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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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