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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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