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

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

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.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.”

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

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

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

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

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

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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