GRAPHIC BY COLBY MCCASKILL/THE OBSERVER; PHOTOS COURTESY OF HONORAH BROZIO, OLIVIA HANSON, ANNA MORALES, YADAN SHOURD

Brozio finds herself at the intersection of a plethora of identities, although she isn’t alone.

China’s international adoption program opened to the world because of the one-child policy that spanned from 1980 to 2016. This policy disproportionately affected girls and left hundreds of thousands of them orphaned. NBC News reports that over 81,000 Chinese adoptees live in the United States due to the one-child policy. In 2005, my parents traveled to Anhui province so I could become one of these Chinese American girls.

My whole life I’ve been told that I’m lucky — that all Chinese adoptees are lucky. We, the dark-haired, almond-eyed girls who live privileged middle-class lives in the free country of America. It’s easy to look at rural China or think of the one-child policy and think, “You got it good here. What’s there to complain about?”

My roommate, Olivia Hanson, Fordham College at Lincoln Center (FCLC) ’27, Hunan province, happened to be adopted six days before me.

It’s taken almost 20 years for me to feel confident about having any complaints. As much as it was my destiny to end up with two loving parents in a St. Louis brick home, I’ve started to look at the reality of international adoption, the questions we suppress and the faces we only recognize in the mirror. The adoptees I have spoken to feel alienated from our Chinese culture but we don’t wish to reclaim it.

My roommate, Olivia Hanson, Fordham College at Lincoln Center (FCLC) ’27, Hunan province, happened to be adopted six days before me. Our parents traveled the same path and stayed at the same hotel. A few months into the school year, we looked at identical photos of our chubby baby selves, sitting on the same red couch. Hanson was a random roommate, but a friend I am forever bonded with because of the first months of our lives.

Hanson told me, “I haven’t been back to China, and I don’t really have much interest in going at the moment … I didn’t have any other close Asian friends until I came to Fordham.”

When my parents adopted me there were other parents with them. This group adoption method created a shared experience among the parents and gave us “China sisters” — a term Chinese adoptee families use to describe girls adopted at the same time.

I often forget I’m Asian. I like being Asian, but I am so comfortable in my family, my white Midwestern family, that I forget. I forget I was adopted, and the phrase “You’re so lucky” doesn’t ring true. It’s not that I’m offended, it’s more that I want to say, “It just happened. Just like you happened to be born, I happened to be adopted.”

I never give my biological parents a thought. It doesn’t dawn on me that their existence is still playing out. It all makes me feel a little heartless and rude.

Another Fordham adoptee, Anna Morales, FCLC ’27, Hubei province, shared a similar feeling of distance from her adoptee identity. “I guess I don’t ‘forget’ but I hardly think about the fact I am,” she said.

When my parents adopted me there were other parents with them. This group adoption method created a shared experience among the parents and gave us “China sisters” — a term Chinese adoptee families use to describe girls adopted at the same time. I have many China sisters, but we live far apart. Most of the girls I interviewed have China sisters, and it’s a way of holding on to a small piece of culture and shared experience.

Even with science, we don’t know what to believe we’re made of, or what country to feel connected to.

A lack of information is frustrating to adoptees. AnMei Deck, Jiangxi province, is from my hometown of St. Louis. “I am incredibly grateful for the opportunities and loving family I have,” Deck said. “Even if I had more information about my adoption or my birth parents, it wouldn’t change anything about my life. I guess it’s sort of like a blissful ignorance. I can’t be hurt by what I don’t know.”

Similar to Deck, I currently have no desire to look for my biological family. It wouldn’t add value to my life. Yet, after talking to the adoptees, I noticed that we all have a curiosity in where we come from.

Liwei Medina Molino, who resides in the Canary Islands and was adopted from Hunan province, considered taking a DNA test. She said, “I had ordered once. As soon as it arrived I was so scared of taking the test that I returned it. Now I regret it, but still don’t feel ready for the results.” Medina Molino, like many adoptees, wants to know her ethnic background. But overall, adoptees have a small chance of finding family.

But we’re also hesitant. For me, 23andMe was a fun but anticlimactic experience. The website has little data on Asian countries compared to European ones, and my DNA composition has changed from Korean and Chinese, to 100% Chinese. Even with science, we don’t know what to believe we’re made of, or what country to feel connected to.

Medina Molino said, “people used to think that my parents saved me from a horrible future. But the truth is that they don’t know. It is vital that people know the reality adoptees live.” We don’t pull away from our Chinese culture on purpose and our parents are usually upfront about the circumstances of the one-child policy.

My parents don’t withhold my culture. Adoptees simply don’t have access to a lot of information. My mom told me I was adopted at a very young age. My parents didn’t let me grow up thinking I was biologically theirs and they even discussed racism and discrimination with me.

Those connected to China who may someday want to visit may be barred from the country if they did not choose to protect their identity. An anonymous adoptee from Hunan said, “It’s important to not ignore anyone’s adoption. My loved ones are not ashamed of my identity. I love how we can talk about adoption and my adoption history at any time. I believe in chosen loved ones and family.”

I’ve never felt particularly inclined to learn about China. I chose German as my foreign language. I can’t use chopsticks. I can’t Asian squat. I’m a shoes-in-the-house connoisseur. Many of us feel whitewashed and that we act white through our lifestyles. Personally, I’m proudly white-washed. Maybe I have no Chinese cultural pride.

I don’t consider myself “Chinese,” I’m a proud American. Ethnically I might be Chinese, but other than my appearance, my culture is American. That is not to say that I am blind to my country’s flaws and history of discrimination; it’s more that I am proud of my family, friends and the individuality I can express here.

One of Hanson’s China sisters is Sam Weinberg from the Hunan province. “I’m very culturally American,” Weinberg said. “I was raised in a white town … I wouldn’t have likely done great in China … I’m queer and autistic and I don’t see either of those going well, from what little I know about Chinese culture.” Weinberg’s blunt but honest feelings toward living in China are relatable. America has a long way to go before I can say we’re welcoming or accepting, but as someone who has many diverse identities, the thought of living in China doesn’t sound like freedom.

Despite America being far from perfect, it’s the home and culture I love. I wish I could say my distance from China bothered me more, that I craved the culture I have lost. But whatever adoptees lack is paid back 10 times over with the love our parents give us. I don’t see myself as lucky for escaping a different life. I’m lucky because I ended up right where I belong.