![]() |
Linn G. Assersen poses in front of the building of Holt Children's Services in Seoul, Nov. 8. Courtesy of Assersen |
Norwegian filmmaker in search of family and herself after 45 years
By Jung Min-ho
![]() |
These photos taken in 1976 show Assersen during her adoption process. She was seven months old when she was adopted by a Norwegian couple. Courtesy of Assersen |
For her whole life, whenever she was asked whether she wanted to visit Korea, she said no. Assersen always knew she was Norwegian and never felt a need to find her birth parents ― or so she thought.
"But when I landed at Incheon International Airport, I was crying. I don't know where all the emotions came from," Assersen, now 46, said in an interview in Seoul, Tuesday. "When you don't want to face something uncomfortable, you try to ignore it. Before I came here, I was thinking, 'Maybe I should not. Maybe two weeks are too long.' Now I wish I had more time."
Just days before her arrival, Assersen learned that her biological father and mother had passed away ― in 2009 and in 2018, respectively.
Perhaps part of the reason for the tears was the fact of having lost the opportunity to meet them in person and a sense of regret that she could have ― and should have ― visited Korea earlier, Assersen said.
Her journey of searching for her roots began out of curiosity. She knew she was an adoptive child from an early age, thanks to her Norwegian parents who were open about it. Growing up with two supportive brothers in the southwestern city of Stavanger, her childhood was fun and peaceful. But, looking back, Assersen thinks the complexities of her biological identity as the only Asian girl in town played a significant role in shaping her into who she is today.
"I have luckily always felt 100 percent Norwegian, but was curious about how much my identity and background influenced me as a person," she said. "There was a missing link in my life I couldn't put a finger on … I felt a need to explore more how I would feel following the link back to my roots, and if that would make a turning point in my life."
So Assersen started a project of creating a documentary film about a year and a half ago. As a movie production manager, she wanted to know what it means to be and to grow up as an adoptive child for the people who share a similar experience and how much their identities have influenced their lives. The perspective has changed from general to more personal as she discovered more about herself she never knew. She and three others working on the project plan to release the film around Christmas next year.
According to her adoption records, her Korean name is Yoon Ra-ok. She was born on May 29, 1976, and was sent to an adoption agency by her parents "who had been concerned" about her future because of financial difficulties.
Assersen later learned that they indeed struggled financially; her father ran a hardware shop, while her mother worked at a traditional market. They had seven other children, whom she dearly hopes to find and meet on her next visit.
She said she had no memories of the first seven months of her life in Korea before adoption.
Exploring what happened during the period was challenging, to say the least. She had more questions than police and her adoption agency had any answers for. Now she has more questions than she had on her first day in Korea.
"The journey has just started, and the project is growing by the research. I think everyone comes to a turning point in life, and this is one of mine," Assersen said. "My hope with this project is to get a further understanding about me as a person … All sensitive topics come to a change. I believe that the time we are in now is a turning/changing point which hopefully would make a bigger and better difference for all adoptees, their adoptive parents and birth parents and families. This [is possible] by raising awareness and knowledge about the topic."