Kjersti Binh Hegna shares about her search for her mother in Hanoi.
On a quiet April afternoon in a small Hanoi café, Kjersti Binh Hegna, a 32-year-old Norwegian journalist of Vietnamese origin, sat with friends, her expression contemplative, her smile tinged with emotion. She had just returned from a long day in Soc Son District, following faint leads in search of her biological mother, a woman she had no memory of and whose face she had never seen.
“I’m exhausted and, honestly, a bit disappointed,” said Kjersti. “We met a woman who could have been my mother, but many of the details didn’t add up, especially the birth year, which was off by six years,” shared Nguyen Tien Dat, a close friend assisting Kjersti in her search.
With only a few days left in Vietnam before returning to her life in Norway, Kjersti still has no verifiable information about her birth mother.
According to her birth certificate, Kjersti Binh was born on July 20, 1992, at Soc Son District General Hospital under the name Nguyen Thanh Binh. There is no recorded information about her biological parents, relatives, or medical history.
Shortly after birth, she was transferred to Saint Paul Hospital in Hanoi. A Vietnamese couple cared for her temporarily before she was placed for adoption.
In 1992, a Norwegian couple received a notice from an international adoption agency about a baby girl in Vietnam. The child had been born to a single mother who, unable to raise her due to social stigma and economic hardship, made the heartbreaking decision to give her up. Upon receiving the news, the Norwegian couple flew to Vietnam to meet the child.
“It was a winter day in 1992 when my parents came to Vietnam and adopted me,” Kjersti Binh recalled.
Kjersti's adoptive parents receive her in Hanoi in 1992.
Her adoptive father had two sons from a previous marriage. After remarrying, the couple had no children together and decided to adopt, and Kjersti was the child they chose.
On December 8, 1992, Kjersti was brought to Norway and named Kjersti Binh Hegna.
“My Vietnamese name was kept; my parents said it was a way to preserve my roots,” she shared.
Kjersti is brought to Norway on December 8, 1992.
Kjersti grew up in a northern Norwegian town in a loving and supportive home. Her parents never hid the fact that she was adopted, and though they were not related by blood, they provided her with unconditional love and the best possible upbringing.
She attended a small local school and, as she grew older, began to feel the stark contrast between herself and her peers. She often stood out among her classmates, a difference that sometimes left her feeling confused and isolated.
As she matured, so did her yearning to understand her origins. Despite being raised in a nurturing home, Kjersti always felt that a part of her identity was missing. That longing deepened when she became a mother to two children aged seven and two.
“I truly want to know who my birth mother is. Is she well? Has she ever thought of me?” Kjersti confided.
Knowing she shares even the smallest physical feature with someone, a nose, a smile, a gesture, would mean the world to her. “Sometimes, when I look around my Norwegian family, I feel lonely. No one shares my features, face, or frame.”
A fragile journey guided by hope
Although her mother left her at birth, Kjersti has never felt anger or resentment.
“I believe she had her reasons. No mother gives up her child unless she has no other choice. I just want to understand why,” she said.
In April 2025, Kjersti returned to Vietnam for the first time after opening up to her adoptive parents about her desire to find her biological mother.
“They offered to come with me, but I said no. This was something I needed to do on my own.”
As part of her journey, Kjersti registered for a running event in Hanoi, a symbolic act of reconnecting with the land of her birth. While her main reason for returning was to find her mother, she also hoped to experience and understand more of her birthplace.
When she arrived in Vietnam, she felt an immediate sense of belonging; her skin, hair, and figure matched those around her. “I finally felt like I belonged.”
During the run, she shared her story with a fellow participant, who offered to help by connecting her with contacts in Soc Son, the district listed on her birth certificate.
Following advice, Kjersti wrote a heartfelt social media post detailing her life story. Within three days, it garnered hundreds of shares. A young woman named Trang from Soc Son read the post and reached out.
“She said she could help connect me with a local group that might assist in filtering and verifying information,” Kjersti said.
One lead pointed to an older woman in Soc Son who might have known her biological mother.
On April 15, Kjersti officially began her search, even delaying her return flight to find the answers she’d longed for her entire life.
Kjersti Binh Hegna recently visited Soc Son General Hospital on the outskirts of Hanoi, where she stopped by the hospital’s administrative records office. There, she left a copy of her birth certificate addressed to the hospital leadership, requesting permission to access more information about her origins.
In another social media interaction, a woman from Soc Son told Kjersti that her sister had once known a pregnant woman who had to give up her baby, a story that seemed to echo Kjersti’s own circumstances. Prompted by this lead, Kjersti arranged to meet the woman in person.
During their meeting, the woman explained that in the past, it was not uncommon in Soc Son for single mothers to give up their children due to social stigma or economic hardship.
“She told me the child in her story was born in 1998, while my birth certificate says I was born in 1992, so the timeline didn’t match exactly,” Kjersti said, her voice tinged with disappointment. Though the meeting didn’t yield a breakthrough, it stirred deep emotions.
Despite the possibility of silence or rejection, Kjersti remains determined to find her birth mother. “I often imagine what it would feel like to hold her finally, ask if she’s okay, and whether she’s ever thought of me,” she shared. Still, she prepares herself for the chance that her mother may not want to reconnect, “The sudden appearance of a child after three decades could come as a shock.”
“Whether she welcomes me or not, I just want to thank you,” Kjersti added. “Because of her decision back then, I have the life I live today.”
If any readers have information about the family of Kjersti Binh Hegna (also known as Nguyen Thanh Binh) in Vietnam, please get in touch with Dan Tri via the following hotlines:
Hanoi Hotline: 0973-567-567
Ho Chi Minh City Hotline: 0974-567-567
Email: info@dantri.com.vn
