I have a confession. I lied. I lied to my friend about reading online about other Arab adoptees in my situation. It was totally false.
I just...you know. Didn't want to feel alone.
So yesterday I spent at least 2 hours looking. And what the fuck turned up? Nothing. Adoption websites and forums I frantically searched thru. Nothing. Google search bar. Nothing. 7 or 8 different word rearrangements. Nothing.
Except specially bred, very expensive Arabian Horses. Horses that are worth more than the house you live in. What The Fuck.
I was starting to feel desperate.
Then, there is was. The words. Adopted Arab-American. And all in one place. Gleefully, I opened the link.
Its an article about Steve Fucking Jobs. Rage filled me. Are you fucking serious? That's it???? Steve Fucking Jobs and Me are the only ones??? This can't be. I felt myself escalating like a cartoon character, winding up, my body hurts.
Unbelievable. Me and Steve Fucking Jobs, half arab, on our father's side, white adoptive parents.
And guess what his Syrian Daddy said? "I want nothing to do with you".
Also: Unbelievable.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
The Brewing of Coffee
It all started in 1979. Well, to be more precise, 1978. I was conceived in 1978. I mean, I think I was. I really don't know. I could've been born early.
Maybe I should start with last week.
Last week I went to New Orleans for a conference. The Women of Color Network call to action against domestic violence. It was at this conference I realized I have been afraid to call my ethnic identity my own. The difference between naming and understanding that name became clear and I felt alone and reminded of of my opaque and extensive story.
There is a place for many adopted children too painful to touch. where am i from? who could i have been? This place sits inside us like Matryoshka dolls, and with each discovery a new doll is revealed. This discovery can be emotional or active or informational, or all three. I was informed of these dolls so long ago, I cant tell you a time I didn't know they were there. I found a new doll when I realized all my nightmares were related in 1994. I found another doll when I received my birth certificate and high school photos of my biological mother in 2002. I uncovered a doll in 2004 when my biological sister found me. I uncovered another doll later the same year when I contacted our biological mother. That was too many dolls for one year.
But that's another story.
There are a number of questions adoptees ask themselves, wordlessly in the night, but here, I will tell you those questions: why didn't they want me? whats wrong with me? will i ever be whole? who could love me now? does anyone else feel this way?
At this conference, a new doll emerged. She is a doll of action. This isn't a self analyzing, processing, soulful doll. She wants to learn. She wants to know what might've been for us.
My biological father's name is Melli Al-Qatahni. or maybe Melli Al-Qhatani. or maybe Melli Al-Qahtani. all I know he is from Qatar. I know he was in business school. I know he lived in Tyler, Texas for a time in the late 70s. I know he is somehow related to the royal family, which certainly explains my dislike of cleaning, and love of high back chairs and tiny tiaras. *ahem*
Perhaps he was a great man, and a genius of chemistry. It's also possible he was part of a predatory bird breeding operation. or maybe he just owned a construction company.
In my fantasies as a child, I imagined him in an onion domed palace, surrounded by gems and dancing beautiful women, laughing as he ate pig from a spit. Of course, in real life, he wouldn't eat pork. Ha! The silly fantasies of children. The very idea! *ahem*
But really, this image spoke volumes. the assumptions I carried were not discouraged or dispelled. Given no literature on Arabic culture or history, Islamic practice or custom, I had only my imagination to carry me to a conclusion. And as a child, I exercised my imagination freely.
The love story I concocted was equally as loosely based on fact. "My birth mother and father", I would begin, "were deeply in love. But he was a Muslim." I'd shake my head sadly.
"They couldn't be married."
To me, it was unthinkable I was anything but a product of tragic love. To be else would mean something too dark. I put that idea in a badly sealed box in the back of my mind where it leaked constantly and gave me nightmares and terrible things to think about when I had insomnia crawling up my spine. Which, as you can imagine, was often. Ritalin makes the heart beat faster, the hands shake, the hunger vanish, and the mind and body stay awake. like a thief waiting for the watch to change.
But that's another story.
So there I was last week, at a conference, surrounded by 282 beautiful amazing women of color. My body feels beautiful, my skin looks normal, and my features are not questioned or out of place.
I am not called "exotic" or told how "ethnic" my face is. No one asks "what are you" or plays the "guess ethnicity/nationality/orgin story" game. Or then proceeds to get angry or disappointed when they guess wrong, as if guessing correctly would have earned them a prize. Or at least some get out of jail free card. It is important to note that most of the people who say these things are white.
