Latest news with #twins
The Guardian
4 hours ago
- General
- The Guardian
The kindness of strangers: when my period arrived, a lifeguard quietly put a towel around me
It wasn't my first period, but it was within the first year of getting my period. I was only 13 years old and, when you first start menstruating, you never know when your next period is going to arrive. I was away on holiday with my family, playing in the hotel pool with some new friends I'd just met. There was definitely a boy there I fancied. At one point, I hopped out of the pool and suddenly this lifeguard, who must have only been 15 or 16 himself, walked straight up, put a towel around me and said really quietly in my ear, 'You need to go to the bathroom.' I looked down and realised why: my period had started. That was it. He said nothing more. Not even my twin sister, who was also in the pool, had any idea what had happened. He was that subtle about it. If he hadn't done that, it likely would have destroyed my entire holiday. You can just imagine the humiliation of having met a group of cool teenagers you're trying to impress and suddenly you've got blood running down your legs. This was the 1980s – they would have pointed at me and laughed! I will always be grateful to that lifeguard. I've always wished that I could go online and find this boy to thank him – or thank his mother more than anything, as she clearly taught him perfect manners. He somehow knew not to make a big deal of it, and how not to embarrass me. It was just done so beautifully. I now have two sons myself and I've always said to them, if you ever see a stain on a girl's dress, take off your jumper, put it around her waist, tell her she needs to go to the bathroom and never mention it again. That day also showed me that kindness doesn't have to be big, sweeping 'look at me' gestures – the smallest acts can be the most impactful. From making your day to changing your life, we want to hear about chance encounters that have stuck with you. Your contact details are helpful so we can contact you for more information. They will only be seen by the Guardian. Your contact details are helpful so we can contact you for more information. They will only be seen by the Guardian. If you're having trouble using the form click here. Read terms of service here and privacy policy here
The Sun
4 hours ago
- General
- The Sun
‘I'm scared to look' people cry as mum shows off her 10-month-old twins' breakfast that ‘will get stuck in their throat'
A MUM-OF-TWO has caused controversy after giving her 10-month-old twins desiccated coconut for breakfast. Brittany Miller is mother to Emiliano and Elijah and regularly shares videos of her parenting journey on her social media pages. 2 2 She recently started baby led weaning (BLW) with her sons and earlier this year, came under fire for giving the boys steak for dinner. But now, the influencer has caused a stir yet again after posting a clip of her 10-month-old twins' eating breakfast. Before handing her kids their plates of food, Brittany said: 'It's breakfast time for the boys and I feel like I haven't shown you their food in ages and they're doing so well with their food.' As she gave her followers a close-up look at their lavish meal, Brittany added: 'So they've got French toast with strawberry yoghurt, and I'm just sprinkling coconut all over it. 'This is cold steak - I just keep steak in the fridge and I just give it to them because it's cold, it's really soothing, they can actually chew it up now. 'And then they've got a tomato - they love tomato because it's just so juicy and refreshing on their gums, and then they will have some orange, but not until they've had this.' Moments later, the brunette explained: 'Emi has gone straight for the French toast, Eli has gone straight for the tomato, he literally loves tomatoes so much.' But Brittany's TikTok clip, which was posted on her official account @ brittanyhmiller, has clearly left many open-mouthed, as it has quickly gone viral and racked up 1.3 million views in just three days. Not only this, but it's also amassed 80,300 likes, 671 comments and 1,398 saves. Despite the meal appearing delicious and nutritious, numerous social media users were concerned by Brittany's boys eating desiccated coconut and many eagerly raced to the comments to voice their fears. Mum slammed for giving eight-month-old twins STEAK One person said: 'Omg really? Coconut will get stuck in their throat.' Another asked: 'I'm scared to look. Is it safe for them?' Whilst someone else questioned: 'Coconut gets stuck in their throat??' To this, Brittany confidently clapped back and simply penned: 'No.' So they've got French toast with strawberry yoghurt, and I'm just sprinkling coconut all over it Brittany Miller Despite lots of concern amongst fans, desiccated coconut can be safely introduced to babies and is commonly used for children as a natural way to sweeten, add grip for weaning or provide extra nutrients to meals. It is generally considered safe for babies in small amounts, but it has been advised to wait until children are around nine to 12 months, when they are better at chewing and swallowing. When choosing desiccated coconut, it's advised to check that it is unsweetened and without added preservatives. What is baby led weaning? Starting your baby on food can be a daunting, scary process. And while mums have depended for years on purees and soft, easy to eat foods for their babies, there's another approach that often causes controversy. Namely baby led weaning (BLW). Instead of spoon-feeding your baby pureed or mashed foods, BLW means offering them "only finger foods and letting them feed themselves from the start", the NHS explained. "You can offer a range of small, finger-sized pieces of food," they added. "Some parents prefer baby-led weaning to spoon feeding, while others combine a bit of both. "There's no right or wrong way – the most important thing is that your baby eats a wide variety of food and gets all the nutrients they need." Raw coconut chunks should be avoided due to choking hazards, and finely shredded or blended coconut is safer for babies. For younger babies, who are under nine months old, it is recommended to avoid desiccated coconut due to the risk of choking and digestive difficulty. NHS advice According to the NHS, when it comes to weaning, there are a number of foods parents should avoid giving to babies and young children. The NHS website reads: 'Babies should not eat much salt, as it's not good for their kidneys. 