We were all born the same way, but we all turned out differently. Some of us had hair growing already, while others were bald. Some of us were quiet in our little beds, adored by the people around us, while some were crying and weeping, longing for the comfort of a mother. They would cry and weep, but a mother was always there, right by their side. Unfortunately, some children weren’t born this way. Instead they were taken straight from the hospital and put in a foster home; they would live there until someone wanted to take them home. I am one of those people, and I’m still stuck in the same house ever since that day.

I guess living here all my life makes this my home and somehow become a part of who I am. However, I just long to be a part of a family, just so that I can be loved like everyone else. It just isn’t the same living in a group home with a dozen other people of different ages. Sure, it’s like having a lot of brothers and sisters, but I don’t get to know them very well. One day they’re here and the next they get adopted into a family. I wish I could have that, to be a part of a family that would love me for me.

My life is a mystery. I don’t  know who I am, I don’t know why I was born here or why my parents didn’t want to keep me. I would often ask people at the orphanage if they had any answers, but they didn’t. I suffered from depression most of my life because I wanted a family so bad, but it just never happened. After coming home from school, with hope, I would always ask Maria, the head of the orphanage, if anyone wanted to adopt me.

She would always reply, “Not today my dear.”

I remember one day she said there was this family who was considering me, but wanted to visit me first before making any final decisions. When they visited, there was this elderly couple with another younger couple who appeared to be their children. My heart started racing as I thought this family was going to be the one. I was going to have brothers and sisters to play with, and help me with my homework. After their visit, they said they were going to think about me and would come back for me one day. Every day I would wait for them to come, but ten years have passed with no sign of them coming back for me; I began to lose hope and that’s when my depression began.

My other group friends say I’m just lying about my depression, but I wouldn’t really call them my friends. They are just other kids in the orphanage who are always lucky enough to find a home but somehow make their way back here. They never really understood why I wanted a family and I never understood why they didn’t. A family is a place where you are loved every day and cared for until you are all grown up. There’s no worrying about being left behind or forgotten about. But here, I always feel that way, alone and forgotten.

Living in an orphanage is like living in a jail cell. There is no one to talk to and no one who understands what you’re going through. I’ve seen the kids walking home from school, the ones who always have a smile on their face because they will always have a home to go to and a family who cares for them, and put food on the table. They walk out from school and run to their parents, giving them a big hug and saying “I love you.” That is all I want, to be able to go home where I feel safe and loved. Is that really too much to ask for?

Most of the time, living in an orphanage means being invisible; no one really cares about you or would notice if someone went missing. They say I’m different and don’t have the ability to do anything in life, just because I am a foster kid. The other kids, they have people who believe in them and care for them; why don’t I? I just wish for a family and a hand to hold. I wish, I wish with all my might. Won’t somebody ever want to adopt me?

I am seventeen now, and am almost an adult; it’s been ten years since a family wanted to adopt me. Since then, no one came to see me, not even the family that said they would. What have I done that the world would want to be so cruel to me?

“John dear, can you come down for a moment please?” exclaimed Maria, “There are some guests that would like to see you.”

“Visitors,” I thought to myself, “When on earth have visitors ever wanted to come and see me? Could it possibly be happening? All my wishing and hoping all these years, is there truly a family wanting to see me?”

I quickly ran out of my room and downstairs; I just couldn’t wait to see who it was. As I ran down the stairs I could hear voices of a man and a woman.

When I found the courage in me, I walked into the living room and there they were the same people that came to see me back when I was seven. This time, there was no elderly couple; it was just the younger ones, who didn’t seem so young anymore. What did they want with me this time I thought; to break my heart again? As if that day still doesn’t bury a hole deep inside my heart.

“John dear,” uttered Maria, “Meet your biological parents.”

Photo Credits: http://foster-adoptive-kinship-family-services-nj.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Helping-Your-Foster-Child-Who-Has-Been-Sexually-Abused.jpg