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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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