'Do not add salt to your baby's food or cooking water, and do not use stock cubes or gravy, as they're often high in salt. 'Remember this when you're cooking for the family if you plan to give the same food to your baby. 'Avoid salty foods like: bacon, sausages, chips with added salt, crackers, crisps, ready meals, takeaways.' Different parenting techniques Here are some widely recognised methods: Authoritative Parenting This technique will often foster independence, self-discipline, and high self-esteem in children. It is often considered the most effective, this technique is where parents set clear expectations - enforcing rules - whilst also showing warmth and support. Authoritarian Parenting This is opposite to authoritative parenting, as it is where the parent sets high demands but is low on responsiveness. It involves ensuring the child is obedient and often employ punitive measures. While this can lead to disciplined behaviour, it may also result in lower self-esteem and social skills in children. Permissive Parenting Permissive parents tend to be indulgent and lenient, often taking on a role more akin to a friend than an authority figure. They are highly responsive but lack demandingness, granting children a lot of freedom. This method can nurture creativity and a free-spirited nature but may also result in poor self-regulation and difficulties with authority. Uninvolved Parenting Uninvolved or neglectful parenting is marked by low responsiveness and low demands. Parents in this category offer minimal guidance, nurturing, or attention. This often leaves children feeling neglected, which can have significant negative effects on their emotional and social development. Helicopter Parenting Helicopter parents are extremely involved and overprotective, frequently micromanaging their children's lives. Although their goal is to protect and support, this approach can hinder a child's ability to develop independence and problem-solving skills. Free-Range Parenting Free-range parenting encourages children to explore and learn from their surroundings with minimal parental interference. This method promotes independence and resilience but requires a safe and supportive environment to be successful. Attachment Parenting According to Attachment parenting focuses on physical closeness and emotional bonding, often through practices such as co-sleeping and baby-wearing. This approach aims to create secure attachments and emotional well-being, but demands significant time and emotional commitment from parents. Each of these parenting techniques has its own set of strengths and weaknesses. The key is to find a balanced approach that aligns with the family's values and meets the child's needs for a healthy, happy upbringing. Not only is it advised to minimise the amount of salt you give to babies, but sugar is also a no no. According to the NHS: 'Your baby does not need sugar. By avoiding sugary snacks and drinks (including fruit juice and other fruit drinks), you'll help prevent tooth decay.' Additionally, parents should also steer clear of saturated fats. 'Do not give your child too many foods that are high in saturated fat, such as crisps, biscuits and cakes. 'Checking the nutrition labels can help you choose foods that are lower in saturated fat,' the NHS recommends.
Forbes
7 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Forbes
Why Park Bo-Young Wanted To Play Twins In ‘Our Unwritten Seoul'
When Park Bo-young read the script for Our Unwritten Seoul she saw it as a once-in-a-lifetime challenge — and also a huge opportunity. 'I kept thinking, 'When will I ever get to try something like this again? If not now, will this kind of chance ever come again?'As soon as I read the line at the end of Episode 1 — 'I'll live your life. You live mine.' — I knew I had to do this drama. In this new Korean drama Park plays twins Mi-rae and Mi-ji, creating two realistically different characters and then convincingly portraying them as they trade places and pretend to be each other. When they were younger twins Mi-rae and Mi-ji often switched places, so when Mi-rae faces a difficult problem, it seems like a logical solution. However, trading places triggers some drama and romantic mix-ups. The twins share a lot, explains Park, but they do have different personalities, shortcomings and strengths. 'Mi-rae, the older sister, was born with a physical ailment that made life challenging from the start,' said Park (Daily Dose of Sunshine, Doom At Your Service) at a recent press conference. 'She's someone who studies hard, endures silently, and believes she's best at holding things in. After struggling to survive in Seoul, something happens that leads her to switch roles with her twin.' Mi-ji, the younger sister, used to be a promising track athlete in her childhood, but an injury shattered that dream. 'For reasons of her own, she's been living in a small rural village called Doo-son-ri,' said Park . When something happens to her sister, she agrees to take her place — and that's how the switch begins.' Since Mi-rae starts off in Seoul and goes through a lot emotionally, the actress tried to highlight the character's distant personality—from her behavior to her styling decisions 'One of the things I worried most about was the balance during the identity switch — when they pretend to be each other," she said. "Director Park guided me through that part the most on set. In the early scenes, Mi-ji appears with bleached hair — that visual contrast was actually the director's idea to help distinguish her from Mi-rae. He even wanted Mi-ji's hair to be bleached but with some dark roots grown out, so we went with that — and when I saw it, I was really satisfied with how it looked.' Having a conversation with yourself is harder than you might imagine. 