Nicole Chung

This book was very buzzy on my Twitter timeline last year, so I jumped on it when I saw it at the library. All You Can Ever Know is a moving memoir, and I'm thinking about picking up my own copy.

I am not an adoptee. I did grow up in Idaho, however, where I was the only Asian in my grade through elementary school and in middle school, we numbered enough I could count on my hands (a hapa girl, me, a Thai guy, and two Korean adoptees). One of the adoptees was a close friend of mine through high school, and I've always wondered if she was ever curious about her birth family, or ever felt a sense of loss. Our school is a moderate size (~1,000 students), but I recall some microaggressions, mostly from people simply not knowing any Asians but a handful (though honestly I felt stronger discrimination for being non-Mormon). Like child!Nicole, whenever I visit somewhere with an AsAm community like Seattle, I marvel at what it might've been like to see other faces like mine, to potentially have access to language classes etc. though I do have the tether of family we could visit.

It feels personal to me as well because I had an unplanned pregnancy at 21, and my then-BF's parents strongly pressured me to think about adoption as an option- I pictured the nightmare scenario of there only being so many Asian kids in my community and my parents wondering if their grandchild out there, somewhere. In the end, I chose to abort but it really made me realize that I don't think I personally could adopt out, especially if transracial adoptive parents haven't fully figured out how to approach their child's experiences. I know every story is different, but the anguish Nicole felt keeping her feelings to herself in an Oregon town really punched me in the gut.

Weaving in the story of her sister and the joy of building that connection is beautiful. I haven't read many adoption narratives, but this is a good one.… (plus d'informations)

In this memoir Chung describes how her father died from diabetes and kidney disease at age 67; after years of struggling without adequate health care due to poor insurance coverage, and then a few years later, during COVID, her mother died of cancer. Her parents lived in Southern Oregon. Chung was living in DC, with her young family, and not able to be as present and helpful for her parents as she wanted. She describes her grief, her guilt and also her deep love for her parents, especially her mother.… (plus d'informations)

I thought the beginning of this book was quite weak--as Chung describes her childhood growing up as the adopted Korean child of white parents, living in a small Oregon town and attending a very white elementary school, she falls into the white equals blonde trap, which is exhausting. Did she actually live in a town filled with descendants of Scandinavian immigrants? Or is this her own memory focusing on one bully and ascribing his/her characteristics to everyone?

Once she gets past her childhood memories, her storytelling improves immensely and it gets interesting. Her fears and wariness, and then the realization about how deeply she wants to know who she came from--if not just for herself, but for her child. Of doctors appointments and not having answers, of another layer of worry on top of the standard first-pregnancy worries. And then the frustrations, of go-betweens and sealed records. Of finding that the story was not nearly as simple as what she (and her adoptive parents) had been told--but also finding that it was not exactly wrong.… (plus d'informations)