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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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