Issue 61: "An Abnormal Case" by Jenna Lee Kim

Immigrant Hustle: A Monthly Mini Memoir

Heeey KP!

I’m always excited to introduce the beautiful people behind our Mini Memoir features... and this week is no exception. Please welcome Jenna Lee Kim! I found Jenna on Substack a while ago and just loved reading about her experiences living on Jeju Island — as well as her musings on identity and belonging as a Komerican transracial adoptee.

In mid-March, I asked Jenna if she might share a story with us, and she chose this mini memoir detailing the moment she found out about the recovery of her “lost” adoption records. And the existence of her birth father. And how a single phone call from Holt Adoption Services would change the trajectory of her life.

Adding drama to an already dramatic story, Jenna shared this story with me right before the international news reported on the widespread South Korean adoption fraud that created a virtual industry out of myriad human rights violations. Having just met and read Jenna’s story, I felt the synchronicity in sharing her memoir right now, the importance of reparations and healing, and the compassionate validation that our Korean adoptee community deserves.

I invite you to read Jenna’s memoir with the potential for generational healing and connection that our Korean diaspora needs, along with an appreciation of the depth and breadth of our individual stories.

P.S. If you’re in NYC… you can snag a spot at the hottest Komerican restaurant Golden HOF AND support Komerican artists at the same time! Our friends at KAAC are hosting a group art show and celebrating with a delicious meet-and-greet party on Saturday, May 17th. More details below and on Resy where you can get your tickets!

“An Abnormal Case” by Jenna Lee Kim

Jenna Lee Kim is an American, transracial Korean adoptee living on Jeju Island, Korea. In the country of her birth, she explores belonging and the intersectional identities of others. Through community engagement and storytelling, she aims to amplify the experiences of others, foster connections, and empower adoptees navigating their journeys of discovery and truth seeking. No one travels this journey alone. Her retreat, Rejuvenate on Jeju with Jenna, provides Koreans returning to Korea with a personalized day of reflection and renewal.

Previously, Jenna served as the first female mayor of Royersford, PA (2018–2023), worked in higher education for a decade, and holds an M.S. in education from Bucknell University and a writing degree from Susquehanna University. She offers virtual workshops, 1:1 advising for transracial adoptees or their parents, and speaking engagements on intercountry adoption and identity. Follow Jenna on Substack and IG @mayor.jenna.explores.

The day after Valentine’s Day, 2022, I was watching Curious George with my husband, 5 year old son, and 18 month old daughter. It was our pre-bedtime ritual for several years. I still miss the soothing tones of the narrator’s voice on that show.

When my phone rang, I looked at it skeptically. Accusingly. Who would be calling at 8:00 p.m.? Bedtime. Actually, who would be calling, period?

With a few minutes left of the episode, I swiped and tapped the screen a few times to find my buried voicemail icon. “Hi, Jenna. This is Steve from Holt International Post Adoption Services…”

“Holt just called me,” I said, as if to see how the words would feel on my tongue.

Without looking up from his phone, legs fully reclined in his spot, Dave responded, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I didn’t move, aware of my heart beating in my ears.

The minutes ticked by. With no particular thoughts forming, my brain began to roll over inside of my skull, creating friction in slow motion. Embers were being lit. A fire was starting.

With no sense of urgency or change in mood from the other side of the couch, there was no offer to excuse me, nor did it cross my mind to ask if I could duck out of the bedtime routine. Just this once. During this one extraordinary circumstance of my adoption agency calling me on the phone after office hours.

Instead, when George disappeared from the screen, I stood as usual to pick up our baby girl from her spot on the couch so we could rock and read in the corner of the nursery before placing her in her crib after she’d fallen asleep.

Saying a silent word of thanks to the gods of children that they fell asleep so quickly, I closed the door to my son’s room after kissing him goodnight and pulled out my phone, calling the number as I walked the few steps down the hall to our bedroom.

Sitting on the bed, watching my reflection in the mirror across from me, there was no answer.

What was I going to do if I had to wait until the next day to know what the call was about?

My phone rang.

“Steve, hi!” I said brightly. I’d already saved his name and number in my phone.

“Hi, Jenna!” he said. “How are you?”

“I’m so glad you called me back. Thank you.”

The relief I felt hearing his voice was like a tranquilizer to my brain. The fire that had been building was temporarily snuffed out as I tried to concentrate.

Steve’s voice was ripe with notes of enthusiasm meant to put me at ease.

