I entered my room, stood still for a brief moment, and basked in the impeccability of my room. I loved walking into my room knowing that I wouldn't be disturbed and that my books were always waiting to take me on an escape from life at times when I needed to shut out the world and enter new ones. I dropped the handful of books on the bed and began separating the stack of library books from the research materials. As I did so, I came across a slim volume I didn't recognize with a plain, soft black cover nestled between two large ones that looked very out of place. I couldn't for the life of me, I remember checking it. The broken spine and curled pages wouldn't have seemed attractive enough for me to consider it. I guess it fell while I was checking out books at the library. It had happened before, but not entirely by chance. In the days when I was still new to the university library, I would intentionally but inadvertently put an extra novel in my book bag when I thought no one was looking. But this time I was absolutely certain that I hadn't brought out this book on purpose. Filled with ravenous curiosity, I carefully held the rubber band holding the book closed and saw a small puff of dust erupt as the book opened. As soon as I opened it I realized it wasn't a library book: it was a personal journal. People usually carried their diaries wherever they went and were occasionally seen writing in them even while eating. It was therefore no surprise to me to discover ancient coffee stains - or in this case water drops, perhaps tears - located on the fringes. Leafing through the yellowed pages, there was nothing to indicate who this diary belonged to, but the beautiful, delicate hand... in the center of the paper... is preparing dinner. "Mom?" My voice was shaking. She looked at me and smiled. "Bye dear. Are you hungry?" I put the diary on the counter and handed it to her. She looked at it for a moment and suddenly her face lost all color. "I read it, Mom." She nodded slowly and dried her hands on a tea towel. He remained silent but my heart was in my mouth, my mind releasing all the thoughts and emotions I couldn't hold back. “If I had had a hysterectomy a year before I was born… how would my mother be?” I asked. Tears streamed down my face as I stared at her, waiting. Mom closed her eyes and shook her head. “I didn't want you to find out this way,” she whispered. “Miya, I'm sorry ." He took a deep breath and spoke the words I knew were coming, the words that changed my life forever. "Miya, you are adopted".”