We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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