'Normally, I focus on reacting to my scene partner's performance. But this time, I also had to predict how the other character — who was also me — would act. Luckily, I had a stand-in actor on set who made eye contact with me and even performed the other role when needed. For example, if I had to shoot a scene as Mi-ji first, the director would ask me to act out Mi-rae's side of the conversation beforehand. The stand-in would then study that and recreate Mi-rae's behavior as closely as possible while I filmed as Mi-ji.' In some scenes involving special effects, she had to act without the benefit of another actor reading her lines. 'That was a new experience for me, and I think it really helped me grow as an actor. I'm very grateful to the director and the stand-in for their hard work. When Mi-rae and Mi-ji talk to each other — whether face-to-face or over the phone — I thought I could just memorize the entire script straight through, but it didn't work that way. I had to memorize Mi-ji's lines separately, and then Mi-rae's separately. It honestly felt like shooting two dramas at once.' Park Jin-young aka Jinyoung (The Witch, The Devil Judge) plays Lee Ho-su. He's a childhood friend of both twins and Mi-ji is sure he's in love with Mi-rae. 'Lee Ho-su appears to be a successful lawyer on the outside,' said Jinyoung. 'But deep down, he's struggling with unresolved trauma — he's like a swan, graceful above the surface but paddling frantically underneath. While in Seoul, he meets a woman who might be Mi-rae, or Mi-ji — he's not sure who she is — and through this mysterious connection, he begins to grow and slowly confront his past.' It's Jinyoung's first drama role after serving in the military, which is mandatory for all able-bodied Korean males. The actor, singer and member of the k-pop group Got7 enjoyed his time in the military, but returning to the work he loves made him happy. 'Since it had been a while, I found myself diving deeper into this project," said Jinyoung. "The writing was beautiful, and the teamwork on set was great. Park Bo-young helped me a lot as well. She really made it easier for me to adjust quickly to the filming environment. Ho-su has a handicap, and we discussed it a lot on set to make sure it wasn't portrayed as too intense or too subtle. We wanted to strike the right balance. I also felt that Ho-su speaks slowly and with a low, subdued tone. With the director's guidance, I tried to bring out that quality in his character during filming.' Although he had to act with two different versions of Park Bo-young, summoning up screen-worthy chemistry was no problem 'My chemistry with Park Bo-young was excellent,' said Jinyoung. 'I was a bit nervous at first since I had just returned from a year and a half of military service, but Park Bo-young made me feel comfortable and helped ease my tension. Her real personality is very gentle and kind, much like her characters in this drama, so that made adapting to the set much easier. Also, when she played Mi-ji and Mi-rae, she brought distinctly different energies to each character, which made it easier for me to respond accordingly as Ho-su. It honestly felt like I was acting alongside two different people, Mi-ji and Mi-rae.' While Ho-su likes Mi-rae well enough, he's drawn to Mi-ji who stood up for him when he was a high school transfer student trying to hide his disability. The mix-up with Mi-ji standing in for her sister as an office worker and Mi-rae working on a farm naturally leads to some romantic mix-ups. 'There are many characters and their relationships are woven like a spider's web, all wrapped beautifully,' said Jinyoung. 'Among these many stories, I believe viewers will find at least one that feels like their own. If viewers are going through difficult times, I hope they can watch this drama and, like the characters, feel encouraged by the positive influence of those around them to move forward. Ultimately, they will realize that what truly matters is people and human connections. I hope viewers continue watching until the end and receive something good from it.' The other romantic entanglement involves Mi-rae-pretending-to-be-Mi-ji and the eccentric but likable Han Se-jin, played by Ryu Kyung-soo. "Han Se-jin was once the chief investment officer at a major firm in Seoul,' said Ryu Kyung-soo. 'An extremely successful and wealthy man. But due to a certain incident, he ends up taking over his grandfather's strawberry farm. There, he meets Yu Mi-rae, who's pretending to be Yu Mi-ji. Se-jin is a quirky, slightly odd, but ultimately endearing character.' Ryu recently played the disreputable son of a political candidate in the Korean box office hit Yadang The Snitch and played a sympathetic policeman in the alien drama Glitch. His role in Our Unwritten Seoul is not like anything he's done before but the way the script was written meant it did not require much preparation. 'The character and script the writer created were so well crafted that all I had to do was follow them faithfully,' said Ryu. 'Han Se-jin is talkative, playful, and in some ways, quite quirky. But I personally felt that those traits come from a place of deep loss. I imagined that beneath his eccentric exterior, Se-jin carries a profound sense of loneliness and isolation.' Ryu also enjoyed working with Park Bo-young. 'Park Bo-young felt like a vast ocean with gentle waves,' said Ryu. "When I wanted to venture out into the deep acting waters, it felt like I was safely floating with just a tube, carried smoothly without big waves or turbulence. Watching how she portrayed both Mi-ji and Mi-rae, I witnessed many remarkable moments." When reading the script, Ryu thought the story was gentle, warm and uplifting. 'I hope viewers find comfort through it,' he said. "People find strength in many ways — whether it's eating something delicious, chatting with friends, or sleeping long hours. I hope this drama becomes one of those sources of strength. So for anyone going through a hard time or feeling lost in deep darkness lately, I hope this show can help give you courage to heal and move forward.' Our Unwritten Seoul airs on Netflix. The Studio Dragon drama was directed by Park Shin-woo, who directed When Stars Gossip, The Killing Vote and It's Okay To Not Be Okay. The screenplay was written by Lee Kang, who wrote Youth of May.
