So I thought, "I will talk about death." Seemed to be the passion today. Actually, it's not about death. It's inevitable, terrible, but really what I want to talk about is, I'm just fascinated by the legacy people leave when they die. That's what I want to talk about.
Tako sam razmišljala, "Govorit ću o smrti." Čini se da je to strast danas. Zapravo, nije riječ o smrti. Ona je neizbježna, grozna, ali ono o čemu, zapravo, želim pričati je, fascinacija ostavštinom koju ljudi ostave kada umru. O tome želim pričati.
So Art Buchwald left his legacy of humor with a video that appeared soon after he died, saying, "Hi! I'm Art Buchwald, and I just died." And Mike, who I met at Galapagos, a trip which I won at TED, is leaving notes on cyberspace where he is chronicling his journey through cancer. And my father left me a legacy of his handwriting through letters and a notebook. In the last two years of his life, when he was sick, he filled a notebook with his thoughts about me. He wrote about my strengths, weaknesses, and gentle suggestions for improvement, quoting specific incidents, and held a mirror to my life.
Art Buchwald je ostavio svoje nasljedstvo smijeha na videu koji se pojavio ubrzo nakon što je umro, govoreći, "Bok! Ja sam Art Buchwald, i upravo sam umro." I Mike, kojeg sam srela na Galapagosu, putovanju koje sam osvojila na TED-u, ostavlja bilješke u kibernetskom prostoru gdje u obliku kronika bilježi svoje putovanje kroz rak. A moj otac mi je ostavio nasljedstvo svog rukopisa kroz pisma i bilježnicu. U posljednje dvije godine njegovog života, kada je bio bolestan, ispunio je bilježnicu svojim mislima o meni. Pisao je o mojim snagama, slabostima, i nježnim sugestijama za poboljšanje, citirajući specifične događaje, držeći ogledalo mog života.
After he died, I realized that no one writes to me anymore. Handwriting is a disappearing art. I'm all for email and thinking while typing, but why give up old habits for new? Why can't we have letter writing and email exchange in our lives? There are times when I want to trade all those years that I was too busy to sit with my dad and chat with him, and trade all those years for one hug. But too late. But that's when I take out his letters and I read them, and the paper that touched his hand is in mine, and I feel connected to him.
Nakon što je umro, shvatila sam kako mi nitko više ne piše. Rukopis je umjetnost u nestajanju. Ja sam za e-poštu, i mislim kada tipkam, ali zašto se odreći starih navika zbog novih? Zašto ne bismo mogli imati pisanje pisama i razmjenu e-pošte u našim životima? Postoje trenuci kada želim mijenjati sve te godine u kojima sam bila prezaposlena da sjednem sa svojim ocem i čavrljam s njime, i mijenjati sve te godine za jedan zagrljaj. Ali prekasno. Ali tada uzmem njegova pisma i čitam ih, i papir koji je dirao njegovu ruku je u mojoj ruci, i osjećam se povezano s njim.
So maybe we all need to leave our children with a value legacy, and not a financial one. A value for things with a personal touch -- an autographed book, a soul-searching letter. If a fraction of this powerful TED audience could be inspired to buy a beautiful paper -- John, it'll be a recycled one -- and write a beautiful letter to someone they love, we actually may start a revolution where our children may go to penmanship classes.
Stoga bismo možda svi mi trebali ostaviti našu djecu s nasljedstvom vrijednosti, a ne s financijskim nasljedstvom. Vrijednost za stvari s osobnim dodirom -- spomenik, pismo iz duše. Ukoliko bi frakcija ove moćne TED publike mogla biti inspirirana kupiti prekrasan papir -- John, bit će reciklirani papir -- i napiše prekrasno pismo onima koje vole, možda možemo započeti revoluciju gdje bi naša djeca odlazila na satove krasopisa.
So what do I plan to leave for my son? I collect autographed books, and those of you authors in the audience know I hound you for them -- and CDs too, Tracy. I plan to publish my own notebook. As I witnessed my father's body being swallowed by fire, I sat by his funeral pyre and wrote. I have no idea how I'm going to do it, but I am committed to compiling his thoughts and mine into a book, and leave that published book for my son.
Dakle, što planiram ostaviti svom sinu? Sakupljam spomenike, i vi autori u publici znate da vas uznemiravam zbog toga -- i CD-e isto tako, Tracy. Planiram objaviti svoju vlastitu knjigu. Kako sam bila svjedok kada je tijelo mog oca progutala vatra, sjela sam pored njegove pogrebne lomače i pisala. Nemam ideje kako ću to učiniti, ali predana sam sastavljanju njegovih i mojih misli u knjigu, i ostaviti tu objavljenu knjigu mom sinu.
I'd like to end with a few verses of what I wrote at my father's cremation. And those linguists, please pardon the grammar, because I've not looked at it in the last 10 years. I took it out for the first time to come here. "Picture in a frame, ashes in a bottle, boundless energy confined in the bottle, forcing me to deal with reality, forcing me to deal with being grown up. I hear you and I know that you would want me to be strong, but right now, I am being sucked down, surrounded and suffocated by these raging emotional waters, craving to cleanse my soul, trying to emerge on a firm footing one more time, to keep on fighting and flourishing just as you taught me. Your encouraging whispers in my whirlpool of despair, holding me and heaving me to shores of sanity, to live again and to love again." Thank you.
Željela bih završiti s nekoliko strofa onoga što sam napisala prilikom kremiranja mog oca. A vi lingvisti, molim vas, oprostite na gramatici, jer nisam gledala u to posljednjih 10 godina. Izvadila sam ih van po prvi put kako bih ih mogla pročitati ovdje. "Slika u okviru, pepeo u boci, bezgranična energija zatvorena u boci, tjera me na suočavanje sa stvarnošću, tjera me na suočavanjem da sam odrasla osoba. Čujem te i znam kako želiš da budem snažna, ali upravo sada, povučena sam prema dolje, okružena, i ugušena od tih bujajućih emocionalnih voda, koje žude da pročiste moju dušu, pokušavajući izbiti još jednom na čvrstinu, kako bi se nastavile boriti i cvjetati baš kao što si me učio. Tvoji ohrabrujući šapati u mom vrtlogu očaja, drže me i izdižu na obale razuma, kako bih živjela ponovno i kako bih voljela ponovno." Hvala vam.