By now I’m sure you’ve all heard about the (adoptive) father in Iowa City who murdered his four children, all of whom were Korean adoptees, and his wife before killing himself. The Des Moines Register has more details on the incredibly, horribly tragic killings and what lengths the murderer, Steven Sueppel, went to, to kill his family before robbing everyone of justice by taking his own life.

The first news of the story was shocking enough to hear about — the murders of four young children and their mother, committed by the father — in the state where I grew up, and in a town where I lived for five years. I consulted Google Maps to map the Sueppels’ home so my brain could better accept the reality of this horrific thing that had happened, using my former residence as a visual reference point.

Then when the family photograph was published, along with the detail that all four children were adopted from Korea, the story cut even deeper. I can’t even bear to look at the photograph and see those kids’ faces. It’s as if they are relation — which, in a very real way, they are.

I also want to kick some Holt ass for the “policies” and insinuations expressed in this article. So, it’s for the good of the mothers, who are supposedly off getting their “fresh starts,” that they won’t be informed that the adoptive father of their children has murdered them? Holt has no responsibility to tell these women — and instead it’s up to them, whether they want to check in periodically to see if their children are, oh, I don’t know, still alive? F that.

And while we are on the topic of Holt, F this, too:

The Holt service … said the American couple were well qualified to adopt foreign children in terms of their finances and relationship. The father was a banker and the mother an elementary school teacher, and they went to church. …

“The Holt International’s after-adoption reports show the couple had no problem, they were raising children well. The mother even sent us pictures of the children, from which we thought they are considerate people,” [Holt overseas adoption director] Hong said.

Right.

I am not a religious person, but I don’t think you have to be, to hope that Steven Sueppel burns eternally in a broiling-hot hell and that Eleanor, Mira, Seth, Ethan and mom Sheryl have gone on to find peace in another place.

* * * * *

And in other news, 8 inches of snow is expected to fall today & tonight in the Twin Cities, another former city of residence of mine.

Tragedy in one former hometown, murder in another. Condolences to all. *sigh*

As I read this article, about a Korean adoptee who is a dancer on tour with Celine Dion returning to Korea for the first time, the part about how she first tasted kimchi — and how it seemed to trigger her questions and curiosity about her identity and Korean heritage — hit home for me.

It was much the same for me, too.

Not the world-tours-with-music-divas part.

I mean, the kimchi.

My tongue didn’t make first contact with Korean cuisine until adulthood. I was about 21 or 22 when I tasted kimchi and bulgogi for the first time as I dined at a combination Korean-Japanese restaurant one block from my apartment, with a hapa-Japanese friend. (Double-whammy: It was my first encounter with sushi as well.)

And I didn’t love it. Not the first time. I remember trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing. Sure, sure, I’d eat the kimchi. No problem. (Ouch, my sinuses!)

I really didn’t love it. Yet there was something provocative and visceral about it that I couldn’t put my finger on, like a scent or a strain of music that your memory can’t quite place, or maybe the muscle memory of a lost extremity.

I wonder, if I had declined that invitation to meet my friend, who lived just across the street from me, and never walked over to that restaurant, would I still be where I am today? Would I still have unlocked that part of me that was drawn, as if by magnetic force, back to Korea, to search, to be reunited? Would I have made the strong circles of fellow adoptee friends who now support me and nourish my life on a daily basis? Would I still be a closeted Asian, laboring to be accepted and embraced as no more, no less than all-American, and-I’ll-thank-you-very-much-to-not-ask-stupid-questions?

I don’t know. I’d like to think that something else would have elicited the ensuing slow tidal shift of exploration (of self, of past) that crept up on me, like the gradual melting of ice caps, rather than rushing in like a tsunami. But I really don’t know.

Today I eat Korean food at least once a week. Half the top shelf of our fridge is occupied by a motley assortment of kimchi jars of varying vintage and variety.

Strange now — or not strange at all — that most of my close friends are like me, ethnically Korean, transplanted by adoption.

Strange back then, that for the first time out on my own as a young adult, I ended up living one block from one of the two Korean restaurants and adjacent Korean groceries in the entire city. (Perhaps stranger, still, that the other Korean restaurant & grocer was an extra 1/2-block away …) And I had walked past them every day, twice — once to campus, once back. So many times I had peered in through the window, too intimidated and too resolute to allow myself to feel curious. I had walked on by, ignoring the tiny voice inside me that said, “Go in.”

“Just go in and have a look around.”

But I didn’t.

It makes me a little angry at my past-self. What was I waiting for — a personal invitation?

Or just a little more time?

* * * *

I’d love to hear from fellow transcultural, transnational adoptees: Can you identify a “trigger” experience or experiences that prompted curiosity about your identity/heritage?

Few things give me a deeper sense of pride, respect and admiration than seeing fellow trans- (-cultural, -racial, -national) adoptees put their heads together, organize, and do amazing things within our communities and subcommunities. Hats off to three fantastic Vietnamese adoptee writer-blogger-artist-activists for launching this new collaborative blog, Misplaced Baggage.

