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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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