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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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