I’ve spent a lot of time in my life looking for my people. The ones who when I met them would tell some internal meter that these were indeed my people; I would know by our interests and the look that we somehow all shared. Why was this important to me? Well, I’m adopted. Get it now? Nope? Okay, well if I showed you a family picture then you would. Here it is, I’m the one with the dark eyes, hair, olive skin in the sea of hazel eyes, fair hair and skin. The thing is, I have a loving family, one that made sure that I knew that I was theirs and they were mine. But I take my outward appearance with me everywhere and I can’t take my family everywhere; adulthood, right? “Ethnically Latina, culturally Caucasian” is the name of the band that I will have one day and it also captures the beginning of where I began to look for my people. But this essay isn’t about race, which is good because this is more about what it means to find a home…