This happens because, generally speaking, People of Color know better.
It happens to them all the time, and they know how it sounds. Most importantly, they know what it feels like. If you don't know, allow me to enlighten you, so you wont do this to people anymore: It feels like scrutinizing, like you'll be judged. Its like you're revealing a piece of yourself you have no control over how it will be interpreted. There is no opportunity to go into the history, legacy, or culture that surrounds the answer to the question, when phrased "What are you?". There are many other, kinder, gentler ways of asking how someone identifies. But I really don't feel it's my responsibility to feed people the "right"way to go about it.
Ok, but back to New Orleans.
I'm sitting validated and beautiful, surrounded by powerful women, when I realize I feel wanting. It began as a tickle, then grew to an ache, and culminated today in an outpouring of tears and desire. I do not know the home I could've lived in. I do not understand the culture that could have been mine. This is the next doll. Here she is. I acknowledge and honor her. She is curious, studious. And brave.
Maybe I should start with last week.
Last week I went to New Orleans for a conference. The Women of Color Network call to action against domestic violence. It was at this conference I realized I have been afraid to call my ethnic identity my own. The difference between naming and understanding that name became clear and I felt alone and reminded of of my opaque and extensive story.
There is a place for many adopted children too painful to touch. where am i from? who could i have been? This place sits inside us like Matryoshka dolls, and with each discovery a new doll is revealed. This discovery can be emotional or active or informational, or all three. I was informed of these dolls so long ago, I cant tell you a time I didn't know they were there. I found a new doll when I realized all my nightmares were related in 1994. I found another doll when I received my birth certificate and high school photos of my biological mother in 2002. I uncovered a doll in 2004 when my biological sister found me. I uncovered another doll later the same year when I contacted our biological mother. That was too many dolls for one year.
But that's another story.
There are a number of questions adoptees ask themselves, wordlessly in the night, but here, I will tell you those questions: why didn't they want me? whats wrong with me? will i ever be whole? who could love me now? does anyone else feel this way?
At this conference, a new doll emerged. She is a doll of action. This isn't a self analyzing, processing, soulful doll. She wants to learn. She wants to know what might've been for us.
My biological father's name is Melli Al-Qatahni. or maybe Melli Al-Qhatani. or maybe Melli Al-Qahtani. all I know he is from Qatar. I know he was in business school. I know he lived in Tyler, Texas for a time in the late 70s. I know he is somehow related to the royal family, which certainly explains my dislike of cleaning, and love of high back chairs and tiny tiaras. *ahem*
Perhaps he was a great man, and a genius of chemistry. It's also possible he was part of a predatory bird breeding operation. or maybe he just owned a construction company.
In my fantasies as a child, I imagined him in an onion domed palace, surrounded by gems and dancing beautiful women, laughing as he ate pig from a spit. Of course, in real life, he wouldn't eat pork. Ha! The silly fantasies of children. The very idea! *ahem*
But really, this image spoke volumes. the assumptions I carried were not discouraged or dispelled. Given no literature on Arabic culture or history, Islamic practice or custom, I had only my imagination to carry me to a conclusion. And as a child, I exercised my imagination freely.
The love story I concocted was equally as loosely based on fact. "My birth mother and father", I would begin, "were deeply in love. But he was a Muslim." I'd shake my head sadly.
"They couldn't be married."
To me, it was unthinkable I was anything but a product of tragic love. To be else would mean something too dark. I put that idea in a badly sealed box in the back of my mind where it leaked constantly and gave me nightmares and terrible things to think about when I had insomnia crawling up my spine. Which, as you can imagine, was often. Ritalin makes the heart beat faster, the hands shake, the hunger vanish, and the mind and body stay awake. like a thief waiting for the watch to change.
But that's another story.
So there I was last week, at a conference, surrounded by 282 beautiful amazing women of color. My body feels beautiful, my skin looks normal, and my features are not questioned or out of place.
I am not called "exotic" or told how "ethnic" my face is. No one asks "what are you" or plays the "guess ethnicity/nationality/orgin story" game. Or then proceeds to get angry or disappointed when they guess wrong, as if guessing correctly would have earned them a prize. Or at least some get out of jail free card. It is important to note that most of the people who say these things are white.
This happens because, generally speaking, People of Color know better.
