The simple answer would be in 2015, when The Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo contacted me to leave my DNA, to see if there was a match with their DNA bank . For those who don’t know who they are, Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo is a human rights organization with the goal of finding the children stolen and illegally adopted during the 1976–1983 Argentine military dictatorship.

It happened like this: On August 14th, 2015, I received a call from the Argentine embassy in Sweden, saying that they were looking for me from the Argentine Foreign Ministry. When I asked for what matter, they told me they couldn't tell me, but they asked me if I was willing to attend a meeting with them.

To make a long story short, my case was taken to court and an official investigation had started. Apparently they had received several anonymous reports at Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo, saying that I possibly was one of the missing children of the dictatorship. Since time had passed and several reports had been made, they had to act upon it.That's how, after talking to the judge, who explained to me that if I didn't leave a DNA sample willingly, they would have to send the Swedish police to my house and get some DNA samples, I finally left it willingly on December the 7th 2015.

What that all really meant to me is too long to explain, so for now I'll leave it there.

The more interesting question is perhaps, since when have I been curious to know my biological identity?

That is a bit more complex to answer. Because at no time did I feel an impulse to find out where my genes came from.Since I was a little girl I always heard my family say, specially my mother that my genes came from the slums. Since my skin was darker than my brother's (also adopted) and I laughed harder than him, and didn't show any kind of sophistication, I obviously came from the slums. I was obviously, according to their world view, of a lower breed. These were their racist assumptions. Racism in Argentina is rooted in colonialism that was of course very evident in the parts of Buenos Aires where Germans from the Second World War moved.

This so-called truth was reflected everywhere. At school, for example, I remember that at the age of 6 some boys approached me at recess and said: “You are brown” Which obviously, according to them, wasn’t something good. And that continued throughout my school time. It was always clear to me that I did not belong to the so called superior white race. I had slum genes. And it didn’t help the matter that I was going to a German school in Argentina. So why look for more? To have it all confirmed? No. Society had already given me a place and a status and what I wanted most was to flee from that past and that truth.

Until one day I was presented with the opportunity to belong to another truth, or another reality. To another breed.

Instead of being the daughter to a slum-person,I could be the daughter of a revolutionary who fought for a better and more just world. A hero who fell into the hands of the enemy. And if that was the case, a totally different blood would run through my veins. And my genes would be brave and courageous. I could be the daughter of a martyr, of a fighter, of a symbol of the truth.

So, how is it that I dared to believe in a new truth and begin the search? It went like this:

One day I was invited to a wedding. The woman getting married was the daughter to the mom that told my mom twenty two years earlier, that there was a baby girl who was at a doctor and needed to be adopted. Basically thanks to her, my parents adopted me. I went to the wedding with the boyfriend I had at the time. Once there, we noticed that most of the men were dressed in some police or military looking uniforms. I noticed that, not because I had ever suspected that I was the daughter of the disappeared, but because it seemed ridiculous to me to dress in a uniform for a wedding. As I said before, I never thought I could belong to that small and very special marvel of babies stolen by the dictatorship. It had been made clear to me through their class hatred and racist assumptions, that I was a product of a lower social class and therefore I had no sophistication whatsoever. My existence was of no transcendence. So it didn't dawn on me until the day after, when my boyfriend told me that his father had asked him if the people who were the adoption contact with my family, had something to do with the dictatorship.

From that day on I never had peace again. It was so obvious. I already knew what I had to do. It was as if the history of the entire country suddenly hung on my shoulders.

There was only one thing I could do: Go to the Grandmother of Plaza de Mayo.

I finally did it. It took a few months, but I went. I don't remember the exact date, but I know it was before I moved to Sweden the 9th of June 2002 and after the rape I survived the 7th of August 2001

I remember standing at the door of the building with my legs shaking. So scared, but I did it anyway.

And that's how the search began.

Suddenly I could be someone else. Suddenly I was a special person, a national treasure, the balm that could heal a nation's wounds. The living proof that the truth cannot be killed.

That’s how, for at least a few years I got to have new genes.

I was someone else.