Separated @ Birth: A True Love Story of Twin Sisters Reunited (19 page)

Upstairs in the main office, we asked for Franck, the social worker handling all of the correspondence relating to Anaïs’s adoption. He was the one in constant contact with Ben at Spence-Chapin, as the two tried to put the pieces together for Anaïs and me. Like Ben, Franck was an adoptee as well, except he was adopted to France, which, I was sure made my sister feel all the safer.

Franck did not match the image I had in my head. He was shorter with longer hair and bold jewelry. I hadn’t expected him to be so cool and casual. The craziest part about him was that he was speaking English to the crew and me, French to Anaïs, and Korean to the other social workers. It completely blew my mind, and I think my sister was impressed, too. Finally, someone was speaking French. Anaïs had been so out of her element, surrounded by Americans all the time and in a country she had never been to before. But now she could breathe, feel like herself, and speak in her native tongue.

Franck brought us to the room where we would be meeting Anaïs’s foster mother. It was nice, a bit more comfortable than the one at SWS, with light green walls and big comfy couches. Anaïs sat down with Franck to look over her records. She had seen most of them before, but there were a few pictures that were new to her. They were photos of her on the day she was born. I guessed that I must have looked like that, too. For a hot second, I wondered whether or not my picture was taken right next to her, or if we had already been separated. Was I there? Were we split up right after being born? Was one of us put down in the wrong bed? But I snapped
back into the room and told myself this wasn’t about me, it was about my sister. This was her experience. So there I was, watching my sister and Franck review her records in French, and every once in a while politely turn to me to tell me something in English.

There were discrepancies in Anaïs’s records, as we had discovered even the few days after we had made contact. It is partly frustrating that I may not ever know the truth about my past, yet comforting in a very dark way to think that someone spent the time officially typing up these records to give the adoptees a feeling of importance. None of it had anything to do with the social workers that were currently working with us, so there was no reason to have animosity toward these people.

Finally, it was time—Anaïs’s foster mother had arrived. My sister stood up and patted her clothes. I imagined she was feeling what I had felt the year before, wanting to be calm and able to handle what was about to happen. For me, the second the door opened, even just a crack, my stomach dropped into my butt and my nerves went crazy. Then, once I saw the face of the woman who first took care of me, my body went calm, the anticipation was over. I was with her again, the person who had given me so much when she would receive so little in return. Like my foster mother, Anaïs’s foster mother was a hero. And here she was!

From the instant I saw her, I was awestruck by the similar energies she and Anaïs generated. Like Anaïs, she carried herself in a calm, shy, reserved way. Could it be that our personalities had begun to develop even in the few days, weeks, and months after we are born? How possible was it that the very base of our personalities had been solidified by these two women? I knew genetics played an important part
in our lives, but there was an energy that I shared with my foster mother, my first nurturer. When she had come into the room at the Spence-Chapin the day before, she had screamed and hugged us super-tight, even playfully slapping me on the arm. She was touchy-feely, and she had been like that even the first time I had met her.

But Anaïs’s foster mother was different. She was shy, happy, and warming up to the room much more slowly. When she was standing next to Anaïs, they were staring at each other as if they were communicating. How could it be that our foster mothers reflected so much of what we saw in ourselves? To me, it was becoming clear that every person in my life had affected me in some way, even the people whom I may not remember. These women were caring for us as our brains were quickly developing and our bodies were growing. Of course we would be similar to them! They had been the base and strength of our development as children.

When we all sat down together, my mind exploded. Three languages were going on. Franck was translating from Korean to French, and on occasion someone would turn to me and speak in English. I felt awkward. I felt like I was Anaïs sitting there and watching herself have a reunion. I sat staring in awe. Although I could not understand the languages, nor understand at which point they were speaking French and when they were speaking Korean, I still understood the connections. The only language I understood was the body language, and it was saying so much. It was like trying to translate a Spanish soap opera. I was observing and thinking to myself, Okay . . . Anaïs’s foster mother is pleased to be sitting in her company. Anaïs said she’s happy to meet her. Her foster mother is upset. . . . No, wait . . . she’s happy. . . . She’s astonished that one of the children she cared
for thought enough about her to come back to meet her . . . and now Anaïs and Franck are telling her how good foie gras tastes. . . . Damn, I’m good. I imagine that most foster mothers do not get a chance to meet their grown foster children. Even if my translation of this conversation is not spot-on, I think Anaïs was incredibly grateful for the experience.