(Yoinked from Sume’s blog)

The first of its kind, Misplaced Baggage is the collaborative effort of three Vietnamese adult adoptees from diverse backgrounds. We were brought together through our interest in contributing to the Vietnamese adoptee community. Noticing a lack of critical representation, we came together to offer an alternate perspective on Vietnamese adoptee history and experience.

The title Misplaced Baggage is the brainchild of Anh Ðào Kolbe. Although it may hold a different meaning for each of us, collectively it represents our transient existence and the uncertainty through which we navigate.

Bravo to you three for using your talents and perspectives to give new shape to an underrepresented dimension of the dialogue on Vietnamese adoption. May you inspire many more to do the same.

10,000 B.C. (Blows chunks?)

Takes enough liberties to make any historian’s head spin completely off (or any thinking person’s for that matter). And hey, didn’t “300″ already fill this decade’s quotas for spear-thrusting scenes and racially ambiguous casting of brown and brownish actors and creepy dudes with cataracts?

First off, you know, I am finding it harder and harder to suspend disbelief with these kinds of films, where the swarthy, dreadlocked natives with startlingly good dental care all magically speak American English with the kinds of inconsistent pseudo-British accents I’d imagine that 14-year-old role-players use in basements across the country. (Not that there’s anything wrong with THAT. Just saying.)

Don’t even get me started on the blue-eyed messiah/light-skinned deliverer theme. Bah. This film isn’t worth the time it would take to slog through for the purposes of deconstructing. On the other hand, if someone else feels up to defending its cinematic merits, please, by all means, feel free to pull up a rock and start grunting.

The bottom line is, I can’t even say that it was at the very least entertaining, or visually engaging, like “300″ was. The most believable characters of the entire 2 hours were the CGI mammoths, and even they could have used some acting lessons.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Contact: Korean Adoptees of Hawai’i, info@KAHawaii.org

ASIAN ADULT ADOPTEES INVITED TO HAWAI’I THIS AUTUMN
International Guests to Gather and Screen Adoptee-Made Films in Honolulu

Adult adoptees of pan-Asian origins and ethnic backgrounds are invited to Honolulu, Hawai’i, to participate in the Asian Adult Adoptee Gathering & Film Festival, Oct. 10-13, 2008, hosted by Korean Adoptees of Hawai’i (KAHI).

The Asian Adult Adoptee Gathering will offer conference sessions and workshops, cultural and recreational activities, and the first-ever Asian Adoptee Film Festival, featuring films written, produced or directed by Asian adoptee filmmakers.

The Asian Adult Adoptee Gathering and Film Festival represents a convergence of the range of experiences – from the unique to the unifying – found among the diverse diaspora and global community of adoptees of Asian descent. The Gathering and Film Festival are expected to draw 200 or more visitors from Hawai’i and the mainland United States, and such international locations as Sweden, Denmark, Australia and South Korea.

Online registration for the Asian Adult Adoptee Gathering is scheduled to begin in May on KAHI’s website. Participants will qualify for discounted hotel accommodations at the Hawaii Prince Hotel Waikiki, a deluxe oceanfront property situated at the gateway to Waikiki and across from world-class shopping at Ala Moana Center. Interested individuals should contact KAHI at info@KAHawaii.org for information regarding registration, hotel reservations and conference session proposals.

The event is based on the tradition previously established by the international gatherings of transnationally adopted Koreans, held since 1999 in locations including Seoul, Oslo and Washington, D.C., and smaller-scale gatherings in U.S. cities such as New York, Las Vegas, Seattle, San Francisco, Chicago and Minneapolis. The Hawai’i event this October is open not only to Korean adoptees, but to adopted adults of all Asian and mixed Asian ethnic backgrounds, age 18 or older, as well as adoptees’ partners and children.

KAHI will also welcome members of the general public to the film festival, which will showcase a unique aspect of the Asian immigrant experience that has been underrepresented in the mainstream and even art-house film circuits. Screenings will primarily be held at the Doris Duke Theatre at the Honolulu Academy of Arts on Saturday, Oct. 11, 2008. The Doris Duke Theatre will manage ticketing for this special event this autumn.

Submissions of original films addressing the theme of adoption that are directed, written or produced by adult Asian adoptees, are still being accepted for consideration. Filmmakers should e-mail info@KAHawaii.org for festival submission guidelines. Entries must be received no later than March 30, 2008.

Businesses, organizations and individuals interested in supporting the Asian Adult Adoptee Gathering and Film Festival are invited to contact KAHI for further information.

* * *

Korean Adoptees of Hawai’i, Inc. (KAHI), is a nonprofit organization founded upon the experiences of adult Korean adoptees, working to build a supportive community in Hawai’i through public outreach, networking, education and sharing resources. KAHI believes in fostering awareness about adoption and identity, recognizing that we, as a community, can extend our reach beyond what we can accomplish individually.

