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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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