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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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