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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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