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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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