Beth: Chapter 1
Untitled
Digital illustration
Laura Ts’ao
By Xavier (they/them)
Adoptee, 27
Nanchang Project Volunteer
From Unknown, Jiangxi; Living in Lekwungen and WSANEC Territory, Victoria, B.C., Canada
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This story is deeply personal. It is a reflection of my journey—painful, messy, and sometimes raw, yet slightly fictionalized. All names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved with one exception: the titular character who is referred to by my original adoption name. I have chosen to share this story because I believe in the power of truth to heal and connect us and because I wish to illustrate the reality of growing up in a difficult adoptive home.
You may encounter moments of grief, trauma, and abuse within these pages. For some, these moments may be difficult to read. Please know that I include trigger warnings where appropriate, and I encourage you to take care of yourself as you engage with this story– if you so choose.
While my experiences have shaped much of my life, this is also a story of survival, resilience, and the ongoing journey toward wholeness. It is meant to offer solidarity and hope to those who may feel isolated or broken in their experiences as adoptees.
You are not alone.
If you or someone you know needs support, please consider reaching out to a trusted friend, counselor, or helpline. I have included links below and will continue to with each chapter as they are released.
Thank you for reading and holding space for this story.
With gratitude,
Xavier Huang
Beth: A Love Story
Chapter 1
Hwang-Woo sits next to Beth in the school hallway. He is doing calculus homework, his mechanical pencil skating across the thin, waxy paper as he moves through equations with ease. Beth is tired, but she does not want to go home. School ended an hour ago, but they are both still there, lingering in each other's company. Cream coloured walls rise around them, interrupted by royal blue paint and the image of a tiger. The space that normally suffocates Beth is a momentary haven and she stretches her legs out beneath the desk they share until she can feel the warmth radiating from his body. Her foot touches his shoe. His pencil stills for the span of a breath. Then, he continues writing, his hand tracing a steady path across the page. Hwang-Woo lightly presses his leg against her, like a silent acknowledgement of the space that they share– a quiet confirmation that her touch is welcome. Beth is used to feeling unwanted, so this small gesture fills her chest with a warmth and giddiness that she finds disgusting. No matter how many times she tells herself she does not care about being loved, her desperation for intimacy always surfaces with a hunger that cannot be sated, like a monster waiting in the brush. Beth feels like she is drowning in her desire for affection and the shame and anger associated with this wish.
She hates herself with a quiet persistence.
They sit like this in silence, chests rising and falling out of sync. Beth stares at her history textbook as though she is engrossed in the story of Canadian colonization. But she is not. She is tracking Hwang-Woo’s breaths, feeling his long leg shift against her calf, and listening to the scratch of lead on paper. Beth loves being with Hwang-Woo. Sometimes she thinks she might love him. But any time that feeling arises, it is too terrifying, too painful to consider, and she stamps it down and replaces it with hate.
She hates him.
She hates herself, but she hates him the most. Beth does not understand the push and pull of these alternating feelings. All she knows is that she will lose everything if she admits to herself that what she feels is love.
Today, however, Beth cannot deny that she is at home next to his lanky form; she is grateful that he lets her stay so near. She was drawn to him from the beginning because he is Asian, and she is lonely in her own Asian-ness. They are completely different. Hwang-Woo grew up in Korea and came to Canada a few years ago. He has Korean friends, and sometimes when she sees him speaking to them at school, she feels an all-consuming rage and jealousy that makes her turn on her heel and ignore him when he tries to talk to her. She has become increasingly possessive of him recently. Though she tries to reason with herself that she and Hwang-Woo are just friends, and he can have other friends, she cannot help but feel rejected, as if him speaking his native tongue is proof that she does not belong in his world. As if it is a reminder that she has always been an outsider– and always will be.
Beth has been in Canada since she was young. Before that, she was in an orphanage in China. Through Hwang-Woo, she feels like she can imagine what life might have been if she had not been abandoned as a baby. Taken to the opposite corner of the world to choke on beans and bread and suffocate on the gratitude of having been "saved" by people who do not want her around. She does not know that this truth fuels the alternating rage and desperate hope that floods her when it comes to Hwang-Woo.
