My search for answers...

My white American parents do not share my almond-shaped eyes, olive-toned skin, wavy black hair, or distinctly Filipino nose. No one in my family does. From an early age, my reflection quietly told a different story.

My name is Jake Buckingham. I was born on February 11, 1987, at Dr. Jose Fabella Memorial Hospital in Santa Cruz, Manila, in the Philippines. Five months later, in July of 1987, I was adopted by Brian and Marilyn Buckingham from the nearby CRIBS Foundation orphanage and brought to Omaha, Nebraska, halfway across the world from where my life began. My parents had long hoped for children but were unable to conceive, and adoption became the path that brought our family together.

For much of my childhood, I did not question my story. I was too young to fully understand what adoption meant, or what it might one day stir within me. It was not until college, during a family communications course, that a deeper curiosity took hold. For the first time, I allowed myself to ask questions I had quietly carried for many years. Who gave birth to me? Who do I resemble? Are there people in the world who share my face, my walk, my voice?

In 2011, I began my search for my birth family, a journey that continues to this day.

As I have grown older, those questions have only deepened. In my late thirties, with more life experience and emotional awareness, I find myself looking back as much as forward. The search has brought moments of hope and clarity, but also frustration, grief, and confusion. That tension between longing and uncertainty has become a defining part of my story.

Some people question why I would search for my birth family when I already have a loving, supportive family in the United States. The answer is complex, but one thing is certain. This journey is not about replacement. My love for my adoptive parents is unwavering. What I seek is not a different family, but a fuller understanding of myself.

When I look at friends, relatives, or even strangers, I see something I have never had, biological mirrors. People who share physical traits passed down through generations. Familiar eyes. Familiar gestures. A visible lineage. When I look at my parents and then back at myself, I do not see those connections. And while that absence is no one’s fault, it has shaped my sense of identity in ways I am still learning to understand.

International adoption can offer opportunity and love, but it can also leave behind pieces of culture, history, and self. When a child is separated from their country of origin, they may also lose access to parts of their identity, pieces that quietly linger, unnamed but deeply felt. I have wrestled with that loss for much of my life.

Depression has been an ongoing battle for me, one I continue to navigate through medication, talk therapy, and creative expression. Writing and journaling have become essential tools, ways to process, reflect, and heal. There have been seasons when simply moving through daily life felt heavy. But I also believe that this story does not end in darkness.

Sharing my journey is an act of hope.

Through My Greatest Journey, I want to create space, for adoptees who feel unseen, for those carrying similar questions, and for anyone considering adoption and wondering what those choices may mean years down the road. My hope is that this story educates, informs, and invites deeper conversations about identity, belonging, and what it means to search for home.

This is my journey. And I am still walking it.