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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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