Who Am I?

My identity is a fluid thing; everyone's can be, I suppose. But who I am has really been evolving since the first meiotic division. While papers were signed, I existed almost as a litter of puppies in a breeder's house, awaiting a different family. As a baby, I was--as far as I can remember--unaware of my circumstances, as most babies would be.

I don't recall any sort of change in this perception, either, though I know there was one. I grew up in a home of different blood types, fictitious origins, and an odd sense of belonging. I had blue eyes and blonde hair and looked like maybe I really was their child. But I wasn't.

There's a strange cliché about adopted kids, which is perhaps deserved. Clichés have origins, too. So--adopted kids: they're all freaks with deformations, disabilities, or weird mannerisms. Unwanted baby girls, pregnant teens' offspring, and the like. Was it even possible for an adopted kid to be...dare I say...normal? So maybe that's why I told few people about my being adopted. Why bother if no one could even tell, let alone understand?

But it's become such an important part of who I am, and ironically this "fickleness" of identity has really fostered a defined sense of being. Being their child, I live in California. I play three instruments. I love nature, music, writing, and art. They could afford music lessons, K-12 private school tuition, and be sponsors of all my artistic endeavors, from canvases to a Canon GL2. During my entire childhood, they respected me, and subtly but powerfully eased me along. They've put up with my stubbornness and strong opinions, including my resistance to leaving diapers until I was four. They've left me open to the world, free to think for myself, free to act, free to dream. My parents have always done everything for me. For that genetic stranger, for that baby that wasn't theirs.

I am theirs. Maybe we don't think alike or even understand each other, but name one teenager who does. I am in love with music. I spend time searching for songs with poignant lyrics; my dad grew up singing "I want a new truck" to the song "I want a new drug." I love to sing; so does he, but his singing thankfully only exists in the shower. I don't like long lines; my parents are the most patient people I know. I am easily frustrated by mathematical identities; my mom jumps at the opportunity of solving "puzzles."

Yet despite these minor clashes, I don't think a child could ever belong more. Though in some respects my parents and I are total opposites, there seems to be a sort of complementary piece to the puzzle. My mom and I enjoy putting a joint effort into New York Times crosswords, we both sob during sad movies, and we support "classic" fashion--though this last one has materialized a little more slowly (in retrospect, I'm quite thankful that in 7th grade she refused to buy me the pink and green bikini that proudly proclaimed, "Juicy" on the rear). My dad and I are both able to fall sleep quickly when need be, though he's still more of a pro than I am. We are both morning people, and we both could care less about cars (boats are more our thing).

Though I may belong in a generation closer to theirs than to my own, who I am is a product of who they are. Their beliefs and parenting have influenced me--not bounded me. I'm sure it could have happened with any family I could have had, and of course I'll never really know. But I feel such a strong, intentional sense of purpose in my life that I can't believe that it was just coincidence. After all, everything happens for a reason.