ninjakiwi12's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
fast-paced
4.0
Fun(ny) fact(s): I checked out this book from my library system at home, but could not finish. So, after I got my Waco library card, I requested this, but had to wait another week to check it out since you can only check out one item during your first week as a new library member here, but finally was able to finish it tonight. Yay for libraries!
Favorite quote/image: "I thought of all the times I heard that phrase–for the best–or one like it. I was sure my sister believed it was true, and perhaps it was in my case. But I was growing so tired of it, this line we all said to try to make something simple out of a deeply complicated situation. It was no longer enough." (pg. 119-120)
Honorable mention: "Though I've sometimes grieved for absent solidarity, now that I am raising children of color in a starkly divided America I feel, even more strongly, that maintaining my silence with my relatives–pretending my race does not matter–is no longer a choice I can make...I am not white, that we do experience this country in different ways because of it, that many people still know oppression far more insidious and harmful than anything I've ever faced. Every time I do this, I am breaching the sacred pact of our family, our once-shared belief that my race is irrelevant in the presence of their love." (pg. 208)
Why: Chung is a powerful yet simple writer, and she tells her story with so much compassion for all parties, yet also honesty, courage, and resilience about her journey to find the truth. Because adoption is such an important part to my family's story, Chung's memoir was particularly meaningful to me, but I think anyone interested or curious about transracial adoption should take a look at this book, which presents adoption in its many complicated nuances, painful loss, and also beautiful love of families.
Favorite quote/image: "I thought of all the times I heard that phrase–for the best–or one like it. I was sure my sister believed it was true, and perhaps it was in my case. But I was growing so tired of it, this line we all said to try to make something simple out of a deeply complicated situation. It was no longer enough." (pg. 119-120)
Honorable mention: "Though I've sometimes grieved for absent solidarity, now that I am raising children of color in a starkly divided America I feel, even more strongly, that maintaining my silence with my relatives–pretending my race does not matter–is no longer a choice I can make...I am not white, that we do experience this country in different ways because of it, that many people still know oppression far more insidious and harmful than anything I've ever faced. Every time I do this, I am breaching the sacred pact of our family, our once-shared belief that my race is irrelevant in the presence of their love." (pg. 208)
Why: Chung is a powerful yet simple writer, and she tells her story with so much compassion for all parties, yet also honesty, courage, and resilience about her journey to find the truth. Because adoption is such an important part to my family's story, Chung's memoir was particularly meaningful to me, but I think anyone interested or curious about transracial adoption should take a look at this book, which presents adoption in its many complicated nuances, painful loss, and also beautiful love of families.
intensej's review against another edition
4.0
"In the end, though, real growth and healing came from another kind of radical change—from finding the courage to question what I’d always been told; to seek and discover and tell another kind of story."
I finished this in one day; I could not put it down. Nicole Chung, a Korean-American woman, was adopted by a white family and grew up in Oregon. She talks about how difficult it was to grow up in a town where she was one of the few Asian people. (She was bullied as a child.) When Chung becomes pregnant with her first child, she begins to search for more information about her birth parents. I was struck with how much Chung reveals to the reader. She was not afraid to be vulnerable and honest about her feelings. Chung talks about feeling the loss of not having the same experiences of people who grew up with their Korean parents. Chung's daughter asks her if they are "real Koreans" because they don't speak Korean, and the kids at her school thought it was weird that she didn't speak Korean. The memoir ended perfectly with Chung and her daughter learning Korean together. I thought this was a beautiful memoir about identity, race, forgiveness, culture and adoption.
I finished this in one day; I could not put it down. Nicole Chung, a Korean-American woman, was adopted by a white family and grew up in Oregon. She talks about how difficult it was to grow up in a town where she was one of the few Asian people. (She was bullied as a child.) When Chung becomes pregnant with her first child, she begins to search for more information about her birth parents. I was struck with how much Chung reveals to the reader. She was not afraid to be vulnerable and honest about her feelings. Chung talks about feeling the loss of not having the same experiences of people who grew up with their Korean parents. Chung's daughter asks her if they are "real Koreans" because they don't speak Korean, and the kids at her school thought it was weird that she didn't speak Korean. The memoir ended perfectly with Chung and her daughter learning Korean together. I thought this was a beautiful memoir about identity, race, forgiveness, culture and adoption.
peoplecallmeteresa's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
hopeful
informative
inspiring
medium-paced
4.5
Content Warnings
Minor: Miscarriage
findyourgoldenhour's review against another edition
4.0
This is such a moving story. I found myself wondering why I haven’t heard this life perspective told before; international adoption is fairly common in the US, and I feel like I have a good understanding of what that experience is like for the adoptive parents. I haven’t seen many memoirs written from the adoptee’s perspective, at least not one as honest and conflicted as this one.
The first section could’ve been titled “The Repercussions of Naive White People and Their Good Intentions” or “Why Representation Matters.” The author was born in 1981, and at that time the conventional wisdom around adoption was changing. Previous generations were often never told they were adopted, or were only told once they became adults. The author always knew she was adopted, but of course this would’ve been hard for her parents to hide: she is Korean and her adoptive parents are white. But the early ‘80s was the post-Civil Rights era, in which we were all supposed to be colorblind. Her parents thought that love would be enough, that race and cultural identity didn’t matter, that as long as they loved their daughter as their own, what difference does her ethnicity make?
Well, dear reader, it makes a big difference. If you are the only Asian person in an entirely white town, and none of the adults ever talk about it, it matters. The author talks about how lonely it felt growing up this way, the bullying she endured in school, the pain of not knowing anyone who looked like her. The irony is, her parents attitude (“your race doesn’t matter so let’s never mention it!”) made it one of the central focuses of her life.
