Picking up a brush, I gazed at my reflection in the mirror.
Where do I come from? I thought.
Growing up, I’d always known I was adopted – being mixed-race with white parents, there was no denying it.
Back in Glasgow in the early ‘90s, there was no one else who looked like me.
It was never a big deal to me – I knew I was wanted and loved, and I had a happy childhood.
I never felt I was missing anything and I never had a yearning desire to find out about my birth parents – although I knew I’d be supported if I ever wanted to.
But now and then, I would find myself thinking…
Where do I come from?
When I turned 16, I felt a turning point as I blew out the candles on my birthday cake.
At 16, I was able to go and find my birth parents, if I wanted to.
I didn’t know a lot about them and knowing the option was now there, a seed planted in my mind. But I still wasn’t quite ready.
