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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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