I've started to read adoption memoirs, as a genre. I went to Amazon and ordered a bunch of books. Went to the library and found The Mistresses Daughter by A. M. Homes. I'm reading it now and am resonating deeply with it. I suspect that alot of birth parent / adoptee reunions are disappointing for the adoptee. But still, there is a drive to know, to delve into the darkness of the mystery and shine some light on something. Origins. Beginnings. History.

I, as an adopted person, have no history. The story of me begins at a point in time with hardly any description, shrouded in a fog. "We went and picked you. Out of all the babies we could have chosen, we chose you, because you were so special." Picked me from where? A garden? A shelf in the supermarket? The ocean? How did I get there? Where am I from?

The idea of a story existing that is a context where I fit in is so appealing. The idea that it could be a warm, romantic story or a scary, destructive story is almost secondary. I look forward to knowing my story. I feel like a detective. There is an element of excitement to it, and also an underlying resentment that it was not considered my birthright for me to know it, to have it without searching it out.