like ours so we wouldn’t think to question why we looked different.
In spite of the critiques and looks that we received, my mother always made it a point to fight back against racism and unwanted questions. I come from a home that integrated my birth culture with my mother’s. I am forever grateful to have been in a home where common sounds were laughter, cards shuffling, dogs barking, and the TV playing reruns of the Big Bang Theory and the Waltons. And most importantly, I come from a home of Star Wars fanatics.
Despite feelings of loneliness, racism, abandonment and sadness, I have created a community that celebrates differences and intersectionality. When I came to college I found myself again in a place where no community would accept my identity in its entirety. I felt like an imposter in all of the Asian student clubs because I could never relate to having Asian parents. As a result, I created my own Adoptee community in college in which we all could support and empathize with one another.
Now I am surrounded by people who understand my experiences. But I understand that for some adoptees they may not have had the opportunity to share their stories in a safe space. In recognition of this, I recommend starting with joining a virtual adoptee community, like on Facebook, and read the posts there. This way you can choose whether or not to participate or participate in a non explicit way. Either way, knowing that there are spaces for us and we are not alone is empowering and provides belonging.
I am from an unknown past but where I am going will be clearer.
Written by Sabrina Murray