It happens to them all the time, and they know how it sounds. Most importantly, they know what it feels like. If you don't know, allow me to enlighten you, so you wont do this to people anymore: It feels like scrutinizing, like you'll be judged. Its like you're revealing a piece of yourself you have no control over how it will be interpreted. There is no opportunity to go into the history, legacy, or culture that surrounds the answer to the question, when phrased "What are you?". There are many other, kinder, gentler ways of asking how someone identifies. But I really don't feel it's my responsibility to feed people the "right"way to go about it.
Ok, but back to New Orleans.
I'm sitting validated and beautiful, surrounded by powerful women, when I realize I feel wanting. It began as a tickle, then grew to an ache, and culminated today in an outpouring of tears and desire. I do not know the home I could've lived in. I do not understand the culture that could have been mine. This is the next doll. Here she is. I acknowledge and honor her. She is curious, studious. And brave.
Friday, January 5, 2007
ch-ch-ch-changes: Day 4
wow. Day Four. that deserves to be a proper noun.
i decided yesterday after consulting with my friend that im not going to drink the laxitive tea anymore. it hurts too much, and i think this is difficult enough.
i felt very dizzy and faint last night at a party. it may have been the smoke or maybe it was i didnt have enough juice. i walked EVERYWHERE yesterday. like 3 miles. i think next time i do the fast, im going to have 80 oz the first three days, 70 oz the second three days, and 60 the last four.
i also "eliminated" 10+ times yesterday. exhasting. i did not do the saline wash this morning, as i got to work and turned out im not working alone today.
something else weird. i had a really extreme case of deja vu yesterday. my friend ben was telling me a story and i swear ive heard him tell it before. it wasnt a "so i was really drunk"story, one i wouldve been likely to hear before. it was really personal.
i had a dream night before last that all the fat melted out of my face and all i was left with was a sheet of skin with eyes in it.
i feel really run-down today. could it be all the exertion yesterday? not doing the flush today?
it feels like im playing this fucked-up game of would you rather. would you rather do the Master Cleanse and have crazy stuff coming out of your body, toxins releasing from your tongue, skin a mess, glands swollen? or would you rather suffer through the cleanse and find youre clean as a whistle?
i decided yesterday after consulting with my friend that im not going to drink the laxitive tea anymore. it hurts too much, and i think this is difficult enough.
i felt very dizzy and faint last night at a party. it may have been the smoke or maybe it was i didnt have enough juice. i walked EVERYWHERE yesterday. like 3 miles. i think next time i do the fast, im going to have 80 oz the first three days, 70 oz the second three days, and 60 the last four.
i also "eliminated" 10+ times yesterday. exhasting. i did not do the saline wash this morning, as i got to work and turned out im not working alone today.
something else weird. i had a really extreme case of deja vu yesterday. my friend ben was telling me a story and i swear ive heard him tell it before. it wasnt a "so i was really drunk"story, one i wouldve been likely to hear before. it was really personal.
i had a dream night before last that all the fat melted out of my face and all i was left with was a sheet of skin with eyes in it.
i feel really run-down today. could it be all the exertion yesterday? not doing the flush today?
it feels like im playing this fucked-up game of would you rather. would you rather do the Master Cleanse and have crazy stuff coming out of your body, toxins releasing from your tongue, skin a mess, glands swollen? or would you rather suffer through the cleanse and find youre clean as a whistle?
Thursday, January 4, 2007
Officially the most trying thing i have ever intentionally done to myself: day 3
other than two years ago, when i compusively obsessed over a greek boy who couldnt have cared less about me.
last night was again, awful. the tea cramps me so, and i was very very hungry. i couldnt drink any more of the lemonade though, as i had already had my alotted 60 oz. in addition, i didnt want to be up all night, the sound of consuming buzzing in my ear like a mosquito.
also, and this is a very strange thing, something about this fast changes the way i sleep. not the position, or anything physical, but the very psychology of it. i always wake with a start, not realizing i was dreaming. i dont lucid dream as a rule, but i hardly wake up frightened to be in reality.
i must have "eliminated" 8 times yesterday. every time, nothing but water. i finally bought some baby wipes. im not kidding. my poor princess bottom. between that and peeing at least 20 times. im not exaggerating.
im not hungry from morning till about 4 or 5. then i start thinking about food. its maddening.
later....ive had THREE you-know-whats today and all of them were "solid". more like yard waste. leaflets of poo. nothing to speak of, bu tmuch more pleasent than the supersoaker effect i had yeasterday.
i tried drinking the saline flush cold today and its much more pleasant than taking it warm. im doing the yoga poses after every 4 oz of water. its working well.
im going down to first thursday art walk tonight AND ive already commited myself to helping my friend laura move on saturday AND go to a drag show. *sigh* me oh my.
