The email said, “We found your mother. You have to come to Korea now.”

My adopting father told me he met my mother, and he negotiated with her.

I don’t remember much, except the crying—all those unhappy children.

I remember walking down a dirt road in Korea, and crying.

What I’ve learned through my faith in the Lord, is that it happened for a reason.

If I were to be given another life, I would want to receive parental love.

My birth mother has remarried, and her husband can’t know that I exist.

I have chosen to see adoption as a part of my life, not the driver.

For the first time, I saw other adoptees who looked a bit like me.

My teacher told the class, “This is her last day. She’s going to America.”

I feel my friends hold the concept of finding birth parents closer than I do.

I am a man who should have died a long time ago, but I have a family now.

All of a sudden, I saw real Koreans, who weren’t speaking Danish.

My husband and I are both Korean. Our son inherits our Korean heritage.

As a child, I often dreamt about what I saw the night I was abandoned.

My college essay was called “My Lucky Number”— my case number, K90821.

I enjoy traveling. When you travel, you’re not supposed to belong.

I learned how to pronounce my Korean name, and realized that it’s beautiful.

We always felt we were Danish children, with Danish values and norms.

My oldest son got me a DNA test, and it stated I’m 100% Japanese.

Mild curiosity grew into a need to connect with adoptees and Korean-Americans.

Our extended relatives made it clear. My sister and I were “add-ons.”

I’m grateful, truly, to be alive today. That’s why I tell my story.

Would I have been better off in Korea? I think the answer is always, no.

I don't talk much about growing up in an orphanage—my darkest moment.

When I married, I hid my history. Afterwards, the truth became known.

If I wasn’t adopted, I’d be working a rice field. I’m not really an outdoor guy.

What I had been looking for in my birth mom, I found when my son was born.

I never really discussed racism with my parents. I didn't want to relive it.

The woman on the phone says, “We think we found your mother.”

He puts his little hand on my face. “Momma, we have the same eyes.”

My biological parents wanted us to be together with a Christian family.

She gave me a ring she was wearing and said, “We have the same hands.”

When I met my birth mom, it wasn't under the best circumstances.

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

I think that’s why God gave me my daughter, so I wouldn't be alone.

My facility experience has made me tough. I don’t cry over small things.

My mom’s comment to me was, “You should be dating your own kind.”

Learning Korean really made me the most in touch with being Korean.

My adoptive parents loved me so much, before they even had me.

An immigrant family that was unwilling to give up on an abandoned orphan.

My adoptive parents are Korean. I grew up speaking Korean.

It’s not a job, but getting married that’s a challenge.

I didn’t get the answers I wished for, but I am more at peace with that.

It took my birth father 35 years of searching. He finally found me 3 years ago.

My biological father is standing there, leaning over a motorcycle.

I was born to have an identity complex, being adopted and transgendered.

It wasn't until college that I started to sort out my multiple identities.

My mom told me herself that I was born on the floor at home.

My adoptive parents are Korean. I found out I was adopted 3 years ago.

I remember, vividly, the morning my mother gave us up. She was crying.

That pain never goes away. I take my pain, and I put anger over it.

I’m most likely a foundling, left near a police station.

A feeling of detachment, and an inability to connect with anybody.

It was an unspeakable act. I wanted to forget it. But I couldn’t.

I’ve been homeless 15 times, from 1987 to the present—5 years in NYC.

Because I’ve chosen to become a single mother, I think about my birth mother a lot.

What if I find out something I don't want to know? That scares me.

I’ll embrace the sorrow I still feel, and one day I will heal and forgive.

I did 23andMe. My second cousin on my birth father's side contacted me.

Five Korean adoptees getting together, then 12, 15, 20, hundreds.

After that, I kind of realized…okay, I’m a child born of rape.

I was 7 and a half when I was adopted. I was told that I had two sisters.

Maybe even more as an adoptee, I’m afraid of losing my parents.

I was in the orphanage for the undesirable children. I was not adoptable.

I didn’t have problems during childhood. I am who I am, Dutch Korean.

In the Holt records, it says that I was left on the doorstep of a man’s house.

I don’t know how to put it into words. I wish I could live like everyone else.

Adoption includes the first family. The child did not appear from nowhere.

I see a lot of Chinese babies who are adopted. We kind of blazed a trail.

I grew up feeling like a Martian who had arrived from outer space.

I got married after my husband promised me he’d never mention my past.

I miss Korea and my birth family. It’s a sadness that I carry with me.

I ask myself a lot of questions about my ability to be a mother.

As of today, I do not know who is telling the truth, and who is not.

I remember looking in the mirror, trying to see what made me a target.

In Korea, I can feel the way people look at me, and I lose confidence.

My mother thinks that I’m happy all the time, not how I have struggled.

God, why am I here? Why did you put me in this household?

It was like opening Pandora’s Box, this piece of paper in my hands.

It’s good to feel like you can acknowledge the complexities around adoption.

I was the baby—the first choice to give up for adoption. I understand that.

When I walk into a room, do people look at me and say, there’s the Asian girl?

It’s important for me to share, to encourage others who’ve been victims.

I have both my birth family and my adoptive family, and I love them both.

People say my happy appearance is impressive, given my childhood.

Yeah, I’m black and Korean. But first and foremost, I’m black.

I want to be as good a parent as my mom was for me. I’ll try my hardest.

It made me embarrassed, that I had to explain my existence to other people.

I sold hard taffy, physical labor. Those jobs were my ticket to survival.

I meet facility alumni. Some are successful, some have gone astray.

I did a total 180 from not hanging out with Asians, making up for lost time.

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

There’s no information about me, my birth, my family in Korea. Nothing.

I learned that I was incredibly lucky to have grown up in Denmark.

There’s a different layer on life when someone chooses you.

Korea never left me. Korea is inside of me. I eat, breathe, and live Korea.

My earliest memories are of living in one room with my birth mother.

Mixed-race kids were seen as human refuse, a scourge on their culture.

My mother simply asked me, “Would you like to go to America?”