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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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