The day I turned eighteen, I went to the phone box at university and began making enquiries about how to find my real mother. The process took a few months, and by the end of that year I managed to find her. When I received my file, I learnt what happened before my birth, and I found out that I had a different first name. I also found out that my mother’s first name was the same as my adoptive first name. This was when I began to wonder if my adoptive parents knew more than they had told me. Receiving the first letter from my real mum was an unforgettable moment. She enclosed a photo of herself at age 16 and the resemblance was shocking. It was like looking at a photo of myself. When I was 19, I went to Melbourne to meet my real mum. She met me at the backpackers where I was staying and we went to a pizza restaurant. She looked proud, happy and sad at the same time. We both had the exact same black backpack but I had drawn a star on mine with nail polish. We had both purchased the same bag from a salesperson who visited offices, and we both worked as secretaries. I asked her lots of questions and she told me that my real dad was ‘tall, dark and handsome’ and the relationship hadn’t lasted very long. She showed me photos of her children and I was happy to know that I had two sisters. She told me my real dad’s name, like it was a hidden gem that she had kept for me. The day I met her I felt complete.
The day I turned eighteen, I went to the phone box at university and began making enquiries about how to find my real mother.