The Home I found

I wrote this story to reflect on my adoption journey. It is filled with so many different emotions.

• Biographies

								
At the age of six, being aboard an airplane and witnessing the world you knew gradually disappear is unnerving. When you find yourself gasping for air and desperately seeking comfort, it can become daunting as your only source of solace is your younger sibling. His bewildered eyes filled with confusion. How does one comfort a frightened three-year-old when the reality is; that the plane will never return to the place we once called home? How do you console him when you, too, are terrified?
	As I reminisce, I can vividly remember staring through the window savoring the final glimpses of my motherland. The terrain that both shattered me but also taught me to be resilient. The land that deprived me of my youth and reaped me of my innocence. But in my new home, it will finally fill the damage it inflicted on me. 
	I lay my head on my mother's shoulder. I appreciate the gracefulness of her even and fair skin tone, which sharply differs from my own darker complexion. Despite being from different worlds, fate has brought us together at this very moment.
I remember the first time I met my parents so vividly as if it were yesterday. Their faces were wide with smiles as we locked eyes. My mother was the first to speak up. She spoke rapidly and her words were incomprehensible to me. Despite being forced to learn English at an early age, I found myself incapable of effectively communicating with her. All I knew at that moment was they were my parents. 
The adoption journey was time-consuming and difficult. I was asked numerous questions, and each time we went to court the same words were drilled into my head. I still didn't apprehend what was happening, and my younger brother was much more perplexed. He only spoke Ugandan, so I had to translate for everyone. 
My parents and I grew closer over time, and it felt like I'd known them my whole life. I can't even remember the first time I called them Mom and Dad because for me they were my first parents.
On that plane, I wasn’t scared that I was alone. I was scared for what was to come. In my mind, I had this idyllic idea of America. The world that would feed the hunger I had endured as a child. The country that would heal the wounds that had formed on my feet from having to walk barefoot for hours to find water. America had been the dream of millions but yet for me, it was able to come true.
	As we descended from the plane and exited the airport, I noticed a sign that read, “Welcome Home Maria and Henry.” I noticed pleasant faces smiling and waving toward us. These new people became my new family. As I hugged my father all of my nervousness disappeared in an instant. For the first time, I felt wanted. A sentiment that did not exist in my childhood. These people were not biological, but they were family to me. My parents taught me that family is not just blood but the people who stay and care for you. Those who are willing to make sacrifices and who would do anything to protect you. Because of them I felt loved for the first time in my life and never have they made me wonder if I was enough. 
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