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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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