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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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.

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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