After talking for a while in every language possible, Anaïs’s foster mother invited us to dinner at a Korean BBQ place around the corner from Holt. She was thrilled to be showing off her turf. She ordered everything for us and sat us down on the floor. The best part was, she started feeding my sister like a baby! She also did the same to me and even to Ryan and Kanoa. She was so motherly that she had to take care of all of us.

•   •   •

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Anaïs as happy as she was at dinner. She couldn’t contain her smile. Her foster mother was telling her how she was as a baby. I leaned over to her and told her that my sister was an incredibly talented fashion designer, knowing Anaïs would never brag about herself. I wanted and hoped that Anaïs would be that happy for the rest of her life. I loved seeing her like that.

Despite our protests, Anaïs’s foster mother insisted on paying for dinner, and that was that. We walked outside to the bus stop after she refused to take a cab. “Please,” we kept saying. “You took such good care of Anaïs as a baby, and it’s our turn to take care of you now.” She wouldn’t have it. No way—her Korean pride took over. She hugged my sister and literally bolted down the street, full speed, running as fast as she could toward the bus, all the while shaking her hand good-bye in the air. The crew and I were in such shock. We
all stared at each other in awe. Then I looked over at my sister, and she was in a complete fit of laughter. Pure joy.

Back inside the Holt building, Anaïs and I wanted to see the little babies upstairs in the nursery. They were incredibly cute. We were allowed to hold them and play with them. For the first time, I was so happy to hold a baby. I wanted to take care of them all and never let one go. My sister, too, was cradling a baby in her arms. I could tell that one day, she will be an amazing mother.

When we got back to our hotel room later that day, Anaïs and I finally shared a moment alone. She very quietly turned to me and thanked me.

“For what?” I asked her.

“For bringing me here and making me meet my foster mother,” she replied. “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do it, and I’m glad you pushed me to.”

I was so relieved. I had wanted her to have an amazing experience in Korea. When I had visited the previous year, for the first time I felt so proud to say that I was Korean, and my reunion with my foster mother had been an exceptional experience, knowing I was taken care of since the day I was born. My sister was even willing to be interviewed for the documentary, and for the first time, she really opened up, expressing how she truly felt. It was one of the first times that she revealed the sadness of her adoption as a baby. Even though I had never felt this kind of profound remorse, at least now we had each other.

The next day, we visited the N Seoul Tower, the highest point in the city. It was beautiful up there, and from the glass observation deck, you had a 360-degree view of Seoul and beyond. The tower was next to a centuries-old traditional
pagoda with ornate, colorful wood, stone, and tile work, so side by side, the modern tower and the ancient shrine. It reminded me of my sister and me. We were in Korea discovering the old, where we had come from, yet we were here celebrating the new, our brand-new relationship. Such metaphor!

Etched in the top of the glass in the windows of the observation deck were the names and distances of world cities and other points of interest that were in that direction. So, gazing out over Seoul, I could look past the horizon and dream of being in those cities while seeing how far I’d come. Anaïs and I walked around the room looking at the view from every different angle, as Anaïs snapped pictures of the “Paris” and “London” directions, and I was taking mine toward “New York” and “Los Angeles.” Another tradition of the tower was the locks and keys. With permanent marker, you write your name on a lock and hang it on a railing, then throw away the key. It was so corny and really for lovers, but I wanted to do it with my sister. I loved the idea of a love locked until eternity, never able to be broken.

