Emerald City number one

one of the reasons i decided to blog is in response to my experiences of searching and meeting family members; specifically siblings from my biological father. there are several of us abandoned children and i have made significant progress in the last year. today, i am back from seattle after meeting my 19 year old brother, Z. a short trip, but worth it all and an amazing beginning for our journey as sister and brother.

...condensed version of the first meeting...

at the age of about 13 i decided that i wanted to know who my father was. i asked my mom and without argument, she found him and set up the time and place for which my father was to meet me. we lived in seattle at the time in a homeless shelter for women and their children and i needed to feel complete; and i thought that THIS was my chance. my mom and i were at a pizza joint in capital hill when he came in. i don't remember any words that were exchanged but next thing i knew i was leaving with him. my mom left and him and i got into his red porsche and heading to chinatown. we went to his restaurant and apparently i met other family members. he drove me back to the pizza place, handed me two-hundred dollars and off i went to find my mom. i gave the money to my mom. his name is Ed.

shortly thereafter, i was invited to his home for his birthday party. there, i got to meet his new wife K, her sons S and JT, the new baby boy Z and my sister J who is only four months younger than i. i remember playing with J and the two sons; running around the party, weaving between guests, dancing to kris kross, and daring one another to eat the crispy ear of the pig that was laying whole on the kitchen counter. i did it. crispy and salty; which also describes this whole event.

that was the last time i saw Ed. and for decades, the last time i saw any of those people. until last weekend.
...

this first meeting was a dream come true for me. i felt like i was part of a family; something i thought i never had. looking back, i realize that this is not true. i knew that my mom was my family and she worked hard to make sure i knew who i was with or without Ed. i thought i would become a part of their family; visiting on weekends, playing with kids, and learning about my filipina culture. this was important to me at this age because i remember looking in the mirror questioning where i came from. i knew my skin color had a story. i wanted to know that story. unfortunately, i would never be given the chance to learn. for many years, i have carried disdain for Ed. a few events until now have reinforced my anger for him but now i can say that i don't hate him... i just want nothing to do with him.

écoutez-moi

i wish i had poetic words to tell the story that is my life. i wish i could write words that would make you cry, laugh, gasp, and hope. i wish i was a master of words so that i could better describe what i want you to feel and then you comment on how inspiring i am. but i am not a poet or an artist that has been born or taught how to articulate my thoughts creatively. i just need a place, eyes, ears and you can do what you wish with it.