Dear Biological Parent,

Are you dead? Sorry if that sounds mean and alarmingly straight forward, but are you? If so, how long have you been dead? Do you think that I'm dead? Either way, we are both basically dead to each other. And that's another version of being dead, right? If we don't exist in each other's lives, then don't you just consider me to be dead? This may hurt, but I consider you to be dead, even though you may or may not be.

Is my birthday even my real birthday? The most I know about you is that you left me on the street in front of a fire station, on what was assumed to be the day I was born. Was it really the day I was born? Did you try to be my mother for a day but then realized you couldn't? As a mother, did you place your little baby in her arms the day she was born like I know all my friends's biological mothers did?

Did you think I wouldn't remember the day you gave me up? Because, you are right, I do not. But sometimes I like to picture it. I like to picture how the streets looked that day. I like to picture what your face looked like that day. My mental image of your face goes one of two ways: relief or distraught. I know these are both two very different reactions, and a part of me doesn't even want to know which one is correct. Maybe neither of them are correct. But then again, with you, I'm living my life through "maybes."

I used to not give a damn about the fact that you abandoned me. When I was in elementary school, I used to make up this story to my friends and myself about what my eight months without you in China was like.

It was actually a pretty dramatic one, where my own mother leaves me behind and I was living off carrots in an orphanage (no idea why I thought of carrots). I liked how my friends would give me sympathy when I told all these make-believe tales, because it helped me not care about the fact that you left. But eleven years later, the stories had grown old, just like I had. And you know what happened? I started to care. And you don't know how badly that sucks.

Ever since I was in seventh grade, I would care too much about the littlest things. As much as I wish I can say that this has changed, it hasn't. Whenever a friend no longer became apart of my life, I would always think it was my fault. Even if a friend and I just simply grew apart, I would still manage to find a way to blame myself.

I thought that's just who I was, or that it was the result of watching too much television. However, when I started putting two and two together, I realized that being abandoned has had an emotional effect on me. So much of an emotional effect, that I've been blinded from this truth. All my adopted friends were in hospitals for the first time they opened their eyes, at least what I know of, just like normal babies.

Why couldn't you let me be like a normal baby? Maybe you couldn't afford it, so I shouldn't be asking you something like this. Or maybe you just didn't care, and I have every right to be asking something again. Sorry I keep going on and on with these "maybes." But one thing I can definitely say is that I am angry at myself because of you. I'm angry at myself for thinking of you, and I'm angry at you for having such of an emotional effect on me, that I spend at least five minutes a day thinking of you. This anger has made me feel guilty for even thinking of you when I have the best life that I could ever get, which I know I have you to thank for.

I have a stable family with two parents and an adopted sister. I have more than a "stable" family, I have the best family that has given me all the love in the world and all the opportunities I could ask for. I also have the best friends I could possibly ask for. But I can't say if I want to meet you or not because I genuinely don't know if I would be able to handle something like that. However, I can say that I thank you, that you didn't hurt me, and that this letter isn't me trying to be mean; it's just every uncontrollable thought that's occurred in my mind. I could tell you more about my life, but I've already said too much. You can look in the cover photo to see me in my mom's arms, who I know is even more thankful for you than I am.

Sincerely,

Your biological and unfamiliar named child, Amber Raiken