My adoption didn’t make me less Korean

OR THE PAST YEAR, AND ESPECIALLY SINCE THE devastating Atlanta-area murders on March 16, many of my Asian American friends have been sharing deeply personal, painful stories of talking with their parents and elders, pleading with them to take care, being exhorted to be careful in turn. As an adoptee, I don’t really have Asian elders in my family—or many elders at all, since the deaths of my father, grandmother and mother. Yet I’ve found myself wondering: If my adoptive parents were alive, witnessing the spike in anti-Asian racism and violence in the U.S. and around the world—with Asian women the most common targets—would they be concerned about me? Would they understand why I cried when I told my own Korean American daughters about the spa shootings? Would I have reached out to them during