They Wanted Me All Along: I Found My Birth Family in Hong Kong

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had two birthdays. One was given to me by the orphanage in Hong Kong — February 13 — and it’s always been a cheerful celebration with friends and family. The other, my real birthday, I only found out about recently: December 16. That one is quieter and more contemplative.

I was born in 1963 in Hong Kong, during a time when many families were struggling to survive. When I was about 10 months old, I was found abandoned on a hillside. I was taken to a children’s home, where they gave me a name, Loy, meaning “beautiful grass from the hillside,” and estimated my birthdate. I became one of many babies — mostly girls — adopted out to British families during that time.

When I was two and half, I was adopted by a British family in London. My parents already had two older sons and had adopted a little girl from Hong Kong. They wanted her to have a sister, and that’s where I came in.

Growing up, my parents were always open about my origins. We had a very British upbringing — violin lessons, walks on Wimbledon Common, home-cooked meals. My mother, a nurse, embraced our heritage in small ways: we celebrated Chinese New Year with symbolic gifts and Chinese food she cooked herself. Most of what I learned about Chinese culture came from watching TV programs and observing, rather than any formal traditions.

There were moments that reminded me I looked different. I recall being on a beach as a child and hearing a hurtful rhyme from other kids. At the time, I didn’t feel Chinese — I felt like any other London girl. Experiences like that taught me resilience, and over time, I brushed them off.

Honoring my father’s last wish

When I was 12, my father passed away from a brain tumor. One of his final wishes was for our family to visit the place my sister and I had come from. So in 1979, my mother took us to Hong Kong. We visited the children’s home, met the staff and saw the place that had once been our first home. It was a meaningful journey, even though at the time I hadn’t yet begun to imagine that my birth family might still be out there.

Years passed, and life moved forward. I became a nurse, met my husband Pete in Ibiza when I was 25, and eventually settled in Lincolnshire.

Rachel and Pete

We raised 3 wonderful daughters together, now all in their 20s. But becoming a mother myself stirred up a new layer of questions — how could my own mother have coped with letting me go?

In 2015, I joined a group of Hong Kong adoptees for a visit back to the city. The children’s home had been sold and turned into luxury flats. I managed to obtain my adoption file, which described me as a well-dressed baby with charms pinned on me — perhaps to soothe me or bring peace. But there were no names, no real clues.

Not long after, I decided to try DNA testing. I tried multiple platforms, but the closest relatives I found were distant — fourth, fifth, even sixth cousins. A third cousin in Canada gave me a flicker of hope, but it still felt like a dead end. It wasn’t until I uploaded my DNA data to MyHeritage in 2022 that something truly life-changing happened.

The cousin who unlocked the mystery

That summer, I matched with a man in the U.K. who turned out to be my first cousin. He’d taken the test out of curiosity, but was also trying to find his mother’s sister in Hong Kong. When he shared a photo of her as a young woman, I stared in disbelief. She looked just like me. I showed the photo to my husband, who simply said, “That’s you.”

With the help of a friend in Hong Kong and the names my cousin provided, we were able to locate this woman. A DNA test with one of her sons confirmed what we were beginning to suspect — she was my mother.

The first embrace

In early 2023, after confirmation from the DNA results, I was invited into a family WhatsApp group. Suddenly, I had 8 full siblings, countless nieces and nephews, and a stream of messages and photos that left my head spinning. Thankfully, some of the younger family members spoke English, and a wonderful woman named Winnie Davies — who had helped other adoptees — stepped in to guide me through the process.

In April, I traveled to Hong Kong with Pete and our daughters to meet my birth family for the first time. We met at a station near my mother’s home. Just before I could hug her, one of my sisters quickly jumped in to take a selfie for another sister in Taiwan. Then came our hug — warm, emotional, and long overdue.

Rachel with her birth mother

Over Dim Sum — it turns out we all love food — my mother brought out something extraordinary: my original birth certificate. She had kept it safe for 6 decades. That was the moment I found out my real birthday: December 16, 1963. Only two months off from the date I had celebrated my entire life.

A sense of belonging

We visited the flat where I could have grown up. It was tiny, just two rooms for a family of 10.

The family in the two-room flat

But what struck me most was how familiar everyone felt. We shared so many traits — similar height, curly hair, the same prescription glasses. I even saw my own face reflected in my brothers’.

My mother told me the truth about my abandonment. After three sons, I was the first daughter. The family was in deep poverty, and when they turned to a Taoist temple for guidance, they were told I was a bad omen — a threat to the family’s fortune. The decision was agonizing. A third party carried out the abandonment, leaving my parents with no way to find me again.

My father passed away in 2014 at age 87. My siblings took me to see his grave — a visit that gave me a deep sense of connection. Sadly, my mother passed away later that same year, in October 2023. But not before we had the chance to truly meet, to talk, to share a meal and a lifetime of questions.

Rachel and her mother in Hong Kong

I attended her two-day funeral, where I was introduced simply as “sister.” It didn’t matter if people knew the full story. I smiled, I waved — I belonged.

The siblings after their mother’s funeral

One of my brothers has since moved to Cambridge, and I’ve been back to Hong Kong several times now. Each time I return, I’m met with hugs, laughter, and, of course, lots of photos.

I’ve never felt bitterness about the past. My journey has taught me that sometimes, what’s meant to be will find its way. I’ve found peace, understanding — and most of all, I’ve found my family.

Many thanks to Rachel Rollinson for sharing her incredible story with us. If you have also made an incredible discovery with MyHeritage, we’d love to hear about it! Please send it to us via this form or email it to us at stories@myheritage.com.