The Personal Stories of
3 Adoptees

As for here in France, very few people notice that my first name is composed with a hyphen between the French and the Indian. I hate it when people refer to me by my French first name, without making an effort or considering my preferences. Very often, they call me Alma instead of Amla. It’s a little thing, but apart from my physical appearance, it’s one of the only little treasures I have from India. And I’m proud of it, just like my Indian genes.

The older I get, the more I feel Indian. I often have a lot of trouble getting my mind together here in France. Many people seem to live life at full speed, getting excited quickly, whereas I prefer to take my time, observe, listen, and offer assistance. However, I would never take the first step in any relationship, I need to be tamed and I have a lot of difficulty letting someone come into my space.. Quite simply I’m afraid of being abandoned again.

Oddly enough, I didn’t have many problems growing up because my parents always told me the truth about my adoption and the rest of my family always considered me one of their own. It was only as a teenager that I started to have to have an identity crisis. I was in a period of rebellion and deep questioning. That is to say that I did not understand why my biological mother had left me and why she had not left me any information about her. I started writing to her letters, some were nice while others were more poignant in their expression of the state of my heart which I felt was trampled, torn away as if a part of me was missing. At night, I dreamed of her and tried to imagine her physical, human form. Did she like the same things as me? Did she have my qualities and faults? Was she like me?

Many friends brought me back to the story of my adoption, saying, ‘My poor thing, it must be so hard for you not to know your roots…’ asking me to tell my story. I wanted to piss them off at that moment, excuse me for the expression. The worst I could hear was from my class mates who said, ‘So, okay, you were adopted, but your family is not your family.’ When I spoke about my cousins, I was corrected by being told, ‘You have fake cousins!’ This is when you realize that human beings can be cruel and heartless.

I don’t know if you are like me but I hate hearing doctors say to me this phrase “What is your medical history”. I’d love to provide an answer, but as always, I find myself incapable. If only they knew how much I would love to give the answer, but I have always been incapable of it and still am today,

Even today, I panic when someone dear to my heart arrives late. And still have that familiar fear of abandonment. It took me a long time to understand that someone could love and appreciate me for what I am. I seldom open up, especially about personal matters, to avoid potential disappointment and it’s clear that I struggle to form deep connections with people.

I’ve never had a problem engaging in an activity for a year or changing schools, leaving friends behind. Some might consider me cold, but I find it difficult to form deep attachments to others. Perhaps it’s my way of protecting myself from potential pain. The suffering I have endured has forged a strong, resilient character within me, like that of a lioness. It has made me believe that we can face other hardships with greater ease. To me, the most significant experience was being deprived of a mother during the early stages of my life. I’m certain that even at a very young age, we unconsciously intuit this sense of abandonment.”

It wasn’t until I became a mother myself that I began to understand my own mother better and found it in my heart to forgive her. Surprisingly, I used to believe that my past would make me incapable of motherhood. When I had to place my son in foster care, I was overwhelmed by fear.

It brought back the feelings of abandonment that I had experienced as a child. Sending him to nursery school was equally unsettling, as it reminded me of the orphanage. I felt as if I was sending him to a prison, especially since he started the nursery at the same age as I was when I was still in the orphanage. These memories of confinement and enclosed spaces haunted me. I was afraid for him, but ultimately, it was my own fears that resurfaced.

Then, one winter day just before Christmas, I decided to confront this fear. I wanted to take control of my destiny and be able to answer my child’s questions about India. Children have a unique way of motivating us to overcome our limitations. To be honest, if it wasn’t for my son, I’m not sure I would have been able to begin understanding my mother or undertaking this research. Knowing myself, I might have buried these feelings deep within, like a hidden treasure.

I come back to that December day when it was cold outside and the Christmas magic was in full swing outside. Don’t wonder what was going through my mind that day, I sat down in front of my PC with a good hot chocolate and tried to look at the information I could find based on my first name and year of birth… I specifies that I had already written to the Sisters to try to find out more about my story and through my association but my hopes remained in vain. It was quite natural that I asked the administrator of my orphanage group if he knew someone who could help me, understand my approach and who was human enough to take part in my questions and uncertainties.

I look back to that chilly December day when the Christmas magic enveloped the world outside. I remember the thoughts running through my mind as I sat down in front of my PC with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, determined to uncover any information available using my first name and year of birth. I should mention that I had previously reached out to the Sisters and my adoption association in my quest for more information, but my hopes had been met with disappointment. “I look back to that chilly December day when the Christmas magic enveloped the world outside. I remember the thoughts running through my mind as I sat down in front of my PC with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, determined to uncover any information available using my first name and year of birth.

I should mention that I had previously reached out to the Sisters and my adoption association in my quest for more information, but my hopes had been met with disappointment. Naturally, I turned to the administrator of my orphanage group. I asked if he knew anyone who could assist me, someone who could empathize with my quest, and who possessed the humanity to address my questions and uncertainties.

This is where I first heard about Arun and his association. At first I thought it was a dream, I had been told so many times that it was impossible to find these parents in a country like India. In short, I didn’t dare look at the FB post straight away because the pressure had to go down. I took the time to explore the group, its information, and the cases Arun had previously resolved. To my astonishment, within just a week of joining the group, I stumbled upon a successfully resolved case involving someone of my age from the same orphanage.

Destiny is curious sometimes. I also discovered all these notions of child trafficking that I wasn’t really aware of. It was a real blow to me. A lot of elements came together and I felt I was ready to take the plunge, contacted Arun and Anjali., and put my destiny in their hands.People with beautiful souls who understand you because they’ve endured similar wounds, and you know that they’ll always be there if you need them.

I rarely discussed my research because when I did share it with some family members, they labeled me as crazy and suggested that I should consider seeing a psychologist instead. I don’t hide the fact that doing the research is not always a very relaxing journey; I breathe and inhale often. I go through moments of doubts, despair, fears and joys. In the end I find strength from the understanding that everything passes and I always tell myself that behind the shadows the light shines.

It may be stupid but in this group I feel that we all understand each other and that we are all from the same family, probably because we have a similar common past and above all we are not judged. Thank you Arun & Anjali for your beautiful souls, your support and hard work knowing that it is not always easy for you. I will never have enough words to thank you. Never change a winning team ! Thank you also to the Cribs for being there and sharing your experiences which I always read with great joy and emotion. Thank you to all of you! Never forget that to know where you are going you have to know where you come from… Never give up!

In conclusion, I think that we never really heal from adoption, it is a very big scar with which we must live daily and continue to move forward despite everything and try to make this wound a strength. Thanks to this I matured very quickly and built strength of character. Ultimately adoption is a bit like Bollywood! A great epic that can make us go from laughter to tears and back again!