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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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