The Guardian
8 hours ago
- Health
- The Guardian
‘Mom, am I the missing twin?': the story of two babies separated by the Chinese state – and their emotional reunion
One night in September 2009, a widowed mother in Texas named Marsha was up late at her kitchen table, scrolling through correspondence, when she opened an email that would change her family's life. It was from an acquaintance who was sharing a newspaper article – as it happens, an article I'd written from China – about government officials who had snatched children from impoverished families to supply the lucrative adoption market. The article featured an interview with a nine-year-old girl speaking wistfully about her identical twin who had been taken away. 'A Young Girl Pines for Her Twin' was the headline. Marsha had two daughters from China. She and her husband, Al, both employees of the defence contractor Lockheed Martin, had adopted when they were in their 50s, though they both had adult children from previous marriages and were looking forward to retirement. Their motives were largely humanitarian. Marsha, a devout Christian who'd once wanted to be a missionary, was saddened by the plight of baby girls who had been abandoned by their parents because of China's brutally enforced one-child policy. She'd been flooded with tears after reading an article in Reader's Digest about a man who threw his four-year-old daughter down a well so he could have a son. They had adopted their first daughter, Victoria, in 1999 and their second, Esther, in 2002. 'Could Esther be the missing twin?' the acquaintance, also an adoptive mother, had written in the email. Marsha shook her head. There was no possibility. Confirming her daughters were asleep, she went to a hallway closet and pulled out a briefcase containing the adoption papers, then riffled through until she found what she was looking for: a certificate attesting to the child's origins and their legitimate status as an orphan. 'Shao Fuquan … found abandoned at the gate of the Qiaotou Bamboo Craft Plant of Shaoyang City on 4 June 2002 … We cannot find her natural parents and other relatives up to now.' She was reassured. Then she turned to the article online and read more carefully. The twin had been taken near Shaoyang, China, where Esther's orphanage was located; a dozen local officials had 'stormed the house and grabbed the 20-month-old' on 30 May 2002. That was less than a week before the girl was supposedly found at the bamboo factory. The article also said the girl had a 'distinctive bump' on her left earlobe. Marsha clicked on an accompanying photograph. It showed the mother, Zanhua, and her remaining nine-year-old daughter, Shuangjie (meaning double purity, in recognition of her status as a twin), sitting outside their home. She enlarged the photo so she could look more closely at Shuangjie's pouty lips, knowing half-smile and wide cheekbones. She recognised that face. All the pieces fell into place. The dates matched. The description. Marsha and her husband had been puzzled by Esther's behaviour as a young child. Almost two-and-a-half when she came to the US, Esther had been slower to bond than their first daughter. Al had once remarked, 'It almost seems as if she's been raised.' Now it all made sense. There was one obvious conclusion: everything she'd been told about Esther was a lie. Marsha cycled through powerful waves of emotion. Fear. Guilt. Betrayal. Sadness for Esther having experienced such a brutal trauma so early in life, sadness for the mother whose daughter had been taken away, sadness for the Chinese girl who missed her twin. Anxiety swept over her. She was terrified that the journalist – me – would reveal Esther as the stolen twin. Reading comments on adoption websites demanding confiscated babies be returned to their birth parents in China, her worst fears were for her daughters. Al had died of lymphoma the previous year and the family was steeped in grief. She worried Esther was quietly suffering from this long-ago trauma, a wound that could be reopened if she learned what had happened. Marsha wanted to keep it a secret until the girls were old enough to understand, not that she fully understood herself. She vowed to say nothing to anyone except immediate family. A few days later, Esther asked to use her mother's phone to message the fiancee of Marsha's son who was like a big sister to Esther and Victoria. Marsha had an old-style flip phone and as soon as Esther punched in Carrie's name, her last text popped up on screen. 'It's terrible for twins to be separated,' Carrie had written. Esther couldn't understand why the topic of twins was suddenly of interest. But she sensed it was an urgent matter and may be related to her. By then, both girls had noticed Marsha appeared unusually agitated and distracted. When asked what was going on, she was evasive. There were hushed phone conversations that fell silent when the girls walked into the room. At one point, Marsha went up to Esther and, without explanation, pushed her hair aside and snapped a photograph of the small bump on her left ear. Esther's tiny ear tag had never caused much concern before. 'I thought that was kind of weird,' Esther said later. That same week, on an evening when Esther and Victoria had just come home from visiting friends, Marsha summoned them into her bedroom. Esther had a feeling of dread. Their mother's formality reminded her of the previous year when they had been summoned into the bedroom to be told their father had died. 'Girls, there is something I need to share with you,' Marsha told them. She began a long-winded account of how a scandal had erupted in China about babies confiscated for adoption, and how one of the babies had a twin sister who was looking for her. Esther listened for a few minutes, then interrupted. 'Mom, am I the twin?' she asked. Marsha was taken aback. Was there something Esther remembered? She stammered that she didn't know anything for sure, and in any case it was nothing to worry about, probably nothing that affected them. Esther bided her time, waiting until one afternoon when Marsha was napping on the living room sofa, her laptop sitting on the kitchen table. Esther was a respectful daughter who didn't want to think of herself as a snoop, but she found herself quickly navigating to her mother's email. She clicked on the article sent to her mother, noting the detail about the bump on the ear. When Marsha woke up from her nap, Esther blurted it out. 'If I tell you something, will you promise not to get angry?' she asked, barely waiting for the answer. 