People often define me by saying, “He is adopted.” They are wrong. While I was adopted, adoption does not define me, it is merely something that happened to me. Though the experience stands as the greatest hardship of my life, overcoming it gave me and my family the opportunity to cultivate a unique perspective.
When I was a child living in Siberia, my father was away in the army. My mother Zhana would only appear every other day as her life revolved around alcohol and men. Caring for my three younger sisters fell to me. The year I turned five, she disappeared, leaving me abandoned and scared for myself and my sisters. I learned for the first time just how strong I am. I found a job at a lumber yard, which paid pennies, barely allowing us to survive. After four months, we were picked up by social services and brought to a hospital due to malnutrition. My youngest sister was split from us and my other sisters and I were sent to an orphanage. …show more content…
My family did not speak Russian. I did not speak English. Nearly as difficult as scrounging for food, coming to America was the next great challenge. Something as simple as declaring “I’m thirsty” to as profound as asking “What will happen to us now?” was exhausting and seemingly impossible. At first, my new sisters just pointed at the swings on the playground when we went to play. This lady that now took care of us told me “Ya tibya lublu – I love you.” At first, the woman who became my mother gave me paper, and pencils, and crayons, and paint, and I started to draw. My questions went into the paper and came out as
When I was a child living in Siberia, my father was away in the army. My mother Zhana would only appear every other day as her life revolved around alcohol and men. Caring for my three younger sisters fell to me. The year I turned five, she disappeared, leaving me abandoned and scared for myself and my sisters. I learned for the first time just how strong I am. I found a job at a lumber yard, which paid pennies, barely allowing us to survive. After four months, we were picked up by social services and brought to a hospital due to malnutrition. My youngest sister was split from us and my other sisters and I were sent to an orphanage. …show more content…
My family did not speak Russian. I did not speak English. Nearly as difficult as scrounging for food, coming to America was the next great challenge. Something as simple as declaring “I’m thirsty” to as profound as asking “What will happen to us now?” was exhausting and seemingly impossible. At first, my new sisters just pointed at the swings on the playground when we went to play. This lady that now took care of us told me “Ya tibya lublu – I love you.” At first, the woman who became my mother gave me paper, and pencils, and crayons, and paint, and I started to draw. My questions went into the paper and came out as