It feels like I have been in this room before. It feels like I am stuck in this room in my dreams. A room full of sadness where crying children are brought to cry some more. Shelves line the walls full of their memories, their recorded logs of displacement and attempted replacement of what has been lost for them. The room is furnished with a large desk of authority against the far wall with a couple wooden chairs that were never built for comfort facing it. I hate this room.

My eyes wander in sadness and search for an escape from what I have just heard.

The last time I was here I was crying my heart out as I struggled to know what was going on. I know this to be true even if I don’t have the memory still. Something inside me tells me there are cries still leftover inside from that experience, from that day. Those screams seek now to join the rest of the surrounding depression this room has known, a feeling I can feel like painted sadness on a wall. It is an overwhelming pressure that squeezes my saddened heart and makes me want to erupt from my chair and run, never looking back. I knew I shouldn’t have come here.

I see a window and look out onto a busy Pusan street, a street I can’t remember walking as a child. Cars whisk by and a Korea from my dreams becomes a moving reality before my eyes.

It feels almost like a movie, but the sights and sounds are as real as the pain I am feeling right now. This pressure around my heart that makes it want to burst.

The window frames the picture of the city of my birth and begins to age with the clouds of my depression until the screen looks like an old fashioned television show.

And then I see her. I don’t know why my eyes are drawn to her, but I notice a woman walking quickly down the street holding the hands of two young children behind her. She looks so familiar, like the glimpse of a memory I can’t remember, and I know that I know her and yet I don’t. The older of the two kids, a young girl, looks around obviously confused by the early morning adventure into the city. She is too far away for me to make out her face and I feel suddenly frustrated by my lack of view, I feel like I must see her. Behind her struggling to keep up with the group is her younger brother.

The mother has a face of determination as she marches by purposefully with a need to see the deed done, whatever deed that may be. Again I have this haunting suspicion that I know this woman as she passes further from my view. I keep watching as the young boy turns his head quickly and shoots a furtive glance in my direction. Our eyes meet and I look at myself in the mirror until he turns away to find his mother suddenly stopped in front of a building.

I can tell they stand in front of a sleeping police station that hasn’t started protecting people yet. The mother seems to gather herself for a second before gathering her family around her. She gently pulls the two children closer in and hugs them while saying words I obviously cannot hear, but somehow I know them in my heart. I can tell she is trying to make the moment last a lifetime that can’t last forever as she abruptly pushes the children away with some last words given forcefully towards the eldest daughter, before quickly walking away. She doesn’t look back, I wait for her to turn back. The children instantly look scared and confused as all they know walks away. I can almost hear their cries and the sorrow of the moment brings me back to my moment and the sorrow that waits for me.



Chapter 1

I look down through my tears at a trail of tears leading to a photo. My sorrow draws a line from the photo towards the one taped above it. I hear the words again that have impacted me so, that have made me want to flee.

He says that this photo above yours is a picture of your biological sister. Apparently your mother left both of you on a street in front of a police station. After the officers brought you here your mother apparently had a change of heart and came to retrieve just your sister. I am sorry you had to find out this way.”

They are words that will replay over and over in my mind as long as I have a mind to play memories in. My Korean translator was as kind as you can be while shattering the only world I knew. I was eighteen years old and about to go off to college after the summer was over and what was supposed to be a fun vacation touring my motherland had just changed into a life altering trip. I felt like everything I had known about myself had suddenly been erased as these strangers began to tell me about myself.

As an adoptee you often find your life is held between the sleeves of a manila folder. As long as you know what that folder contains your life is less of a mystery and more just different. It is when missing pieces of a puzzle you never knew was missing pieces begin to show up that you find your course in life altered. I thought I knew everything there was to know about myself and my life because I had read that folder and knew what it said. I never imagined how much a single line could mean to me.

I had family out there. Real people. Not the family of your imagination or the family you would stubbornly conceive mentally because every adoptee has done that. I had proof that two people existed that were physically related to me and I finally had an answer to why I was adopted, but it only brought more questions. It brought another feeling, a feeling I was fighting to be fair. Why did I suddenly feel so angry? Maybe she couldn’t have taken care of two children and my sister was older. Did that matter to me? I wasn’t sure exactly how I felt, but I couldn’t deny the growing feeling inside.

My thoughts were interrupted by a gentle hand on my shoulder. A reminder once again that I was sitting in the office at the orphanage I had been adopted from when I was three years old. The starting place of my journey in life until this revelation which know showed that path to the past was much longer for me than I had previously known.

The director of the orphanage placed a second book in front of the eyes I only wished to shut them. As he flipped through the pages I could tell, even though it was written in hangul, that it was some type of guest log from the numbers and what looked like addresses with them. He finally arrived at the page he was seeking and dragged his finger until he reached a box near the middle of the page.

“This your mother’s entry when she signed out for your sister. Her name is Kim Ie Soo and she listed her address as well which is procedure for signing out a child.”

The words “she listed her address as well” instantly stood out to me and I starred at her name. I said her name to myself, not daring to speak, and I instantly wondered if she was still living there with my sister. Was it really that simple? Could I find the answer to my personal mystery within a few moments of discovering it existed? The hope must have shown on my face because the director paused before hurriedly speaking again in broken English.

I can take you there.”

He then turned to my translator who worked for the motherland tour I was on and quickly had a conversation with him in Korean.

I hesitated. I didn’t know what to do. It is a hesitation that ended up meaning the world to me even though I didn’t know it at the time, and it is an action I will regret for the rest of my life. In that small window of doubt my tour guide quickly climbed through and took control of the situation before I knew what to say.

