Vietnam Adoptee Stories: Identity, Loss and Reconnection
There Are Stories That Can Only Be Written with Tears
When I was a child, I believed I was alone. Alone in not recognizing myself in my name. Alone in not knowing where my face came from. Alone in crying without knowing why, on some nights.
I thought it was a secret. Something shameful. That it was better to smile and say thank you for this “luck.”
And then I met other silences. And their silences resembled mine. Then I understood:
It’s not words we lack. It’s spaces to say them.
This space was created for that.
Here, you will find voices:
Stories sent in the night Shaky videos filmed by hand Podcasts where voices waver Interviews that, for once, don’t simplify anything
And above all: testimonies that don’t try to be beautiful. They just try to be true.
What Is Said Here Doesn’t Make It to TV
You won’t find sugar-coated stories here. No well-crafted success stories. No fake happy endings.
What you will find here is a girl who says:
“I’m afraid to open my adoption file.” A boy whispering: “I came back to Vietnam, and no one was waiting for me.” And sometimes, just an email that says: “Thank you. I cried for the first time in years.”
What I Want You to Understand
This site is not my story. It’s our shared void. The one we carry without words. The one we share in silence.
And this section isn’t to say that I’ve managed to get through it. It’s to say:
“You too can write. You can cry. You can speak.”
Do you want to say something? I’m listening.
You don’t need to write well. You don’t need to understand everything. You don’t even need to sign your name.
Send your testimony. A photo, a letter, a memory. A quiet cry. Or a breath.
Because when you speak, you make others exist.
To Read, To Cry, To Keep
- Letter from a Girl Who Never Dared to Say “Mom”
- Podcast: “I Returned to My Homeland, Alone”
- Interview: “Being Adopted Means Living Between the Lines”