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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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