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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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