The missing piece: A Korean adoptee's new life in Sweden

The Aurora Borealis in northern Sweden. / courtesy of Anton Eriksson Photography

By Johannes Lindgren (Kang Min-ho)

Johannes Lindgren and his fiancee in July.

Let's begin where most stories begin ― at the beginning. I was born in Daegu, South Korea, in 1980, the same year as John Lennon was shot and the Rubik´s Cube was introduced to the world.

Although my mother had carried me for nine months, she was the first one to leave when I came into the world. My father made an attempt to care for me but gave up after two months and sent me to a foster family. I stayed there for a year until someone decided it was time for me to fly to the other side of the Earth and become a Swede.

From an early age I was very aware that I looked different from the other kids, but my parents did a very good job of giving me the confidence to make me feel like the other kids instead of an outsider. That mentality has helped me a lot during my life living in Sweden. And even though I look like a Korean, my personality was and is as Swedish as any other Swede.

The thought of being adopted has crossed my mind probably a thousand times during my childhood, thoughts in which I wondered how my life would have been growing up in Seoul instead of Swedish Lapland. What my biological parents looked like? What my job would have been? With those questions processed in my mind, I still consider myself a very privileged and lucky man.

And here I am today. Fully Swedish, with a Swedish fiancee, four Swedish children, a home filled with Ikea furniture and my biggest interest is ice-hockey ― perhaps because there was not much else to do as a kid in Swedish Lapland. Most of the year is cold and dark, with occasional streaks of Aurora Borealis ― until of course the summer, when the sun really comes to stay. The midnight sun does its best to compensate for being gone so long. Although I love ice-hockey, I find the winters rough. I was not born to endure this kind of season.

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My adoption papers state that my biological parents had to give me up because their parents did not allow them to get married. So, a mother and a father gave away their son. Not out of poverty and the hope for a better future for their son, but due to old traditions, traditions where unapproved relationships and children born out of marriage do not belong.

As a Swede, this is very hard for me to understand. Sweden is a very modern country. Love between different classes, same sexes and whatever the heart desires. Divorces, mixed families and single parenting are very common family situations here. I am divorced myself and my eldest daughter lives with me, my new fiancee and her "half-sisters". A completely normal "bonus family" as we call it here. I am not saying that this is any better than traditional families, but when it comes to adoption, I can assure you that Swedish children are very rarely given away for adoption, unless there is some underlying problems like drug abuse and it would be in the child's best interest to move somewhere else.

It was probably in my best interest coming to Sweden, because I cannot imagine a better life than the one I was given here. With loving parents, who gave me the strength and freedom to always choose my own way in life, my supporting fiancee and children, the possibility to travel a lot and see the world and my job, which ironically is working toward Korea and the Korean car industry. Despite the fact that I am very happy and satisfied with my life here in Sweden, I sometimes wonder what my life would have looked like had I stayed in Korea.

The first time I noticed that I did not look like my blond parents and friends was when I was around seven years old and someone at school called me a "Chinese". That would not be the last time someone commented on my skin. As I mentioned, Sweden is a modern country with many immigrants and adoptees, so most people are open-minded about differences. There are, however, enough narrow-minded people to say that I have heard racist comments hundreds of times.

I am far from the only Korean adoptee in Sweden. In fact, my brother is also from Korea. He was born in Seoul and left in a basket outside the adoption centre. No explanation as to why. Perhaps in this case it was out of poverty? My brother came to Sweden when he was three years old. He is a typical Swede, and he doesn't think as much about his origin as I do. At least he doesn't talk about it.

I think my past started knocking on the door as my future was becoming clearer. The first strong knock came when my son was born. It was inevitable. Having a baby, caring for him, afraid of any danger that might be lurking around the corner and loving him more than life itself obviously raises questions. Was it easy for my biological parents to give me up? Did they not feel what I feel for my baby? Or did it indeed break their hearts to give up their child? Do they still think of me today or has the memory of their first born completely been erased from their lives?

My curiosity for my past could not be tucked away any longer. So in October 2012, I travelled back to the country I had left as a baby 31 years earlier. In one way it really felt like coming home. Everyone looked like me ― it was now my blond fiancee who was the outsider. And the pulse of Seoul, the city lights at night. I was made for the big city, not the snowy cold Lapland with its endless forests and dark winters. And the food! I loved everything I tried. It wasn't blunt like Swedish food but really tasty. And the spices that made my fiancee cry and cough fitted my palate perfectly.

As the trip came to an end, I felt very satisfied. A piece that had been missing had slowly started falling into place and as satisfied I was with my stay in Korea, as satisfied I was with going home to Sweden.

To be continued.

Johannes Lindgren is an entrepreneur and adoptee born in Korea now living in Sweden.