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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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