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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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