Adoption

I’m sitting on the couch in the living room next to my older sister. We just met. Her name is Anna. We study each other’s fingers, which are skinny and long, with rounded tops. After a pause, we ask each other about food allergies and lactose intolerance. We’ll ask each other about shared feelings, but that’s later. She asks me if I like purses. She tells me that she has a collection. I’m not much of a purse person. She’s not into wide-leg pants.

You aren’t able to tell from my name that I’m Chinese. The first part hints at my mom’s taste in literature, the last is a small act of feminism: two long American surnames that won’t fit on a hospital wristband. I do have a Chinese name, but I don’t use it. It came on my adoption documents, and it’s supposed to mean “bean sprout,” but Google Translate doesn’t agree. I type “Qimeng” into the translation engine, and it gets regurgitated in English as “to enlighten” or “to free from prejudice.” I like “bean sprout” more.

Desperately missing your pet now that the cold winter months are upon us? Considering adopting an emotional support animal? Considering it now that I've mentioned it? Think about it again, then think about it even harder.