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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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