I tried to imagine what my daughter’s birthmother might say to her if we were in contact now. I wrote down a letter as if from her point of view, and then decided to write a more generic version for this blog. Details have been changed, since it’s really my daughter’s story and not mine. Again this is my imagination from what I know of the circumstances of some birthmothers. It is not based on any particular birthmother.
The letter begins:
Dear little daughter,
I hope that you are well. It is very cold here. Soon the moon will be full. That will be a festival day.
I want to tell you my story. I grew up in a rural area not too far from Seoul. I had two brothers, younger than I am. I liked to play with them and their friends. I was shy around older people. I loved reading and embroidery.
My father died when I was very young. Eventually my mother got married again. My stepfather’s parents didn’t like us very much. They kept telling my stepfather that we were doing dishonorable things. My stepfather would beat us, so finally I ran away.
Even after I ran away, though, I found jobs in restaurants and things to pay my school fees, and I finished my last year of high school and got my diploma. This is one good thing you can be proud of about your mother.
When we graduated a friend and I rented an apartment in Seoul, but when she left I couldn’t afford the rent on my own. Mostly I stayed with friends at their houses. One night my friends and I went to a restaurant. We met some young men. One of them was your birthfather. He was very cute! He was not shy like I was. He was tall and loved to sing. He introduced me to many new people. He had just finished his time in the military. We decided to get an apartment together.
I was happy at first, but soon I began to notice things that were troubling to me. Your father had been raised in the city with his mother and three older sisters. His mother and sisters spoiled him and he didn’t take responsibility for things. His father had died right after he was born, so he wasn’t around when your father was growing up to help teach him how to be a good man.
Your father began to get angry when things didn’t go his way or when he said or did something I didn’t like. At first I thought maybe the problems were nothing, or maybe that they were my fault. But then one day your father hit me. I knew that I did not deserve to be hit. In fact, no one deserves to be hit. I told your father this was not excusable. Finally, I told him we should say good-bye. This was a hard time for me because I missed him, even though I knew I had done the right thing. He had done something wrong to me, but he was not an all-bad person and I had loved him.
Please see these related blogs: