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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.”