'I know now it's all true. I really am the missing twin.' A few months earlier, in the summer of 2009, I had travelled with a Chinese news assistant to Hunan province to report on the story of children who had been seized by family planning, the euphemistically named agency that enforced the one-child policy. The families victimised were poor, rural, often living in the mountains without political connections or education. The village where we met the twin and her mother was accessible only on foot, requiring a precarious walk over a crude bridge of logs tied together over a stream. Called Gaofeng, or High Phoenix, the village looked stuck between eras. Everything was in the process of falling down or going up. The old wooden homes were being replaced with new construction, houses that were unattractively built of dispiriting red brick. Everything looked incomplete, missing a roof or a window. The family was living temporarily in what was little more than a log cabin, with a door of corrugated metal and a roof of plastic sheeting. Their worldly possessions appeared to be three pigs, one cow, a few chickens and a duck. Zanhua, the mother, told me they were building a proper house and that her husband was doing migrant labour in a nearby city to earn cash for the construction. For lack of anywhere else to sit, we settled outside on low plastic stools laid out on the dirt. Shuangjie nestled close to her mother, sometimes resting her head on her mother's knee. She was a skinny slip of a child, small for her age, prettily dressed in lime-green polka-dot trousers with matching sandals and a pink T-shirt. Zanhua did most of the talking. She had a friendly, open face and told her story with animation, but not excessive emotion or self-pity. Before the twins, she'd already had two daughters, and intended to stop there. But her father-in-law insisted she try again for a son to perpetuate the family line. To stay off the radar of family planning officials, who might have forced her to abort and even get sterilised, she hid out in late pregnancy and went into labour in a shack hidden in a bamboo grove just across the street from where we were speaking. Though they didn't get the coveted son, they loved their twins and had no intention of relinquishing them. To avoid detection, they decided to separate them, taking Shuangjie to the city where Zanhua's husband was working, and hiding the other – Fangfang – in the care of Zanhua's brother and his wife. But family planning officials found out; they stormed the house, overpowered the wife and ran out with Fangfang. Zanhua felt bad for her youngest daughter, who grieved for her missing twin, although they hadn't been together since infancy. 'Shuangjie,' she told me, pointing to the little girl draped on her lap, 'she always asks me, 'When are you going to get my sister back?'' The little girl, with some prodding, finally spoke up in a squeaky little voice. 'She would be the same age as me. It would be fun. We could play together, wear the same clothes and go to school together,' she said. 'Yes, twins shouldn't be separated,' Zanhua agreed. 'If it was possible, we'd want to take her back. I gave birth to her. I still want her, or at least to know where she is.' By the time we had finished speaking, the sun was low enough that we sat in the shadows of the bamboo, which were crisscrossing the landscape like the bars of a prison. We couldn't stay much longer, as it would be hard to navigate out of the village in the darkness. 'Come back again, and next time bring my daughter,' Zanhua told me. I gave a noncommittal nod, and later wondered: why was I going to help this family find their missing daughter and not the others? Shuangjie had a twin sister, possibly an identical twin sister. As they matured, the girls would look alike. I thought, just maybe, that I could succeed. When I got back to my office in Beijing, where I was bureau chief for the Los Angeles Times, I thought about the missing twin. And I began to search. I found a Yahoo group for parents who had adopted from the orphanage in Shaoyang where I suspected she had been taken. (Babies set for adoption could be in the orphanage for up to a year because of the paperwork involved – including placing an ad for the child's birth parents in newspapers families in the villages would never see.) The adoptive parents were raising money to support the orphanage and often posted photos of their children. With the moderator's help, I identified several possibilities. The most likely seemed to be an older couple, Marsha and Al, who had two girls from China and had become passionate advocates of international adoption. They had put up two photos of the girl they called Esther. One showed her at the time of adoption, a toddler with thin hair and downcast eyes. Another showed a well-dressed four-year-old in a puffy blouse with a smile stretching from cheekbone to cheekbone. Was Esther actually Fangfang? Did she look like Shuangjie? I thought so, but I wasn't sure. I thought surely Zanhua and her husband could tell me. Borrowing a technique from police procedurals, I plucked random photographs from the internet of Chinese girls of similar age and appearance. I printed out a sheet with eight colour photographs, interspersed among them the two of Esther. They were like mugshots. Not to raise anybody's hopes, I wrote a note saying that these were just photos of adoptees and maybe there was a slim chance one resembled their daughter. I sent the photos through an intermediary. The response came back immediately. The Chinese family had identified the correct photos. They were certain. Now what? I had heedlessly barrelled ahead, setting a challenge for myself to find the missing girl, without thinking about the next step or the implications for real people. I couldn't publish a story, given the girl's age, but I couldn't ignore the discovery either. Marsha hadn't returned my messages and her number was unlisted. As I was debating what to do, the moderator of the Yahoo group – who had become an intermediary – passed on Marsha's plea that I stop trying to contact her. She and her family, mourning Al's death, 'are not ready or able to deal with this at present'. In the end, I sent some of the information I had collected to Marsha, through a relative, assuring her I didn't intend to write a story. I wrote to Zanhua and her family to say I had confirmed that her daughter was alive and well in the US, but they would be unable to contact her at this time. But life didn't go back to normal, especially not for Esther. The revelation rattled her sense of security. Perhaps if she'd discovered her past later in life, she might have been gratified that her birth family loved her and she hadn't been willingly surrendered. But, at nine, her first reaction was alarm. She felt like a freak. She wasn't just another kid from Texas. Or just another Chinese adoptee, like Victoria, who had assumed a new identity. She had an entire previous life in China, another name, a storied past. And she had a twin – a half of herself that had been left behind. She didn't want to be a twin. Now China lurked as a threat. 