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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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