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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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