The Fiery Emotional Gamut

Sad, angry, unresponsive, exhausted, anxious, flippant, happy, excited, nervous, disappointed, fearful, betrayed, rejected, peaceful, oversensitive, positive, pissed off, vulnerable, curious, sad, angry...


I have always battled with how honest I should be in this blog because emotions are fleeting. But I've come to realise I can only be me. I am an emotional gamut. I am not a PC robot, no matter how hard I try.


When I first found out about finding my birth mother I was pretty chill. No crying, no shouting from the rooftops. Chilled. I presumed that was normal. The fact that few family members I told looked at me as if expecting something else? Some hidden emotion to well up to the surface. Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zippo skippy.

  It was as if finding your birth mother that you've never known for the last 30 years is an everyday occurrence. I mean, what difference does it make to my life?


When the TV show fell through (read here) I was gutted. After my 'mourning' period, I picked myself up and dusted myself off then made a new/old plan (this blog being the start of the original plan. More on that later...) I was excited at the hope of meeting her and getting to return to Hong Kong after 28 years in New Zealand. Everything was peachy keen jelly bean… until the anxiety crept in.
 It started so subtly I didn't realise until this past weekend. Like a thief in the night. Threatening to take my hope, my peace and my sanity.
  The shock of the news and the hope of a speedy reconciliation had worn off and I was in No-Mans-Land. With no money and no concrete timetable I had no idea what the next step was, or even should be? Wading in open murky waters of possibilities...

My health has taken a hit as of late. I have not been to bed before 2am in almost three months and it's showing. Ear problems, nasal blockages, dermatitis, exhaustion, hives, headaches, never-ending zits and now cold sores (Mm... not) The vain revelation of the grotesque cold sore that continues to spawn slapped me into the truth: I'm not doing so hot.

  There is no handbook (that I know of) on how to deal with finding a birth parent. That is partly why I am adamant about recording this journey. I want everyone to know that I have deeply appreciated my peoples caring ears, thoughtful advice, and well wishes; but in the end I have figured it is better to go through the fire than to sit in it or try to sidestep it in vain.



I have had a revelation that there is a cry within my heart of what could've been, what 'should've been' (I use that term loosely as I still believe that this 'life', is God's plan for me), of what I've missed out on.

Having a daughter of my own has been a trying, and healing, process all rolled into the cute butterball that is Ever. It has brought with it a gamut of questions. In the forefront is always:

How could a mother give up their child?

My love for Ever is so deep it hurts sometimes. She has always been a blessing, a joy and a delight (yes, even when she's being a little minxy-moo) I look into her eyes and know I want to shield her from the pain that I know is inevitable. I want to bring her joy in the small things and the big. I want to watch her discover the world and see the delight on her wee face as she learns something new. I love looking at her and seeing bits and bobs of me and The Hubband. I love knowing that she is mine and I am hers.

This is what makes my heart ache for my own birth mother.

The connection you have with a (birth)mother is tangible. It is as physical as it is emotional. It is spiritual. My body responds when she cries, when she touches me, when she nurses. There is a connection that is beyond the 'mother/daughter' labels of the family tree. It is hard to describe.

 I have felt an overwhelming sense of loss and rejection all my life. I have grieved on and off over the years. Over the separation I have had since my birth, and the two years of isolation in the orphanage. I can never change that or would never want to rewrite history through Ever.

Disclaimer: I don't want anyone to misread my intentions. My family are, and always will be, my whanau. I have shared 28 years of my life with them. I will always be grateful for their love and support and that God chose them to be my family. No contest.

When God slams a door shut...

SLAM! Bam! No thank you, ma'am.

She said, No.

N. O.

Game over. You lost. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. The End. Well, at least that's how it feels right now...


My birth mother, who I haven't seen since my birth, said no to filming her.

I seriously can not believe it. Why? When you know that that was the only way I could get to Hong Kong. After 28 years of being in New Zealand, and 30 years being away from her. Wouldn't she be desperate to see me? To meet Ever and my hubband? To have something on record she can cherish about our first meeting? It's not like she's going to see it on Hong Kong television...

I can't help but feel overwhelmingly rejected at this point.

I understand being filmed is not for everyone. I totally get that it is intrusive, and a little scary. I understand that the language barrier would be hard, and the filming schedule might make things seem a little rehearsed or staged or whatever!? I get that she must have some deep emotional issues surrounding my existence and the subsequent abandonment. I understand there may be family problems and cultural taboos about filming. I understand that she doesn't know how our first meeting may go. Regardless of all these very valid reasons, I. Still. Feel. Rejected.

After abandoning me to an orphanage I trace her down 30 years later. I tell her I don't hold anything against her. That I have found a way to come meet her. Then she rejects all the plans I have put in place to reconcile. All the effort I have gone to to make a way for us to make peace of the situation. Why the heck did I bother trying? I knew that this was a possibility, yet somehow it doesn't take away the pain.

I am just completely gutted.

Does she even realise what she's done? What kind of person could be this blasé about it? It's a big expensive deal crossing continents to meet her. It's not like I can just book a bus ticket to come round for a cup of green tea...

On one hand I feel bad that I am being a jerk about it (not that I have said anything like this to her. I told her I understand...) BUT on the other hand I feel like she owes me?!

It's weird..?

For the record I know she doesn't owe me anything. She doesn't owe me an explanation or a meeting. She doesn't owe me a life story. She doesn't owe me even an email. She literally doesn't owe me anything, and I understand that. But I can't help feeling like she owes me this at least!?

  I know it's irrational and maybe I'm just being a brat cos I'm not getting my own way? Maybe it's because my dream is to be on TV? Maybe cos I'm desperate to tell my story. Maybe it's my selfish desire to travel to Hong Kong. Explore a culture I know nothing about. Or maybe it's because my birth mother has rejected me again...

I'm lost. Where to from here now, God?

#classicSamaFreakOut