'Does this mean I will have to go back to China?' Esther asked her mother. Marsha assured Esther nobody could take her away. She would be her daughter for ever, a US citizen for ever. Victoria was fearful, too, not so much for herself as for her little sister. What if somebody from China came after her? Victoria dared not say her name aloud if other people could hear. When they were out, she'd simply call her 'E' – a nickname that persists to this day. Marsha installed a high fence along the perimeter of their yard. They kept the curtains tightly drawn. Victoria and Esther were already curiosities in their community. They lived in a fast-developing but still-rural patch of Texas with strip malls and horse pastures. Their little town had almost no Black people, few Hispanics and, as far as they could remember, no other Asians. Once there had been a Chinese restaurant in one of the malls, but it had closed. At the mall, they drew stares. Children sometimes touched their hair. Marsha had tried her best to make her daughters feel less isolated. When they were young, she drove them to gatherings of other Chinese adoptees in Austin. She bought the girls books and videos about China. It was a delicate balancing act, trying to make her daughters proud of their origins without shoving their ethnicity down their throats. She didn't force them to study Chinese. She understood that school-age children were keener to assimilate than to explore their roots. As Esther reached her teens, she became more self-conscious about being Asian. She studied herself in the mirror, comparing her features and colouring with those of her blue-eyed, red-headed mother. Esther had an acute visual sensibility: she paid close attention to the people and landscape around her. At 14, she got a camera as a Christmas present and took it everywhere. She photographed her family, their cat, people in the neighbourhood. She developed an interest in fashion. It was hard to relate to the tall, leggy models. Esther was still under 5ft and Victoria only a few inches taller. She discovered Asian fashion blogs and was happy to see models who shared her body type. She had grown up watching Disney animations of pale, blue-eyed heroines but decided now that Mulan, the Chinese warrior, was her favourite. And she began thinking about her other half in China. She wondered whether her twin looked just like her, what she wore, what she was doing. She wondered if her twin ever thought about her. Around the time she turned 16, she spoke to her mother about contacting her twin. And Marsha asked Sam, her son, to reach out to me for help. In the end, it was easier to find Shuangjie again than her parents. At 16, she had already moved on from the village. She was a teaching intern at a preschool in Changsha, capital of Hunan province. She lived in a dorm with other young trainees. And, like most Chinese people her age, she was connected to the wider world through social media. She had her own smartphone and an account on WeChat, the ubiquitous app used by more than a billion people in China. A film-maker gave me her contacts. A colleague in Beijing messaged to give her a heads-up that we had news of her twin sister. I friended her on WeChat and she accepted. The lines of communication were open, and I was the go-between. Marsha had suggested Esther start by writing a letter. A real letter, handwritten. They didn't want to text, or for the birth family to have their contact information. A few days later, a letter appeared in my mailbox. The handwriting was tidy, the spelling and grammar exact. Sign up to Inside Saturday The only way to get a look behind the scenes of the Saturday magazine. Sign up to get the inside story from our top writers as well as all the must-read articles and columns, delivered to your inbox every weekend. after newsletter promotion Hello Shuangjie. I'm Esther. Please allow me to introduce myself. As you already know, I am 16 years old … I am short, just under 5ft tall, but I actually don't mind in the least. People guess my age to be about 13 or 14, which I think is funny. [A smiley face was inserted here.] How tall are you? I recently started my own photography business … I love to cook/bake and I like fashion and art and music. In January, we celebrated the lunar new year for the first time and we all wore red and I made orange chicken and fried rice which we ate with chopsticks. We also watched Disney's Mulan and decided to make it a tradition for every new year. To avoid raising expectations that she was planning to move back to China, Esther added a pointed, though gracious, explanation: I am very happy and want you to know I have a caring and lovely family whom I love dearly. I suggested Shuangjie write a letter in response. Dear Esther, hello. My name is Shuangjie. I am 16 years old and an outgoing girl. I am about 150cm tall and the slightly chubby type of girl. I like playing ping-pong, badminton. I like to listen to music and do calligraphy. My favourite colours are white and black, and my favourite season is the fall: the temperature of the season is just right, not cold or hot. We very much want to see you and hope you and your family are not afraid. We won't snatch you away from your family. We understand. I hope we will keep in touch in the future. I really want to wear the same clothes as you, go shopping together and listen to music together. I think it's a magical thing that two people look very much alike. In school, teachers would call the wrong name because they can't tell us apart, and our friends would also be confused as to who is who. The girls became pen pals, with me as the courier, translating and relaying messages. Esther wrote to me by email, which Shuangjie didn't use. Like most Chinese people, she preferred texting on her phone. Esther still didn't want to set up a WeChat account. She hadn't told Shuangjie her surname or where she lived. Esther did send photos, and Shuangjie reciprocated. They looked alike. Flat, wide noses, flared at the nostrils, well-defined eyebrows, eyes that crinkled at the edges when smiling. They both had bright, infectious smiles, though Shuangjie's was less confident. Their most striking feature was their cheekbones, wide and pronounced. This might have been the end of my involvement in this story. But over the summer, I was planning a trip to China, and it wouldn't be so complicated to route myself through Changsha to see Shuangjie in person and maybe revisit the village. I could also set up a video chat with an interpreter between Shuangjie and Esther. When I suggested it, they both jumped at the idea. I booked a hotel, figuring we would need fast wifi for a video call, and Shuangjie arrived at the appointed time. The technology worked without a hitch; just like that, Esther's face popped up on the tiny screen. The girls stared at each other from 7,000 miles and 13 hours apart. For what seemed a long time, they just examined each other. Neither said a word. Shuangjie's mouth was agape, a look of awe on her face. Then she broke into a big smile. 