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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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