¡No way José!
José
What is my name? You would think that, in my mid-forties, I would have a firm grasp on my handle, but one of my unique features is that I am ungraspable. I would wager that most individuals separated by adoption feel this way; that they are shape-shifters of some kind. Depending on our own histories, our names may play a role in our ability to transform our identities. In my case, I am lucky to know the name given to me by my first mother. That name is José.
What do I know of my origins? Once again, it is luck upon luck for me: I know and have always known a good deal about my origins. I feel lucky because, as a society, we are coming to learn all the time about the lies, fraud, and corruption that accompany the practice of intercountry adoption worldwide. Too many of my adoptee peers will never know a sliver of the information that I have been fortunate to know. Not only was I given a name by my first mother recorded on my birth registry in Colombia, but also my adoptive mother kept a file with all my documents. The only name that I had ever known up to the age of four or five years old was Joshua; however, it was in that moment, going through those documents with my adoptive mother, when I first met José.
The knowledge of my name in a foreign language and from a foreign land was not easy to accept. Being raised as an American and growing up speaking English, my birth culture and language were erased from my life. I did not like or accept José at all. In fact, the knowledge of my name José felt like a mark on my developing sense of identity. José was an unwelcome visitor, a reminder of my adoption, which made me feel different. I did not want to be different; I was Josh from New Jersey, and that was that. This business about José from Colombia would not do! So, what did I do? I kept José a secret. Even my closest friend from my childhood met José as recently as 2022. Coming into more consciousness about being a transracial, intercountry adoptee over the last few years, I have realized that José has grown too big for the closet where I had hidden him away for so long. Lately, I am proud to say that the light of day feels warm and bright for José.
However, it takes time for the eyes to adjust when emerging from darkness into light. As I engage with communities of adopted people, I see many of us taking bold steps to reclaim all that is lost in adoption. We are searching for our natural family members, our birth records, our real birthdays, our medical histories, our natural heritages, our origin stories, and we are searching for our names. Not all adoptees search, but I would venture to say that most think about it. We squint at the blue glow of computer screens for countless hours searching for any crumb of information that may lead us to some truth about ourselves and our origins. If we do find some truth, it is often too bright to stare at directly. Some may look away. Others reach for shades as they boldly step toward the light, toward themselves. I am moving toward myself with an outstretched hand, sunglasses firmly fitted, and I would like to introduce you to José.
WELCOME TO ACÁ
Welcome to the Alianza of Colombian Adoptees (ACÁ) Blog, a space dedicated to amplifying the voices and experiences of Colombian adoptees.