'I'm so happy I can finally see you,' she said. 'I can see you, too,' Esther replied. The girls related best through gestures. Esther held up her waist-length hair and pulled it back to look more like Shuangjie. Shuangjie showed Esther a birthmark on her back, which Esther lacks. By the end of the call, we were all exhausted, physically and emotionally. But there was one more piece of business to attend to. We had come this far on coincidences of timing and physical resemblance, but I felt we needed positive proof that the girls were twins. I had bought a simple collection kit online from a DNA testing lab. It consisted of a couple of cotton swabs and test tubes. Shuangjie rolled hers around inside her cheek for a few seconds and we put the swab back in the test tube and sealed it. We did it again with a second swab just to make sure. As she was still a minor, I would need a parental signature to do the DNA test, which meant another visit to Gaofeng village, where the twins were born. It was 2017 – eight years since my earlier visit – and we were able to drive the entire time on paved road. The family was now living in a brick house, nestled under the terraced paddies crawling up the mountains. This time, Zanhua was away working in the city – the couple used to alternate, with one earning cash, the other staying home to mind the farm. Zeng Youdong, the twins' father, had stayed behind to prepare for the rice harvest. To my relief, he wasn't angry with me for waiting so long to tell him more about his missing daughter. When I opened my laptop to show him photos of Esther, he couldn't peel his eyes away from the screen. 'You should tell her not to be afraid,' he said finally. 'I understand she is not coming back to live in China. Just to see her makes me happy.' But it would not be quite enough. After the DNA test confirmed that Esther was in fact their missing twin, we started organising a visit to China over the lunar new year holiday, a traditional time for family reunions. I'm not sure what I had expected when the families finally came face to face in February 2019. Tears and hugs, of course; perhaps somebody fainting or collapsing, begging forgiveness. That's what had happened when I had covered a reunion in Beijing a few years earlier, of an adopted Chinese boy with his relatives. In one of the video chats between the twins, they had shared fantasies of what it would be like to meet for the first time. ('It will be like magic,' Shuangjie had said.) None of the imagined scenarios prepared me for the long silences and reticence. I would soon learn that the Zengs were not a family prone to histrionics. They didn't show their emotions on the surface. We filed silently into the family house and stood awkwardly, wondering what to do. Even Marsha was uncharacteristically quiet. Esther and Shuangjie faced each other across the table, avoiding eye contact. Shuangjie led a round of introductions, using the precise Chinese terminology to explain family relations. There was the number one, the jiejie, or oldest sister, Ping, 23, wearing padded pink pyjamas. The second sister, Yan, 21. The parents had finally had a son, the didi, or little brother, now a lanky 16-year-old with a fringe hanging over a handsome if acne-marred teenage face. He nodded a greeting before ducking into another room. Throughout the introductions, the parents hung back. The father, Youdong, stood quietly in the doorway between the dining room and kitchen, watching with a private smile – the same expression I recalled from when I first showed him photos of Esther. The mother, Zanhua, hadn't come out to greet us, instead busying herself in the kitchen, from which billowed clouds of smoke so pungent with red pepper that it made our eyes water. Only after she had carried out dish after dish of food – pork, fish heads with hot pepper, spicy cabbage – did she finally speak. 'Eat, eat, before it gets cold.' Those were the first words she spoke to her long-lost daughter. The square table wasn't large enough, so the sisters and their husbands, the brother and assorted children were shuffled off to an adjoining room. We Americans were a big delegation – me, Marsha and Sam, Esther and Victoria. We squeezed on to wooden benches around the table with Shuangjie, her parents and an interpreter. We ate with red chopsticks out of white porcelain bowls. That first meal felt like a formal banquet. Esther and Shuangjie stole glances but didn't dare look each other in the eye. Unlike many westerners, Chinese don't consider meals a time for conversation, but the silence felt stifling. Esther tried to break the ice with impeccable manners and grace. 'You are making me feel so welcome,' she said, instinctively pausing for the interpreter. 'I am having a good time in China … I'm glad to finally meet you.' Again, a pause. Towards the end of the meal, everybody was starting to warm up, gradually letting down their guard. When the photographer pointed the camera at Shuangjie, she flashed him that distinctive smile and raised her fingers in a victory sign. Yes, she'd done it. She'd got her twin sister back. Esther gave her version of the same grin. Sitting side by side, it was for the first time possible to compare and contrast. Esther had a smattering of freckles, probably because, as an American, she wasn't as concerned as many Chinese women about avoiding the sun. The most striking difference was size. Shuangjie was larger, taller by 3in and proportionally heavier, though not overweight. It's not uncommon for identical twins to vary in size. But Esther was the first-born twin, who is usually larger at birth. It seemed the six months she'd spent in the orphanage had cost her several inches in height. But they were otherwise close enough in appearance to revel in all that they shared. 'It's like seeing another me in the mirror,' Esther exclaimed. We came back to the village every day for the rest of the week, filing into the house, chattering amiably, taking the same seats around the table. On one visit Marsha gave the speech she had, in effect, rehearsed for nearly a decade, ever since she'd learned about Esther's past in 2009. 'Esther's name means star. She has been a bright star in my life,' she began. 'But I would never have adopted her if I knew she was stolen from you.' 'It was the situation, the government,' Youdong said. 'Still, it gives me pain knowing that my gain was your loss,' Marsha replied. 'I'm overjoyed just to be able to see her again.' 'I'm happy she can come here and be with her birth family. I want that connection to remain,' Marsha said. 