last night was again, awful. the tea cramps me so, and i was very very hungry. i couldnt drink any more of the lemonade though, as i had already had my alotted 60 oz. in addition, i didnt want to be up all night, the sound of consuming buzzing in my ear like a mosquito.
also, and this is a very strange thing, something about this fast changes the way i sleep. not the position, or anything physical, but the very psychology of it. i always wake with a start, not realizing i was dreaming. i dont lucid dream as a rule, but i hardly wake up frightened to be in reality.
i must have "eliminated" 8 times yesterday. every time, nothing but water. i finally bought some baby wipes. im not kidding. my poor princess bottom. between that and peeing at least 20 times. im not exaggerating.
im not hungry from morning till about 4 or 5. then i start thinking about food. its maddening.
later....ive had THREE you-know-whats today and all of them were "solid". more like yard waste. leaflets of poo. nothing to speak of, bu tmuch more pleasent than the supersoaker effect i had yeasterday.
i tried drinking the saline flush cold today and its much more pleasant than taking it warm. im doing the yoga poses after every 4 oz of water. its working well.
im going down to first thursday art walk tonight AND ive already commited myself to helping my friend laura move on saturday AND go to a drag show. *sigh* me oh my.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
moments later...
i thought i should post how carefully ive been following the cleanse and my results:
drank the tea last night
drank a little over half the saline wash + asanas
drank about 80 oz of lemonade yesterday (a little too much)
drank about 60 oz of water (not nearly enough)
tongue is still pink
tummy cramps
thinking about food A LOT, but not really hungry
number two is like water, and third time this morning, totally clear!
there is an Dryer's Ice Cream truck outside. motherfucker.
drank the tea last night
drank a little over half the saline wash + asanas
drank about 80 oz of lemonade yesterday (a little too much)
drank about 60 oz of water (not nearly enough)
tongue is still pink
tummy cramps
thinking about food A LOT, but not really hungry
number two is like water, and third time this morning, totally clear!
there is an Dryer's Ice Cream truck outside. motherfucker.
process of elimination: day 2
last night was awful. all i could think about was food. daniel said "pieces" and i thought he said "pizza" and started obsessing. i kept coming back to beans and rice. beans and rice. i think its because beans and rice make a complete protein.
also, i couldnt sleep. buzz buzz buzz. maybe from all the sugar? i felt like getting up and running around the block. my mind could not slow down. then i drank the nasty tea. barf. i strongly dislike the flavor of licorice. it has a slippery quality, and the smell reminds me of the bog in anchorage. woody, damp, and rotten.
now im drinking the saline wash. i do the neti pot almost every day, and this is like doing the neti pot for my digestive system. ive already had two number twos, and they both looked like number ones. caution sign yellow, with cayanne pepper in them. ive had to pace myself with the saline wash, as the first swallow made me gag (tee hee). im also incorporating yoga asanas for cleansing (elimination) and they can be found here
good stuff. ok, enough for now.
also, i couldnt sleep. buzz buzz buzz. maybe from all the sugar? i felt like getting up and running around the block. my mind could not slow down. then i drank the nasty tea. barf. i strongly dislike the flavor of licorice. it has a slippery quality, and the smell reminds me of the bog in anchorage. woody, damp, and rotten.
now im drinking the saline wash. i do the neti pot almost every day, and this is like doing the neti pot for my digestive system. ive already had two number twos, and they both looked like number ones. caution sign yellow, with cayanne pepper in them. ive had to pace myself with the saline wash, as the first swallow made me gag (tee hee). im also incorporating yoga asanas for cleansing (elimination) and they can be found here
good stuff. ok, enough for now.
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
grrrrrrrrrr
i just called my folks to tell them i started the cleanse. they pretended to be interested, which was nice. then i proposed the theory that my brother (who eats for shit) who has been suffering from joint problems and muscle aches may have an impacted colon. this has actually happened before, and he had to spend the night in the hospital with a tube up his nose and down his throat, pumping a vile, viscous liquid into his stomach and through his intestines to excavate the tar-like dead shit bacteria and hardened mucous that had him "backed up". my mother told me to "stop it". i can NOT believe what horrible denial she is in. i understand she feels guilty for not setting any boundaries with him as far as food, and now he has innumerable heath problems because of it. but to completely shoot down what is in all likelyhood the most probable theory as to why my brother feels like shit all the time is UNBELIEVEABLE. whateve. im going to drink more lemonade.
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