 Crushed was my project after I returned from the Philippines. I had met my birth family when I was 16 years old. And then when I married my partner who was fluent in Tagalog, I was able to go back and finally actually talk to my family. So in talking to my family, I learned a lot about myself as an adoptee. And I really wanted to make this to honor my family, and then it started to shift. So when I was exploring who my family was, these poor Filipino folks from the countryside and the Philippines, I thought, hey, I'm going to share these stories that no one's ever going to know about because my parents are no one. My siblings are never going to be known by anyone in the world. And then this active generosity changed and became more of an exploration of memories that I had lost. The PTSD symptoms that I had from adoption itself as well as from my adoptive family, from experiences with my adoptive family. And that trickled into every aspect of my life including my own queerness, not knowing whether that was because my mother had showed me rape videos when I was little. Not knowing if I thought a certain way or had certain fears because that's who I really was or was attributed to these painful experiences. So this concept that I really didn't know who I was permeated every page of this book. Who am I? It was the question. And in a selfless way as well, I wanted to acknowledge a lot of adoptees' experiences. This absolutely does not represent all adoptees' experiences. But for a lot of people who do have traumatic experiences as adoptees, I wanted to acknowledge that because most adoptee stories are always told by other people, especially in popular media, parents or people who like to capitalize on the pain that adoption causes to push a story or to push or move story forward. Everything from superhero stories to Kung Fu Panda. Everyone's adopted and their pain serves as this powerful storytelling mechanism when really the experience of that hasn't been explored. So this is crushed. Ugly, little. Don't run away from me. Love? Nick? What? You're having a nightmare. Are you okay? Oh, sorry. Don't say sorry. Drink some water. We're about to land. Less than 30 minutes. You missed a terrible Kung Fu movie. Had a hell of dragons and Wu Tang. It's stuck. Careful. Ah! Need help? It's okay. Were you able to sleep? Kinda. I'll sleep in my bro's car after he picks us up. I can't stand these bags under my eyes. Love? You're so pretty. You're nervous? Smooch. Don't be. This is gonna be hella fun. You'll get to know them. We're in the Philippines. I get to meet your whole family. What's there to be nervous about? Fidget. That they won't like me. Here's what I remember about flying here last time. I thought that there were too many miles of ocean. The plane could crash in the water and I'd die never having met my birth family. I wanted the flight done as soon as it started. I stepped onto Philippine soil without sensing the ground beneath my feet. The sensation stayed with me the whole trip. Catherine said, I dissociated. She had been helping me with all these symptoms. Dissociation is such a clinical word. The trip was overwhelming and so my body coped by pulling me away from my senses is how I would explain it to my friends. But that was wrong. Or rather, it was incomplete. Really, I felt like there was a little girl with me scared and nervous, except she didn't seem little at all. She was enormous, stronger than me. For now, the term helps to give shape to another kind of reality. Experiences that resemble phenomena but aren't imagined. I wanted to sing with my family, talk, laugh, but the giant little girl, be careful, be careful, would yank me back and tuck me safely in her pocket. Business or pleasure. Family, so both. Ha. Welcome home, sir. And your wife, Nicole? Nicole? Nicole? Nicole, do you speak Tagalog? Do you have family here? Huh? Therapists have many explanations for these kinds of experiences. None of these explanations make the experiences stop. I tried my best to implement the skills Catherine taught me. Fuck, it's hot. Over the years, I grew more aware of when they were happening and what triggered them. But at the beginning of this trip, I was a kid again. Constricted and adrift, like one of those sea turtles trapped in plastic rings. Jasmine, ma'am, water, chocolate, miss, please, ma'am, please, ma'am. I'm sorry, I don't have any money. There he is, we gotta push through. Don't worry, hold my arm. Aren't you dying in your sweater? I can't really feel anything. What the hell am I still wearing this? Oy, my brother, my baby brother, all grown up, welcome home. Saying things I don't understand. Your wife? Ah, he pog. Andres really missed you. Thank you for picking us up. Hey, is your car running? Ah, shit, yes. Here, I'll carry these. How long has it been since you've been home? Andres' eyes lit up when his brother arrived. He looked at home with his brother. I wondered what that was like. I have an adoptive sister named Marie. We were raised together. But we don't smile like that when we see each other. Thank you so much for picking us up in the middle of the night and driving us to my family's town. I know it's not easy, thank you again. You say thank you a lot, he pog. Don't, no need. Shit, it's been 20 years. Malaga, right? Yep, that's where she was born. They hadn't seen each other in decades. Maybe that's all it was. Then maybe that's how my first family will feel when they see me. It's beautiful there. No tourists. I hoped. Thank you.