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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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