My parents always promised me that one day we would visit my country of birth. This became an important tool for my survival. They had given me a way to survive the trauma of relinquishment by giving me a focus: the possibility to see my home country and perhaps my Indonesian mother in the near future.
When I was 16 my parents asked me if I wanted to search for my Indonesian mother. This was in 1991 and I remember that I was not prepared for that question. I am not sure if my unpreparedness showed but I was trying to act cool and must have answered something like: 'yes why not?"
My father wrote a letter to the orphanage to inform them of our plans to visit and whether it would be possible to find my Indonesian mother. We received an answer that we were most welcome to visit the orphanage and that they would do their best to try to find her. I remember that when we left for Indonesia, they had not yet found her.
When we arrived, we received a warm welcome from Ms Jane and Utari at the orphanage. Meeting them gives me the feeling of livestock being checked for their progress growth. They were happy to hear that I was healthy and doing fine in school. I was relieved that they did not squeeze my arms and cheeks, and fortunately I did not have to show them my teeth.
When my parents raised the topic of my Indonesian mother, they both answered they were able to track her down through their paperwork and that it had not at all been difficult. They told us she remarried and was living in Bandung". Both looked at me with observing eyes trying to check my reaction. I did not know how I felt and kept my emotion to myself. They also added that my biological mother had just lost her youngest daughter and that for her it was a miracle that at the same time she lost a daughter, regained her eldest daughter.
We all agreed to do a bit of sightseeing after returning to Jakarta. Ms Utari would take us to my Indonesian mother in Bandung. I was glad that we did not visit her immediately. I felt numb and was happy to focus on something else for a while.
When we returned to Jakarta we picked up Ms Utari and her daughter. Her daughter would be able to help out as an interpreter. While driving to Bandung, she told me that during my time in the orphanage, we used to play together. I did not know how to react, since I did not recall this. The closer we approached Bandung, the more nervous I got.
I remember when we arrived in Bandung they parked the van next to a busy road. Ms Utari went ahead to warn the family that we had arrived and when they came back, I saw a very slender, tall-looking woman who wrapped both arms around me and hugged me intensely. I immediately noticed her sparkling white teeth but on the other hand, looking at her face, she seemed seriously ill.
She started crying and speaking in the local language that I had to forgive her and that she had to give me up for adoption. It was supposed to be for my own well-being. All this was overwhelming. The woman was kneeling down on her knees and begged me again to forgive her. I did not know what to say but felt highly uncomfortable since the whole neighbourhood was observing this spectacle of an adopted Indonesian girl who appeared to have found her mother.
They brought me to the house of their aunt. Unfortunately, I do not recall why we did not go to her house. I remember entering a house that, in my eyes was not bad at all for someone who was supposed to be poor. The house was painted green and had a living room, kitchen, and bedroom. The living room had a huge television and at our moment of arrival 'Dallas' was on. This was quite a funny contrast, being in a house under somewhat 'poor' circumstances showing on a program that promoted wealth and power.
Sitting in the living room trying to reconnect with my Indonesian mother was really hard when you don't speak the language. I vividly remember my Dutch mother trying to keep the conversation going and asking all these questions about my father and my scars. My Indonesian mother told me that my father had died and that I got my scars from sitting next to the campfire where small hot coal accidentally jumped against my limps and left 3rd-degree burns.
While talking, my Indonesian mother was checking my earring holes. When I got adopted I already had them, but they were densely grown since, at that time, I did not like to wear earrings. I remember she'd taken out her own earring hoops, which were medium-sized, and tried to put them on me with a little bit of force. I let her, though it felt like I got my ear pierced for a second time. When she is finished she said something that I was allowed to keep and that she wanted to show me something in the bedroom. I walked with her, while my adoptive parents stayed in the living room. In the bedroom, she kept talking to me, but I was not able to understand her. She pushed a letter into my hand and an index finger into her mouth while looking at my adoptive parents at the same time. This I understood, she did not want me to tell them. I hid the letter in the pocket of my shorts and walked back to the living room. I did not know what to think about this incident, but my head has overanalyzed this incident for years.
Both my adoptive parents were wonderful during the meeting and like me, emotional. My father proudly filmed everything. I guess he understood the value of imagery since I used to have to remember my past without it.
Both my parents were so grateful for this meeting that they donated my Indonesian mother, a sum of money. I'd never asked them to, but I remember my father telling me that with this amount you can eat for at least a couple of months in Indonesia. It made them feel better, but it was something that I actually would never have thought of. I have never told my Dutch parents I was proud of them for doing this but also for keeping their promise. But I was also happy to depart Bandung and continue our travel through Indonesia.