The fate my older sister and I share crushes any worry about the distance our differences might create, writes Politiken’s Lucas Arturo Ramsøe Willkens in this column.
To be adopted is to be somewhat alone.
I have never looked into a pair of eyes that resemble mine. At least not that I can remember. At birth, I said goodbye to the woman who gave me life, and two months later, I was placed into the arms of the people I have called my mom and dad ever since.
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