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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

We have to stop turning ourselves into victims.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Korea still sending children for adoption abroad?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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