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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.”

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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