He shook his head for the both of us as he explained that “that isn’t the way it is done through the organization” and that we would need to return to the rest of the group and discuss the matter with the director.



Life is a blur when you don’t give a shit.




Rage — HarsH ReaLiTy

I think we all have definitely been that guy! It happens and is what they call this so called life. Thanks for sharing the link on! -OM
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Live Free 2 Sail Fast

Although this is a re-blog from the Harsh Reality/Opinionated Man Website, I need to preface with the fact that I’ve screwed up a few times and have no excuses.  Four years ago at a New Years Party with my family that was hosted by my Best Man,,,, I drank too much and lost control.  I blacked out,,,and the nightmare scenario of PTSD came out.  I lost control and don’t remember to this day what happened or what I said.  When I woke the next morning, my best friend and best man told me I had said horrible things to someone and I slinked out as quickly as I could, the family in tow.  Since then, I’ve seen him and his wife exactly once.  We’ve talked several times and I apologized profusely several times.  But this doesn’t mend the damage or fix the bridges that I broke.  But, the friendship must…

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Meet and Greets

I think meet and greets are great and there are many types of them out there. Some bloggers run weekly or monthly meet and greet “posts” which are basically just a way of drawing different people together that might never meet. Other media hosts have static posts, like mine found here – that are always open and always have new people adding their blog info to the board. There are even some adventurous folks that actually meet in person… gross. You won’t find me at those types of events, but it just goes to show that blogging isn’t only about posting for most of us. The interaction we get from those we meet is why many of us do this daily.

If you are looking for a catalog of different blogs to follow feel free and check out my Meet and Greet. The true winners are the people that use it as a jumping point to meeting other people. Don’t be afraid to say hi to someone first and visit other blogs.

That is where the magic starts… until they ask to meet in person. Then the magic dies a little.

-Opinionated Man



Sunday Share: Y2W10

I appreciate you including my post and the shout out! -OM
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All In A Dad's Work

The third month. Oh three. A quarter of the way through 2018! Crash (10) can now do long division and multiply multidigit problems. Bang (6) can tell time on an analog clock and add numbers with carrying. Have you learned anything new this year?

If not, that’s okay. There’s still time. I visited Body Worlds so I learned how small an appendix and uterus really are and that our veins and capillaries are 60,000 miles long.

While you’re waiting to learn something new, check out these posts that I read last week. Maybe you’ll learn something.

Harsh Reality
A new position and some emotions…

Three’s A Herd
Where’d those words go?

Tania 2 A Tee
Learning something new…

Dream Big, Dream Often
On haters and quicksand…

Erika Kind
Things are said,  things are done, be better…

As always, you can find and follow me on Facebook, Instagram, and

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First Things First

“Be bold.” I like it. I appreciate the mention, I always say to be bold. I try to be. -OM
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In this stage of “new beginnings” the first thing is to set your own goals.

So, out of a spectrum of possible things and activities to do, we set our OWN goals.

These goals help us to ACCOMPLISH  and achieve the active successes of our new beginnings.

I battle doubt at times.  Yes, I do.   Goals and personal reminders of my strengths etc. is often my only motivation to carry on living, carry on carrying on.  For the New Beginning(s) to work then, we set our goals and remind ourselves to aim for success in fulfilling them, BECAUSE we are capable.

Capable of ditching the past and beginning anew….WITH FERVOUR.

First things First

Get to grips with reality.  Be BOLD and dive into the deep end of your life, your NEW life.

I have dived into my new beginning.  With trepidation?  Perhaps, but I don’t feel the FEAR, so maybe…

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Highs and Lows

I’ve always ridden my highs and lows in life because there has always been a bell curb of the day… the week… or the flip of a switch of the moment. As I begin to get used to this new management role I am also being reminded of the need to be professional. I used to think this meant one thing, be an unfeeling asshole. I am starting to learn that it can be whatever you want it to be.

I’m a complainer. I know… shocker. Anyone that reads this blog can hear me, hear my voice, and normally my voice is giving voice to a complaint. I don’t know why, perhaps I am just a judgmental bastard or maybe I can blame the orphanage as a child. I still eat like an orphan after all.

The problem with me is that I care too much. You always hear people say “I don’t do things half assed,” but it’s true. I don’t. When I take something on I fully jump in, even if it is a lost cause. I sure am glad I haven’t found myself on the losing side of a war this lifetime.

I was told I need to work on not allowing so much emotion into my voice. It is a little amusing considering I have a monotonous voice that I wouldn’t even wish upon myself, but I am assuming what was being called is my annoyance and how easily I show my frustration through my tone. My wife says I project my emotions so strongly that people can feel it in the room. That probably also explains why I don’t have many friends. Humans tend to not like people that are too high or too low depending on the hour you catch them on. My hours don’t follow the sun.

I do need to learn to not complain as much and internalize some of those emotions. As a manager I have to recognize that my attitude affects those around me. It makes me wonder if anyone really took a strong look at me before putting me into this position because anyone that works around me knows I ride the waves. I am the wave.

Sometimes I don’t know what to call it and I don’t even want to grace it with a name. My everything that is nothing brings me down and I feel so depressed that I just want everyone to leave me alone.

But now I am in a position where I am never alone and a constant finger is always tapping me on the shoulder. It makes me want to shoot the sun sometimes… or let the sun run over me.

-Opinionated Man