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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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