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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.”

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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