"An-Ya and her Diary" is a fiction novel that is composed of several short stories written as a diary. The author, Diane Rene Christian , is an award-winning short story author and adoptive mother. " An-Ya and her Diary " captures the thoughts of a 10-year-old Chinese-American adoptee about her life in an orphanage, her surrender by her Chinese mother, her adoption, and her adjustment to life in the U.S. An-Ya was found as a baby inside a box with only a red journal and her name. Her journal became her beloved companion. An-Ya's blank, red diary was a symbol of the mother she could not remember. While An-Ya writes each entry to her journal, "Penny," her first mother is the subconscious addressee of each note. An-Ya writes to preserve her past that connects her with her mother and her present reality which her first mother can't share with her.
Showing posts from August, 2012
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I never connected much with the concept of "birth" or being "born" when I was growing up. Of course, I knew I had a birth, but to me it was an abstract concept that I could not concretize because I didn't know anything about it. For a very long time, I considered adoption to be the dawn of my existence on this earth. While I couldn't remember my adoption either, it was a real event to me because my parents, who were there, could tell me about it. My friends' birth stories would perplex me as a child. As my friend's mothers got pregnant and had babies, my friends would ask about their own births. My best childhood friend's parents had pictures of her in the delivery room framed and on proud display in their living room. When I looked at those pictures, I wondered what made birth so important? I didn't think it was important. I had never seen a picture of me at younger than five months of age nor did I know anything about my birth.
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The Dress. My hand paused over the "Enter" key after I typed my response on to my adoptive mom's comment on a picture of me wearing a certain dress, on Facebook. This dress is the subject of an inside joke between us. I didn't want to buy the thing at first, but my mom somehow managed to triumph over my stubbornness and convinced me to get it. She finds it humorous that it is now one of my favorites. I jokingly grumbled back to her in type, "You love it because you picked it out, mom!" This simple interaction is in fact more complicated than you can imagine. This is because she's not my only mom, though she was supposed to be, and I share times with her that I don't share with my other mother--and vice-versa. As integrated and friendly as my families are with each other, especially despite the distance between them, adoption is still a tough topic. Whether it be on Facebook or any other method of communication, letting my families know w