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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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