'I'm grateful to you. I can see that you raised her very well,' Youdong replied. Although we were seated on crude wooden stools, the formality of the discourse made it feel like one of those stilted US-China summits, the leaders facing forward, sunk into oversize armchairs, with a flower arrangement and interpreter strategically placed between them. Nobody quarrelled, but there were underlying tensions that bubbled to the surface. Youdong couldn't understand why Marsha and her husband, at a relatively advanced age and with adult children, came to China to adopt. And he was confused by the role played by Sam, who in his late 40s was almost the same age as him. 'I'm surprised Sam did not object to the adoption,' Youdong said at one point. That took Marsha and Sam aback, both a little offended by the assumption that an adult son would have power over his mother, especially one as independent as Marsha. Sam tried to reassure them about how much he loved having Esther and Victoria as sisters. About the finances of the adoption, Youdong was even blunter, so much so that the Americans cringed at his question. 'How much did you pay for her?' Youdong knew nothing of international adoption, even less of the niceties of The Hague convention that was designed to guard against the outright sale of children. Marsha didn't lose her composure, but briefly explained the laws and answered directly. The adoption had cost $25,000, she said. Except for a $3,000 contribution to the orphanage, the fees were paid through the government's China Center of Adoption Affairs; they had not been dealing with child traffickers, and had been able to afford it because they sold their house. It was an artful answer – it gave Marsha a chance to explain that Americans weren't just buying babies. And to emphasise gracefully that American adopters were not necessarily rich. Her family, in particular, was not. Over our last meal, Youdong made an exception to his policy of not drinking alcohol by serving us warm rice wine, brewed at home with rice grown in their own fields. We had a series of toasts and a few more speeches. 'From now on, I will call you Mom and Dad,' Esther told her Chinese parents through the interpreter. Marsha nodded her assent. Zanhua toasted me as well. She spoke of the visit I had first made in 2009 when, she said, I had promised her I would bring back her daughter. I couldn't remember making any such promise, but I drank to it anyway. I remembered that the first day we'd arrived, Zanhua had flinched when Marsha tried to hug her. But now the women had a long embrace, celebrating their collaborative motherhood. And I thought I detected a tear in Zanhua's eye at saying goodbye again to her daughter. This is an edited extract from Daughters of the Bamboo Grove by Barbara Demick, published on 5 June by Granta Books at £20. 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Woman's New Sister-in-Law Expects Her to Pay Over $180 Because She Missed Her Wedding — for the Birth of Her Twins
A woman wrote on Reddit that she is dealing with family drama after she missed her brother's wedding for the birth of her twins Her sister-in-law now expects her to pay over $180 to make up for her and her wife's absence Speaking of her newborns, the woman said, "They are currently in the Neonatal Unit, and my wife and I practically live there"A woman missed her sister-in-law's wedding for the birth of her twins — and now the bride expects her to pay for her absence. The new mother, 29, wrote in a post on Reddit's "Am I the A------" forum that her wife, 26, gave birth to twins early after developing twin-twin transfusion syndrome, a rare condition that occurs when twins share a single placenta and one baby receives more blood flow and nutrients than the other, according to John Hopkins Medicine. 'They are currently in the Neonatal Unit, and my wife and I practically live there so we can spend time with our boys,' the woman wrote, then explaining that her brother's wedding took place two days after the twins' birth. Never miss a story — sign up for to stay up-to-date on the best of what PEOPLE has to offer, from celebrity news to compelling human interest stories. Because she didn't want to leave her wife or their new sons, the woman continued, 'I sent them their gift from us and a text wishing them a fantastic day, and I thought nothing more of it." However, the woman said she was taken aback 'to then receive a text from my new sister-in-law explaining that because my wife and I missed the wedding, she'd need us to send her £140 [over $180] for our plates of food.' 'She told me that she got my wife couldn't go as she had to stay in the hospital, but that I wasn't the one who gave birth, so I could have [gone] and saved two plates of food from going to waste," the Redditor added. The PEOPLE Puzzler crossword is here! How quickly can you solve it? Play now! The woman said she pushed back against the new bride, writing, "I told her she was being ridiculous." When she said she asked her sister-in-law if her brother "was aware she was asking his sister for money for food," the woman continued, "She brushed that off and said weddings were expensive and she had to try and recoup her losses." The woman also said her sister-in-law wanted to keep the issue between them, "woman to woman," but she lost her temper and took 'screenshots of the conversation" and posted them online. Eventually, her sister-in-law contacted her. The woman said the new bride must've been 'bombarded with messages, as she told me to take it down, as I was making her look bad and people were taking it out of context and thinking she was some kind of villain.' When the woman got her brother involved, she said he told her 'not to worry about the money" and that he felt "it was stupid to expect us to pay for the plates." The brother, the woman added, also said he would handle his wife, but he asked his sister to remove the social media posts, which she did. is now available in the Apple App Store! Download it now for the most binge-worthy celeb content, exclusive video clips, astrology updates and more! In the comments section of the post, many Reddit users felt the woman was in the right to take offense.'She just got married, and could be riding the high of that, but instead she's pestering people worried sick about their newborns, over MONEY,' one person wrote. They added, "People deserve to know that SIL is seemingly devoid of compassion, so they can avoid talking about sensitive subjects around her. Who knows what awful thing she'll say next!' Another agreed that the sister-in-law made herself look bad. 'Your brother is now having to deal with the person he really married,' the user said. Others, meanwhile, said family matters should be left for behind closed doors and not for public shaming. 'All you had to do was text your brother the screenshot and ask him if he agrees with her,' one individual commented. Read the original article on People
