Brat #1 and Brat #2

My sister swears that she should be my child. She is crazier and more charasmatic than I ever was though. And what a little actress?! On this day we went to the Aquarium for his first time. She LOVED it and just had to have a Sea Horse pony stick. I am a sucker. What can I say?

My Dad and guess who? Yes, Marisa!

What a freshie! But, I love her to pieces and miss them both terribly at times. She is such a big light in our lives. I cannot wait to visit. I can barely contain myself.

Mom and Marisa

I think someone lied and my niece is actually my mother's child! Look at the hair! My niece = 100% Colombian. My mother = 100% Irish. Something does not add up.

Julie and Marisa

Here's a pic of my sister. She is not biological sister, in case you were wondering. We were both adopted from the same orphanage. My niece, is 100% Colombian. Her father is from Medellin, but we're 100% convinced that The Person Upstairs is getting a huge chuckle out of giving her red hair. They now live in Medellin, Colombia.

I've been wondering for 28 years, 10 months, and 21 days

So, my calculations may be a bit off. I was never a whiz at math anyway. But, what I do know is that I have been searching for something familiar my entire life. When I was younger I couldn't exactly put my finger on it. I just knew something was missing -something made me sad, incomplete, confused. I still can't pin-point the emotion. It's just there - taking up space in my heart and making my restless mind chase it in circles to no avail.

No one would have guessed it. I was, and I still am, an incredibly gregarious, outgoing kind-of person. I will try just about anything, eat everything you put in front of me, and talk to total strangers for the pure joy of learning something new. I'm an open book. There isn't much I am not willing to tell. I'd rather share all I've experienced so others can know that their not alone. Yet, underneath that outward persona of self confidence is a little girl who desperately just wants to fit in. It's seems like I have felt life this for 28 years, 10 months, and 21 days.

Let me tell you this. Insecurity is not attractive. It is not a trait you want to brag about and is certainly not a characteristic that your would want your friends telling a potential date about. Good thing, I am not on the market. But, more importantly - good thing my friends don't know. Until now. So there it is. Please don't tell anyone.

But, my insecurity has created a deep seeded drive to prove myself which has done wonders for my self image, education, and career. Believe me, I am happy with who I have become, but I always strive to be better.

But, I digress. (Get used to this. I am not a writer. I am a brain dumper.)

It actually all started in first grade with ornery Ms. Johnson. (No wonder the woman was never married. She was brutally mean and entirely uncompassionate. And, incredibly unattractive.)
I vividly remember the day she announced to the class that I was "different". I was sitting in the second row of desks, second desk in from the left. Mark G. turned around to ask me why my mom, who always volunteered at school, didn't look like me at all.

Of course, I knew the answer. "I'm adopted," I proudly and matter-of-factly said. The truth was that was all I knew. Correction: that is all my innocent mind understood about why I didn't look like my family. Kind of like when your mom says, "Just because". I was different "just because" I was adopted. I didn't need anymore elaboration on the matter.

But, when your 75 years old and you obviously hate life and hate the children who represent new life and new dreams even more, you can't possibly let an answer like that slide. And, Ms. Johnson didn't. As a matter of fact, she asked the class for their attention and proceeded to ask Mark and I to repeat ourselves for the class to hear. We did. The class erupted into cacophony of questions, answers, oooohhs, and ahhhhhs.

And then it happened.

She said, "That means that Mrs. Neary is not her real mother. Her real mother gave her up for adoption....blah, blah,blah... She was poor...blah blah blah... couldn't take care of her....blah, blah, blah...left her at an orphanage....". Everything she said or answered after that is all noise in my head. I just don't remember. It struck me so hard and deep that my mother, Mom, wasn't "mine". How could that be? And, how could that horrible, terrible, woman just take that away from me with a few words.

And then I just let go. No, really, I let go. I pee'd all over myself and was sent packing to the nurse's office. (I didn't add this for comic relief. It's true, but it did ease your mind a bit, right?)

To this day, my mother has no idea why I pee'd my pants that day. I told her Ms. Johnson just wouldn't let me leave the room and I had an accident. I just couldn't get the strengtt to ask her if what Ms. Johnson said was true.

I'm about to turn 29. I have had to deal with my "abandonment issues" for quite some time. They have been a great contributor to my self-confidence level let me tell you. Since, first grade I can tell you that I have had a million conversations about being adopted. I am so proud of who I am, my family and I am eternally blessed for the life and friends I have been given. I am an advocate for adoption and I think that anyone who is considering it should absolutely do it.
I will one day myself when I am done being a child.

I think I can finally close this circle or at least duck tape it a bit, by embarking on a search for my mom. For the record, my parents were transparent about my adoption. I am not sure if I didn't know about my whole story because they were too afraid to tell me everything expecting I would start a search as I am now, or if I was just too afraid to ask because I never wanted to hurt them.

Either way, I need to know: Do I look like my mom?, Does she have the same birth mark right above her lip? Does she have short fingernails and did she give me my amazing hair, does she want to hug me as badly as I want to hug her - just once.

I know my mother is my "real" mother. Ms. Johnson took that away from me for moment but nothing can replace a parents love and I wouldn't change my for the world. But, almost all my friends can look at family photos and know "where" they came from. I just want that even if for a second.

$412.00 later, I have begun my search for my mother in Bogota, Colombia. Her name is Dora Ines Villada Cardona. She was 24 when she had me (ancient to be having children in Colombia, by the way - for the most part.) As far as I know, my birth name is Raquel Villada and I was abandoned at FANA (Fundacion para la Asistencia la Ninez Abandonada). For more on FANA info, you can visit here: http://www.acsu.buffalo.edu/~dgthomas/Colombia.htm

I contacted a group in Bogota, http://www.colombianpossibilities.com/, who will be handling my investigation. In the fall, I will be visiting my sister (she moved back to Colombia after she married a gentleman from Medellin). I plan on visiting and volunteering at my orphanage in Bogota and spending some time taking it all in.

This will be my first trip back "home" and I hope you can take the journey with me.