When I was nine months old, I came to the Netherlands from Colombia. To this day, I have no idea where I lived for the first nine months of my life or who my biological family is.
I never made a point of this, although it was confronting when I realized my daughter Yael and later my son Jonah were nine months old themselves. My mother came to get me in Colombia, which I still think is a callous action of her. She and my father waited for my arrival for many years. She first held me in her arms and immediately felt: “This is my child.”
She first held me in her arms and immediately felt: “This is my child.”
Chiara
In my head and in my heart, I knew: My mother is my mother. And my father was my father; unfortunately, he passed away a few years ago. After living with my parents for a year and a half, I got a sister, also adopted from Colombia but not my biological sister. She instantly felt like my blood sister. And my best friend. Even though we all look entirely different. And we all have four completely different characters; we are a family, and we love each other very much.
I married my best friend Reinier many years after and became a mother of two children who looked like me. A dream came true. Finally, I looked into eyes that resembled mine. The same straight long lashes, the same wide nose, straight hair, chubby cheeks. They have the same flat face profile and slightly arched back. The same flexible toes and the same explosive, energetic character with the same loud, enthusiastic voice.
Having children of my own did something to my self-image. Suddenly there was recognition that made me feel less lonesome. As an adopted Colombian, I felt different from the Dutch children around me all those years. Logical because they looked different. When I had my children, I noticed that I started walking differently, more relaxed in the street. I was no longer alone but with one or two of my children, who looked just like me and oozed the same vibe. We were a tribe together.
