I entered my room, stood for a brief moment and enjoyed the immaculateness of my room. I loved walking into my room knowing 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 step into it. a new one. I dropped the armful of books on my bed and began sorting my stack of library books from my research materials. In doing so, I came across a slim volume that I didn't recognize, with a simple, soft black cover nestled between two large covers that looked very out of place. I could never remember taking a look at it. Its cracked spine and warped pages wouldn't have been attractive enough for me to consider it. I guess it must have fallen while I was taking the books out of the library. This had happened before, but not entirely by chance. Back when I was still new to the university library, I used to intentionally or inadvertently leave an extra novel in my school 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. Brimming with voracious curiosity, I carefully removed the rubber band holding the book closed and watched as a small puff of dust erupted as the book unfolded. As soon as I opened it, I knew it wasn't a library book, it was a personal journal. People usually carried their own journals wherever they went and were sometimes seen writing in them even while they ate. So it was no surprise to me to discover old coffee stains - or in this case, water drops, perhaps tears - located on the fringes. Flipping through the yellowed pages, there was nothing to indicate who this diary belonged to, but the beautiful, delicate handwriting... in the middle of the paper...... was cooking dinner. " Mom ? My voice was trembling. She looked at me and smiled. "Hello, honey. Are you hungry?" I placed the newspaper on the counter and slid it towards her. She looked at him for a moment and her face suddenly drained of all color. “I read it, Mom.” She nodded slowly and wiped her hands with a cloth. She remained silent but my heart was in my throat, my mind released all the thoughts and emotions I couldn't hold back. “If you had a hysterectomy a year before I was born…how are you doing mother?” I asked. Tears streamed down my face as I looked at her, waiting. Mom closed her eyes and shook her head. “I didn’t want you to find out that way,” she whispered. “Miya, honey, I’m sorry. I'm not your biological mother. She took a deep breath and spoke the words I knew were coming, the words that changed my life forever. “Miya, you are adopted..”