Bagsy
My new passport
Not sorry for today’s angsty post; writing helps.
Every year my opinion on adoption becomes more nuanced in both a general and personal sense. The time feels right to touch on the latter, as the former warrants a separate blog post, and this time of year always reminds me what I have lost. 2021 is no different. However, I did gain something this year: my new Russian passport.
A few months ago I described my passport appointment at the Russian consulate in Washington D.C. I am pleased to write that I have not been able to take my eyes off of this new passport since it arrived a couple days ago. What a nice Christmas gift, sort of from myself. Part of me still cannot believe I successfully went there all by myself and prevailed. My heart skipped a beat when I came home on Tuesday and found the same USPS priority mail envelope I had given to the employee who patiently tolerated my poor Russian only months ago. I still admire a new detail every time I flip through the passport.
So, now I have three passports as shown here in the order I received them:
As exciting as the prospect may be, this new passport represents more than a gateway to my birth country. For me it is a sense of control. I still have identity issues and don’t feel like I belong in either country, but now I hold the reins.
It all started in early 2020 when I started learning Russian and started the process to confirm my Russian citizenship. I previously wrote about my struggles with chance – how I feel plucked from one country and thrown into another. Why was I chosen to be in my current position and not someone else? Why did I lose my birth culture and language? I had no say. But now I do.
My USSR passport expired almost twenty years ago, but I did not renew it when I was much younger because I know my adoptive parents would have never been able to help me. They would have scowled at even the idea of this. This is one reason why I still harbor so much resentment. All of these parts of me were so apparent yet locked away, the key never mentioned.
I hate that I was supposed to pretend that I fit in with my mother’s Italian family just because I was white like them, my background purged as if it did not matter. I hate that my mom scorned my attempts to find biological family members. I hate that I felt so uncomfortable as a child discussing my adoption that I can count the number of times on one hand that I decided to open up, which I almost always regretted.
Do I support adoption? No. Am I glad I ended up with my life? Yes. How do I reconcile these feelings? Should I?
I have a lot going for me in life. I feel that I benefit other peoples' lives in some ways; I might like to have myself as a friend. But I confess that I am not sure I would choose myself to live my life. Aside from my poor sense of belonging, adoption has fucked me up in a couple ways, gifting me issues with self-worth and abandonment that I often conceal with cold rationality. I often feel like things happen to me, even if much of my recent life events suggest otherwise. I know it is not a good way to live like this.
My parents divorced in early 2020 after I caught my mom cheating on my dad with a Twitter fling. Truth be told, their marriage and my relationships with my parents, namely my mom, were far from happy for years before that. I only recently realized that our family dynamic was not normal in the slightest. I sometimes wonder if it is I who uprooted their lives again, as if this were a second rejection, the first one coming from my biological parents. I more or less cut contact with my mom shortly after the fiasco, and this is the first time she has not even bothered trying to wish me a happy holidays. It is the right thing for my mental health, as I am too angry to even try making peace with her.
I realized last year that if no one will feel like a parent to me, then I have to be my own. And that is how this whole process – learning the language, getting the passport, and eventually taking the trip back to Russia – feels. I am reparenting myself. It is helping me turn the dreaded pain I usually feel around this time of year, Christmas and my birthday, into something more positive and in my control. I feel like less of a Russian “imposter” and readier than ever to explore something so foreign yet so close to me, despite the shaky relations between the two countries playing tug-of-war with my sense of self.
For now I am admiring my passport, still improving my Russian, and, importantly, waiting for the pandemic to (ever) subside before I think about visiting Russia. No problem, as I have already waited long enough to start reconnecting. What’s another year?
Immensely grateful to the woman who helped me get my new Russian passport. I thanked her, and she wrote me the sweetest message in return:
Congratulations darling! Be safe and start dreaming of the new year and new adventures sometime soon in Russia! If you need anything let me know. My husband and I will always be happy to support you and encourage you to continue with what you want and learning and growing and experiencing life as you want to and not as some other may dictate. Happy New Years! Dream big!