As the last nights of our visit approached, my sister and I began to primp ourselves. I imagined that is what it would have been like in high school getting ready for all the parties, if we had been raised together in the States. We were attending a very formal gala hosted by Samsung. As we were putting on our outfits, my sister started to get really frustrated. The joy of meeting her foster mother was beginning to fade, and her anxiety was creeping back. Perhaps, it was anticipating the end of the trip and when we would likely see each other next. But she was wildly uncomfortable, she hated the hotel room, and she couldn’t get her dress zipped up all the way. She kept saying that she was fat and ugly. It made me incredibly sad to see her like that. I kept telling her she looked
pretty, but I couldn’t get her out of that headspace. She was deeply convinced at that very moment that her appearance was appalling, and I didn’t want to point out that calling herself fat and ugly was, umm, inadvertently calling me the same—rude.

We arrived at the gala a bit on the later side, which meant we missed a couple of speeches, but not the entertainment. One act featured traditional Korean dancers, and another was a K-pop group. It was so cheesy, but necessary. No Korea visit would be complete without seeing a K-pop performance. K-pop is such a strange phenomenon, so tacky, with the men wearing a ton of makeup, and the girls going wild for them. Go figure.

The gala was great, with amazing food and wine. Anaïs seemed really happy to finally be eating European-style food again. She even turned to me with a big smile and said, “This is the perfect amount of silverware,” which made us all laugh. I loved that she was enjoying herself. I was beginning to acknowledge just how invested I was in her happiness, and I didn’t want her self-image to get in the way of her joy.

The next night we were attending a “black-and-white” concert, followed by the late-night dance party at Hybrid Club Vera. Anaïs and I had bought matching dresses—hers white, mine black. There was some downtime before the epic show at the Hybrid Club Vera, so Anaïs and I went there early to meet up with Dan Matthews. He had invited me to join Bobby Choi, his guitarist, and him for one song, which was such an honor. Singing, however, was something that had always been a little touchy for me. As a young performer, I hadn’t been the best singer. For some reason, I wouldn’t be able to hear the notes right, so every time I started singing, the wrong tones would come out. It was incredibly
embarrassing, and the other kids would snicker and giggle, but I didn’t let it get to me. I worked as hard as I could to improve, often practicing two hours a day in my room, until my brothers and parents were . . . ready to kill me. Eventually, I became decent, but that didn’t mean I still didn’t get nervous, especially in front of my friends. It wasn’t as frightening, but I always get a little bit shy right before I sing my first note.

I practiced with Bobby first, as Dan hadn’t arrived yet. After a little bit, Dan came in, and guess who was with him? His twin brother! It was such a trip. I knew Anaïs and I looked exactly alike and had been through this entire thing just a few months prior, but it was so crazy to see them together. They had the exact same mannerisms, and the exact same face. Their sister was with them as well. I was staring—rude! I was thinking, Holy shit, this is the craziest thing! Anaïs was standing right next to me at the same exact time they walked in, and for the first time, I was observing what everyone else had been seeing when they had been looking at her and me for the past three months.

I loved knowing there was someone else in the world who had also just found his identical twin. It was comforting to know that Anaïs and I were not alone. I just couldn’t imagine how Dan felt. I never had the courage to ask him about it, as it was probably painful.

The rehearsal went well. While I was onstage practicing, Anaïs left to have coffee with a friend from Paris who lived in Korea. When she got back, she was all stressed out, almost in a panic. She was trying to get her microphone pack on, but the leg strap was bothering her, and she felt nauseous and hot and wanted to lie down. But it wasn’t just that. I could see her stress building, like atoms multiplying about to spontaneously combust.

Soon, the show started, and the club was getting crowded. I was backstage with Dan and Bobby, getting ready for our turn, when Ryan told me that Anaïs was freaking out and throwing up in the bathroom. I found her there kneeling over the toilet, crying. She said she was overwhelmed—everything was becoming super-real, we were leaving Korea tomorrow, and she didn’t know the next time she would see me. I tried to console her, but I didn’t know what to do. And, to be honest, it was the first time that I couldn’t understand what she was feeling. I never had anxiety to this extent. I just held her, because I was afraid if I said anything, it would make it worse, and all I wanted to do was to make her feel better.