When he finally puts down his pencil and asks her if they should catch the bus home, disappointment engulfs her, but she nods and forces a too-big smile. She wants to go home with him and eat rice with seaweed and tuna, or kimchi and rice cakes or whatever else his mother is preparing. Instead, she will go home to dry brown pasta and boiled broccoli without salt, oil, or seasoning.
'Okay,' she says, and they make their way to the bus stop across the street. During the ride home they talk lightly about things that do not matter, and Beth sees an older couple watching them with quiet smiles. She does not want Hwang-Woo to go home, and she does not want to go home either. Although their conversation is trivial, Hwang-Woo misses his stop and rides with Beth the entire way to the bus exchange.
'You missed your stop,' she points out as they continue in the opposite direction of his home. He shrugs as if it is no big deal. 'I was planning to go to the library to study anyway,' he says. But she suspects he is lying– she saw him finish his homework at school.
'You're such a nerd,' she smirks, and that same giddiness kicks a hole in her chest and for a moment she cannot breathe. Sometimes she dreams of being taken away, of building a different life far from here. She wonders if Hwang-Woo would come with her if she asked– if the moments they share are enough. She does not realize that they are still children and that while she lingers in dreams, they will always be just that.
At the exchange, they step off the bus and into the crisp evening air. Street lamps are beginning to flicker on, and Beth and Hwang-Woo stand staring at each other, unable to move. Beth starts to ramble about someone at school and Hwang-Woo listens to her silently. Or maybe he is waiting for her to finish speaking, waiting for a moment that will give meaning to the strange closeness that exists between them. Finally, Beth trails off. She wants to talk more to fill the silence or to keep them here together longer, all night even. But Hwang-Woo speaks before she can start talking again.
'Your bus is coming soon,' he says, and Beth is touched that he knows which bus she takes home. 'Come on, I'll wait with you' he offers, and they head toward an overhang with the number 16 emblazoned across the top.
They stand for five minutes in a comfortable quiet, and once the bus arrives, Beth waves goodbye and gets on with a burst of false charm and exaggerated joy. She smiles a bit manically, lips stretched thin around her teeth, and as she is walking towards the back of the bus, she looks out the window, hoping to see Hwang-Woo watching her go.
But he is not.
Instead, Hwang-Woo walks across the pavement with long strides, heading back towards the bus that brought them there. He lied about wanting to go to the library. He stayed past his stop to be with her a bit longer.
Beth does not know that though, and the sight of his retreating back reopens an ancient hurt in her chest that never fully heals.
To access licensed US mental health professionals who identify as adoptees and work with adoptees/adoptive families visit growbeyondwords.com/adoptee-therapist-directory.
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Untitled
Digital illustration
Laura Ts’aoWith spare lines and a subdued palette of greens, pinks, and dusky purples, Laura Ts’ao constructs a still, spacious composition. The scene—a bus stop at dusk—unfolds in gentle gradients and open forms, allowing the atmosphere to carry emotional weight. A line of text embedded in the horizon blurs narrative and environment, reflecting the artist’s subtle merging of feeling and form.
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Laura Ts'ao (she/her) is an adoptee, artist, and art director from Jiujiang, China raised in Colorado Springs and now located in Austin, Texas. Ts’ao has spent years unpacking the emotional layers of adoption and reconnecting with her heritage on her own terms, building a cultural identity that honors where she comes from and reflects who she has grown into. Connect with Laura on Instagram @laura.tsao.
Laura is the artist and illustrator of Book 1, Chapters 1 and 2 of Beth. To learn more about Laura and the other artists of Beth, read about them here!
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Xavier (they/them) is an adoptee from Jiangxi who now lives on the unceded territory of the lək̓ʷəŋən and W̱SÁNEĆ nations (colonially known as Victoria, B.C., Canada). X is a prolific writer and enjoys creative non-fiction, fantasy, and fiction writing. Through their work they explore their identity as an adoptee, parse their lived experience, and explore what it means to be human. They joined the Nanchang Project in 2023 and cherish the community they have discovered amongst the volunteers and adoptee community generally.
The views expressed in blog posts reflect those of the authors and do not necessarily represent the shared views of The Nanchang Project as a whole.
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