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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.