medicine

Who are these people?

I don’t remember my time blogging as a journalist in the Balkans and SE Asia having such an agenda-driven random readership. I’m not all that focused. It might explain some of my reason for researching my adoption topic for 50 years, and, of course, why every mother’s child in the universe decided to do the same thing at the same flipping time. Some of them are good writers. Others should be doing something else with their keyboards/laptops.

All well and good, but the thing for me is to tell this story without cost. I don’t want to be paid. I mean it. My genetics has always propelled me to write something. It always will. I can’t cash in on that. It’s not a legitimate part of “me” to do so. If others want to make money off this, they can have at it. I won’t be any competition.

Let me mention that label for you: autism. I. Hate. Labels. I am who I am because of me, not because there’s anyone else out there like me. There just isn’t. Nobody else can list all my idiosyncrasies and say they’re just like this or that. They’re not. I am my own kind of distracted weirdness.

As for my family story? It gets more fascinating all the time. The story will center around Little Helen. I understand her more. The environment around her was best known to me. The sad part of this is the deep divide that delineated parts of my historical lineage from the rest of it. They thought they could rectify it by revising Mama’s birth certificate. It was only temporary at best.