Reflective Memories: Finding My Vietnamese Mother

by Denise Sandquist adopted from Vietnam to Sweden.

At this time of the year, it’s time for reflection! I want to share my story of how I found my mother 💗 and why this time of year is so special.

Almost exactly 4 years ago, I found my biological mother in Vietnam!

I was adopted from Vietnam as a baby and when I turned 22, the same age as my Vietnamese mother when she gave birth to me, I started to reflect more about my genes and from where I got certain things. I was very happy with my family in Sweden, but deep down inside, I have always wanted to connect more with my roots.

This led me to travel to Vietnam for the first time in 2013, to visit my birth country and the hospital in Hà Nội where I was born. But finding a person in Vietnam when you have very limited information (name, age, studies, hometown) is difficult, and if you’re a foreigner who doesn’t speak a word of Vietnamese, it’s even more difficult. It was the start of a 3-year journey where I would be spend time to look for her.

I and the people around me, did not give up. With the help of a friend, we decided to start a Facebook page where we explained my situation and that I was looking for my birth mother.

It went viral! Thousands of people shared my post, I was even in the newspapers and news in Vietnam.

Just 18 days after that, on the 22nd of December 2016, I received a phone call. Though my Vietnamese was limited at that point, I knew exactly what she said and meant! She only said 2 words, “Mẹ đây” and I couldn’t keep myself from bursting into tears. It was surreal when she called me. No one had called me before and told me they were my mother!

On the 23rd of December 2016, she flew to Ho Chi Minh City from Hà Nội and the following days we spent Christmas together. Needless to say, it was the best Christmas gift I could have ever asked for.

This experience has completely changed my life and the person I am today. I’m forever grateful to all of the people who helped me during this amazing journey. To all my fellow adoptees who are in a similar situation as I was, I just want to say – do not give up! Thousands of people will definitely be there for you and miracles do happen!

I have now moved to Vietnam since I wanted to contribute even more to my birth country. I have now travelled almost everywhere here, since Vietnam is such a beautiful country. I would love to complete more things in the future for Vietnam, such as charities or starting my own business even, and I would be very honoured to receive your support in this.

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas & Happy New Year everyone!

Giáng sinh an lành nhé mọi người! 🙏

For more from Denise, check out her YouTube channel.

The Right to Identity

by Maria Diemar, born in Chile raised in Sweden. You can access her blog at I Own My Story Maria Diemar where she published this on Aug 23.

The right to one’s identity,
is it a human right?
Is it a human right for everyone?

Where you belong,
the circumstances you come from,
is this important to know?

Is it possible to delete a person’s background?
Would you consider deleting another person’s background?

What is illegal?
What is unethical?
What are irregularities?

In last few years, I have discovered more and more of my history.
From discovering that I am Ingegerd Maria Olsson in the registers in Chile,
to realise that I can vote,
and renew my passport from 1975,
to understanding that it seems like I never left Chile the country where I was born.

According to my Chilean passport,
I live on a street in a business district in Rancagua.
According to other documents,
I live with a social assistant in Santiago.
We are probably more than 400 children living at that address:
Monseñor Müller 38.

I “live” in Chile, and I live in the United States.
I am in the electoral register in Chile,
and in Sweden I have a Swedish passport and can pick up a Chilean passport when I like.

My birth was never registered at the hospital where I was born.
I’m a child of no-one.
Instead of a birth certificate,
a protocol was written in which strangers testified that I was born on my birthday.

In Chile, I am registered as an orphan
because a Swedish woman, Anna Maria Elmgren, arranged and enrolled me in the register in Chile.
I have a Swedish name in the Chilean register.
I’m Ingegerd Maria Olsson in Chile.

I am a orphan
but I have a mother in the documents from the court in Temuco.
In the documents from the court, I have a mother.
A mother who gives me away.

I was 44 years old when I did a DNA test,
then I realised that I’m Mapuche.
I’m from an indigenous people.

To be a child of Indigenous people,
this detail is something that someone forgot to mention.
A detail that isn’t too important.
Or is it?

Is the right to one’s identity a right for everyone?
Who decides this?

#adoptee #adopted #stolen #Ilegal #adoption #Chile #victim #trafficking #Sverige #Adoptionscentrum #Sverige #adopterad #chileadoption #nomassilencio #humanrights #justice #mapuche #Wallmapu

Who am I now?

By Maria Diemar from her blog at I own my Story Maria Diemar

Who I am now, after my life story changed

I always thought that my mom gave me up for adoption
I was an abandoned child
I learnt to believe that adoption is something beautiful
Even though it hurt
Even though I felt abandoned
Even though I felt alone

I searched for my mom for so many years,
it was almost impossible to find her
until I got in contact with Ana Maria in Chile

When Ana Maria found my mom
I learnt the truth
I was stolen from my mom
at the hospital
right after she gave birth to me
My mom wasn’t allowed to see me or hold me
People at the hospital, a social assistant really tried to force her
to sign papers that she wanted to give me up for adoption
my mom refused to sign any papers

84 days went by,
from the day they separated me from my mom
in the small town on the country side in Chile
until I arrived in an airplane to Stockholm in Sweden.

I came to Sweden with documentation
it said I didn’t have any family that could care for me
it said my mom had left me for adoption
I never question that
But I felt abandoned and alone

Today I know the truth
I was stolen and
forcefully separated from my mom

Few people want to see the truth
as society has taught us that
adoption is something beautiful

I have learnt that adoption is filthy
business, and that
people make money
I have learnt that adoption
is an industry

And I am not sure,
who I am anymore
if I am not that abandoned child

I have been forced to go back
to face all my fears and
to look at my choices and experiences

Today when I see the picture of that little girl
in my Chilean passport
I see a sad girl,
all alone in the world
with no legal rights because
no-one took the time to make sure
I came from the situation
that was stated in the documents

After 6 moths I was adopted,
according to the law in Sweden
despite the law in Chile

What does adoption mean to you?

And please, before you answer that question,
Who are you?

Excerpt: First Letter to my Iranian Father

Return visit to my homeland – Iran, Mashhad

In Sweden where I grew up, people like me are called adopted. It’s easy to spot an adopted. We look like we are from somewhere far away but we don’t know our native language or culture. This creates confusion wherever we go. It also creates confusion within ourselves.

Who are we? Who am I?

We grieve our traumas in silence because as soon as we share our sadness, we are told that we should be grateful: to our new amazing country and our kind adoptive parents.

This is something a Swedish biological child never has to hear: that they should be grateful to live in Sweden! This creates a sense of being worth less compared to everyone else; that we exist in Sweden on other terms compared to our peers; that it’s conditional. In many cases, our adoptive parents didn’t take good care of us. They disregarded our traumas. And they didn’t understand the racism all of us had to endure, both as children and adults. We were unprotected. We were fair game.

When you are adopted you sometimes grieve and think about your mother. For some reason you don’t think very much about your dad. I think this is because we are under the impression that our mothers were clueless and young, perhaps drug addicts, perhaps prostitutes. And that our dad was just some dude. The part with the prostitution, by the way, is part of the narrative that adopted girls are handed when they are young. “If you stayed in your country you would have been a prostitute, so why aren’t you grateful?!” Can you imagine what this message does to us?!

Daddy, like most of the other adoptees, I have spent time wondering about my mother, but I don’t know if I’ve ever thought about you in the past. Now, I think about you all the time.

About Sarah

First gift from my Iranian father