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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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