He spoke so deliberately that his words hit my ear like a clunky haiku.

“I called because I… have information. I don’t… always call with news.” He paused again.

“They call me in when there’s an abnormal case.”

My heart jolted.

Abnormal case?

My imagination began to flip like a rolodex, turning over at a rapid pace, each thought smacking against another without any time to fully process or react to each one.

Maybe I was an empress. Did Korea have empresses? Maybe I was the long lost daughter of an infamous gangster. Did Korea have gangsters?

When you’re a transnational adoptee, you’re never told about the possibility that there could be additional information “out there” about your life before adoption. If your parents are organized, sentimental, thoughtful, or all three, you’ll have a few pages of sparse records outlining your general temperament upon intake at the baby home or agency, the story behind your relinquishment, and maybe a few extra notes about your birth family.

I had mine. My mom (organized, sentimental, and thoughtful) also displayed a little wallet-sized black and white picture of me when I was a baby in a gold frame on her dresser. A white, worn and mis-shapen shirt falling off of my shoulders, resting on my diaper. I’m sitting there at roughly 7 months old looking at the camera with a blank expression of confusion and apathy.

There’s another picture in my files. It’s the one that I refer to as my baby mug shot. Many of us adoptees have this picture. Each of them includes a tiny, white sign with a name and a birth date. I was Baby K84 -2369. Korea, 1984, baby number 2,369 to be taken into custody by Holt adoption agency in Korea that year.

I’ve looked at this picture a hundred times over the years. Never did I think about how the method of tracking our availability and distribution was like a well-oiled machine by the start of the 1980s, that families were matched by the order of when the baby arrived in custody. That I wasn’t chosen so much as conveniently arrived when the application and home study for my parents was approved. That my serial number was likely tracking my process through the system more than my name.

Steve was still making small talk.

I still had no idea what this was all about.

“Why are we making small talk, Steve?! Why did you call?”

But, I didn’t say this. Instead, I answered his questions politely.

Finally, he shifted, seemingly satisfied that we had established a trusting foundation to move forward.

“So, Holt Korea did a little digging at the reception center where you were originally relinquished and they found some information…

Reception center where you were originally relinquished… the phrase repeated in my brain after he said it.

“... I’m just going to read it to you and then I’ll forward it in an email when we’re done, so you don’t have to take any notes or write anything down.”

It was as if he knew me.

Steve read slowly and clearly, pausing after certain sentences.

I listened closely and concentrated on the foreign sounds rolling so easily off of his tongue but landing like lead in my ears.

Mokpo. Gongsaeng won. Birth father. Records.

Records that were never sent to my adoption agency and therefore, never sent to me or my parents. Records that had to be tracked down by a social worker in Korea who took the time to contact the baby home - which still exists - who employed someone who took the time to look up my file - which still exists - all of which made it back to Holt in Oregon and Steve.

Steve, who picked up the phone to call me that night.

And within about 8 minutes, at almost 40 years old, I learned that:

a.) It was possible that more information was out there

b.) It had always been out there, if only someone had told me it was a possibility

c.) I have a birth father

d.) Who’s alive

e.) And probably wants to meet me.

The bottom fell out. And like the foundation for anything in life, it changed everything that was built upon it.

And I would never be the same.

At a certain point, we were back to making small talk, and I understood Steve had no more information to share. And yet, I kept pulling on the fishing line of our conversation. Perhaps the longer I kept him on the phone, the more answers I would catch. Answers. Answers to questions I didn’t yet have.

I sensed I was running out of time.

Soon, this phone call would be over and the conversation and all of its information would hang in the air of my bedroom like an ellipsis. I didn’t yet have proof that it had even occurred.

“Steve,” I said.

“Mmhm?”

“Why is this an ‘abnormal’ case?”

“Oh!” Steve replied. I could actually hear him reflecting in his brain about the word and why he had used it.

“It’s abnormal because, typically, we don’t find out any information.”

A Dollop of Fun: Come Celebrate Komerican Art and Food with KAAC x Golden HOF in NYC!

Our friends at Korean American Artist Collective are hosting a group art show with members' art featured at one of the hottest Komerican spots in NYC these days - Golden HOF and NY Kimchi at Rockefeller Center. Join the fun on Saturday, May 17th and indulge in the best K food and K art at this delicious meet-and-greet party. Get your tickets ($35) and learn more about this special event on Resy!