An Unsent Letter

 

Dear birthmother, 

 

Do you ever wonder what became of my life?

 

I often think about what must have happened. I imagine you heard the accounts of those who broke the law. Their houses were ravaged, and the pregnant women went missing--carried off by an army of bandits sanctioned by the government. 

 

I didn't understand why my own family would leave me, so I told myself a story. At the age of nine, I wrote in my diary, "When I was little, my mom and dad were poor, so they put me in an orphanage." The orphanage named me Yu Xue Hua, which means Snowflower. But now I have blossomed into a new flower. My name is Lily Arnold. 

 

My first obstacle as an Arnold was that I couldn't spell or pronounce my last name. "Say the first letter of your last name" was a fun game the teacher played when dismissing us to recess. Each kid raised their hand with certainty, and a deluge of letters flowed out until I was the last one left. My answer was R, and the woman shook her head disapprovingly. Then a mess of letters sputtered out of my mouth, none of them being A. So I was culled from the herd of kindergarteners, and I was the only one not to graduate at the end of the year. Getting comfortable with English was especially hard for me. I was placed into special classes, extra courses after school, and speech therapy. But I was the fastest to graduate them all. I worked extremely hard to catch up, and I now work exceedingly hard to be ahead. 

 

My second problem was that I didn't look like an Arnold. I never felt different until people made me think I was. I distinctly remember a family reunion during a balmy South Dakota summer when one of my cousins decided I did not belong. "Lily isn't really family," he said. But even as I struggled to make sense of the hurt, my family overcame the marauding words. For much of my youth, I continued to wrestle with my identity. I have lived in predominantly white spaces, so I grew up wanting to be white. I believed all of my problems would dissolve: I would have friends, people would like me, and people would stop questioning me. But I've learned to love my Chinese heritage. Even though I feel disconnected from my culture, I resonate with the Asian American experience. I am proud of being an Asian American because it has taught me the value of accepting people for who they are. 

 

Despite the struggles I’ve faced, I love being an Arnold. My mom once told me a Chinese proverb about an invisible red thread--a thread that connects us all to the ones we love. Even though I was born across the world, a red thread has always attached us. 

 

So if you ever wonder about me, know that I am grateful for the family that welcomed me in and happy with where I am. Thank you.

 

Your daughter, 

Lily Arnold