My Life Lately in Numbers

1 potential grant opportunity identified 5 days before grant deadline

1 phone call to grant foundation

4 1/2 days of racking brain and writing

2 books purchased on grant-writing for people with poo for brains

4 frantic phone calls to fellow board members

3-hour meeting with two fellow board members

4 sweet hours of bodily contact with lovely, soft bed

21 pages of “Yay us! Love us! Fund us!”

20 copies of 21 pages of above self-promotion

2 printers running simultaneously

90-degree home office

2 cranky, neglected kitties

1 missed shower

2 missed meals

30-minute cross-island drive of panic and delirium

2 questionable accelerations through 2 very, very yellow traffic lights

15 minutes to spare

2 sets of everything in my vision

1 migraine

1 exhausted me

Sen. Paula Benoit Says Unsealing Her Birth Records Changed Her Life

Maine State Senator Paula Benoit was adopted as an infant but obtained her birth records last year. (AP)

By GIGI STONE
Feb. 29, 2008

Paula Benoit lives a full life, balancing motherhood with a career as a state senator in Maine. Yet ever since she can remember, there was something gnawing inside her, something she wanted to know.

“I really had always wondered about my identity, who I looked like, my medical history,” Benoit said.

Benoit was adopted as an infant. At age 52, she decided it was finally time to find out the identity of her natural parents. She went to court to obtain her birth certificate.

Her request was denied. In Maine, as in most states, adoption records are sealed.

Do you think adult adoptees should be able to obtain their birth records? VOTE HERE.

“I want that piece of paper,” said Benoit. “What right does that judge have to sit there with my records?”

So she began working on legislation to unseal records for all adoptees in her home state. When the state legislature passed this bill last year, Maine became the eighth state to give adoptees full access to their birth records, including their parents’ names.

Other states that have unsealed birth certificates include Alabama, Delaware, New Hampshire, Tennessee and Massachusetts. Kansas and Alaska never sealed them. Right now, bills are pending to unseal adoption records in New York, New Jersey, Ohio and Minnesota.

But the bills are facing some strong opposition.

Members of some Catholic groups worry that passage of these bills might lead more women to have abortions. Groups like the National Council for Adoption, which argues for the rights of mothers who gave up their babies, said that if birth mothers or adopted children really want to find each other, they can list their names in registries set up by states.

There are no laws that promise birth mothers anonymity, but many women who gave up their children for adoption did so after agencies reassured them and social workers that the records would remain sealed.

“Marie,” who refused to be identified, put her baby up for adoption nearly 20 years ago. She fears that if her husband and children find out about her secret all these years later, it will tear her family apart.

“To just rip open people’s lives when you really don’t know what their experiences have been that have caused that decision in the first place is something to me that is, I mean it’s almost cruel,” said “Marie.”

But Paula Benoit believes it was cruel to keep her identity a secret. And she finally learned the names of her birth parents. She also discovered something else she never could have imagined. Two of her colleagues in the Maine legislature, State Sen. Bruce Bryant and State Rep. Mark Bryant, are her nephews.

“I just sat in the chair and thought, ‘Oh, my gosh,’” said Benoit.

“The major shock is that she’s serving in the Senate,” said Bryant. “I’m serving in the Senate, and we’re in the same building.”

Paula Benoit said unsealing her birth records has changed her life. She wants that experience for all adoptees. Despite the promises made to mothers made in the past, she believes today that people like her have the right to know.

Copyright © 2008 ABC News Internet Ventures

Olde-tyme blog readers, you KNOW about the gigantoid monstrosities that prowl my neck of the woods. I won’t utter the archfiend’s name, out of deep, unreasonable fear of conjuring its presence in my home once more, but you know.

And I mean, besides It, I would challenge anyone to face down the T-Rex-sized cockroaches or the footlong submarine-sandwich-sized armored centipedes without warming your pants.

Mercy, Mother Nature! I mean, really.

But as if that’s not enough, for the past several days, I have been terrorized by a REALLY BIG BEE that helicopters outside the front door, buzzing its menacing bee warcry, and I swear, it is staring at me. I didn’t do anything to it, honest. Yet it wants to feast on my flesh. I am certain of it.

I cannot stress how HUGE it is. It is so enormous, I think it knows how to use the Internet.

I mean, OK, it’s the size of a small bird. At first I thought maybe it was a small bird — perhaps a hummingbird — but then I remembered that there are no hummingbirds in Hawai’i, although we do have these crazy nectar-sucking moths that a lot of people mistake for hummingbirds until Google tells them otherwise. (Not that I would know.)

But this is no moth. This is a be-winged, bedeviling, bee-murderer. I wait until it leaves to go drink its Gatorade and digest a kitten for lunch before I dash out of the house to my car or to get the mail or whatever.

Right now it is circling a path outside of the lanai door, assessing the thickness and strength of the screen, and making a shopping list for tools and instruments of torture. If you don’t hear from me within the next week, you may assume the worst.