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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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