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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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