The other central focus was the longing to know her origins. The rest of the book tells the story of her finding her birth family, and I won’t spoil any of it here. It’s not a Hallmark movie that ends with a reunited mother and child weeping in each other’s arms. It’s beautiful and painful and real, just like everyone else’s family.
I must say, however, I also feel deep empathy for her birth parents. I can’t tell if there’s more to her childhood she’s not telling here, but at times she seems almost cold toward her parents. They were doing the best they knew how with what they had at the time. This is what all good parents do. I’m sure if they were to adopt a Korean baby now, they’d raise her with access to her culture and language in a way that just wasn’t done 30 years ago. The author is a mother herself now, and she talks about how she can’t imagine giving up her baby to strangers. Can she not also imagine desperately wanting a baby but not being able to conceive, the long wait and roller coaster ride of the adoption process, the giving your heart fully to a baby who may one day push you away, the fear of being told your not her “real” mother? Seems like grace should be extended to all parties here.
The first section could’ve been titled “The Repercussions of Naive White People and Their Good Intentions” or “Why Representation Matters.” The author was born in 1981, and at that time the conventional wisdom around adoption was changing. Previous generations were often never told they were adopted, or were only told once they became adults. The author always knew she was adopted, but of course this would’ve been hard for her parents to hide: she is Korean and her adoptive parents are white. But the early ‘80s was the post-Civil Rights era, in which we were all supposed to be colorblind. Her parents thought that love would be enough, that race and cultural identity didn’t matter, that as long as they loved their daughter as their own, what difference does her ethnicity make?
Well, dear reader, it makes a big difference. If you are the only Asian person in an entirely white town, and none of the adults ever talk about it, it matters. The author talks about how lonely it felt growing up this way, the bullying she endured in school, the pain of not knowing anyone who looked like her. The irony is, her parents attitude (“your race doesn’t matter so let’s never mention it!”) made it one of the central focuses of her life.
The other central focus was the longing to know her origins. The rest of the book tells the story of her finding her birth family, and I won’t spoil any of it here. It’s not a Hallmark movie that ends with a reunited mother and child weeping in each other’s arms. It’s beautiful and painful and real, just like everyone else’s family.
I must say, however, I also feel deep empathy for her birth parents. I can’t tell if there’s more to her childhood she’s not telling here, but at times she seems almost cold toward her parents. They were doing the best they knew how with what they had at the time. This is what all good parents do. I’m sure if they were to adopt a Korean baby now, they’d raise her with access to her culture and language in a way that just wasn’t done 30 years ago. The author is a mother herself now, and she talks about how she can’t imagine giving up her baby to strangers. Can she not also imagine desperately wanting a baby but not being able to conceive, the long wait and roller coaster ride of the adoption process, the giving your heart fully to a baby who may one day push you away, the fear of being told your not her “real” mother? Seems like grace should be extended to all parties here.
pamiverson's review against another edition
4.0
The daughter of Korean immigrants is born quite prematurely and her parents relinquish her for adoption. This book tell the story of what happens afterwards -- growing up as the only Asian in her rural Oregon community, questioning the story that her birth parents loved her so much they let her go, reconnecting with family members and learning new meanings to the the word "family," realizing her daughter's need for connection with her ancestors' culture. Thought-provoking.
lizshayne's review against another edition
emotional
hopeful
reflective
fast-paced
4.0
Apparently it's Nicole Chung time because I immediately finished her second memoir and went on to read her first.
It's so interesting reading them back to back because they focus so closely on specific parts of her life that one really does get that sense of bifurcated identity that she is exploring as a transracial adoptee. I don't think it's not-not intentional, but I do think it's an effect rather than a goal.
And they're both stories about finding/making meaning in ways that feel like they call not so much to the reader to respond, but on the reader to become a person who has heard and listened and has changed for having done so.
Especially as a pair, these are my favorite kinds of memoirs: invitations into other people's experiences and lives as a gift. Come with me. Let me tell you my story.
It's so interesting reading them back to back because they focus so closely on specific parts of her life that one really does get that sense of bifurcated identity that she is exploring as a transracial adoptee. I don't think it's not-not intentional, but I do think it's an effect rather than a goal.
And they're both stories about finding/making meaning in ways that feel like they call not so much to the reader to respond, but on the reader to become a person who has heard and listened and has changed for having done so.
Especially as a pair, these are my favorite kinds of memoirs: invitations into other people's experiences and lives as a gift. Come with me. Let me tell you my story.
alisarae's review against another edition
5.0
This is the second memoir I've read about domestic transracial adoption (Bitterroot by Susan Devan Harness is the other). Both advocate for open adoptions, the chance to build memories with relatives who get it. "Get it" meaning the complications of being other in a white society, and also those family quirks that are more inherited than learned.
In Bitterroot, Susan Devan Harnass spends a lot of time explaining the bureaucracy involved and the decades of national policies meant to erase indigenous families. Nicole Chung faced a tiny fraction of that red tape and spends more time exploring her longings and fears as an adoptee and her family history. Her story has a very satisfying resolution and makes for a good book, something I wish more adoptees had.
In Bitterroot, Susan Devan Harnass spends a lot of time explaining the bureaucracy involved and the decades of national policies meant to erase indigenous families. Nicole Chung faced a tiny fraction of that red tape and spends more time exploring her longings and fears as an adoptee and her family history. Her story has a very satisfying resolution and makes for a good book, something I wish more adoptees had.