Thank you so much. I am a journalist. My job is to talk to people from all walks of life, all over the world. Today, I want to tell you why I decided to do this with my life and what I've learned. My story begins in Caracas, Venezuela, in South America, where I grew up; a place that to me was, and always will be, filled with magic and wonder. Frоm a very young age, my parents wanted me to have a wider view of the world. I remember one time when I was around seven years old, my dad came up to me and said, "Mariana, I'm going to send you and your little sister..." - who was six at the time - "...to a place where nobody speaks Spanish. I want you to experience different cultures." He went on and on about the benefits of spending an entire summer in this summer camp in the United States, stressing a little phrase that I didn't pay too much attention to at the time: "You never know what the future holds." Meanwhile, in my seven-year-old mind, I was thinking, we were going to get to summer camp in Miami. (Laughter) Maybe it was going to be even better, and we were going to go a little further north, to Orlando, where Mickey Mouse lived. (Laughter) I got really excited. My dad, however, had a slightly different plan. Frоm Caracas, he he sent us to Brainerd, Minnesota. (Laughter) Mickey Mouse was not up there, (Laughter) and with no cell phone, no Snapchat, or Instagram, I couldn't look up any information. We got there, and one of the first things I noticed was that the other kids' hair was several shades of blonde, and most of them had blue eyes. Meanwhile, this is what we looked like. The first night, the camp director gathered everyone around the campfire and said, "Kids, we have a very international camp this year; the Atencios are here from Venezuela." (Laughter) The other kids looked at us as if we were from another planet. They would ask us things like, "Do you know what a hamburger is?" Or, "Do you go to school on a donkey or a canoe?" (Laughter) I would try to answer in my broken English, and they would just laugh. I know they were not trying to be mean; they were just trying to understand who we were, and make a correlation with the world they knew. We could either be like them, or like characters out of a book filled with adventures, like Aladdin or the Jungle Book. We certainly didn't look like them, we didn't speak their language, we were different. When you're seven years old, that hurts. But I had my little sister to take care of, and she cried every day at summer camp. So I decided to put on a brave face, and embrace everything I could about the American way of life. We later did what we called "the summer camp experiment," for eight years in different cities that many Americans haven't even heard of. What I remember most about these moments was when I finally clicked with someone. Making a friend was a special reward. Everybody wants to feel valued and accepted, and we think it should happen spontaneously, but it doesn't. When you're different, you have to work at belonging. You have to be either really helpful, smart, funny, anything to be cool for the crowd you want to hang out with. Later on, when I was in high school, my dad expanded on his summer plan, and from Caracas he sent me to Wallingford, Connecticut, for the senior year of high school. This time, I remember daydreaming on the plane about "the American high school experience" - with a locker. It was going to be perfect, just like in my favorite TV show: "Saved by the Bell." (Laughter) I get there, and they tell me that my assigned roommate is eagerly waiting. I opened the door, and there she was, sitting on the bed, with a headscarf. Her name was Fatima, and she was Muslim from Bahrain, and she was not what I expected. She probably sensed my disappointment when I looked at her because I didn't do too much to hide it. See, as a teenager, I wanted to fit in even more, I wanted to be popular, maybe have a boyfriend for prom, and I felt that Fatima just got in the way with her shyness and her strict dress code. I didn't realize that I was making her feel like the kids at summer camp made me feel. This was the high school equivalent of asking her, "Do you know what a hamburger is?" I was consumed by my own selfishness and unable to put myself in her shoes. I have to be honest with you, we only lasted a couple of months together, because she was later sent to live with a counselor instead of other students. I remember thinking, "Ah, she'll be okay. She's just different." You see, when we label someone as different, it dehumanizes them in a way. They become "the other." They're not worthy of our time, not our problem, and in fact, they, "the other," are probably the cause of our problems. So, how do we recognize our blind spots? It begins by understanding what makes you different, by embracing those traits. Only then can you begin to appreciate what makes others special. I remember when this hit me. It was a couple months after that. I had found that boyfriend for prom, made a group of friends, and practically forgotten about Fatima, until everybody signed on to participate in this talent show for charity. You needed to offer a talent for auction. It seemed like everybody had something special to offer. Some kids were going to play the violin, others were going to recite a theater monologue, and I remember thinking, "We don't practice talents like these back home." But I was determined to find something of value. The day of the talent show comes, and I get up on stage with my little boom box, and put it on the side and press "Play," and a song by my favorite emerging artist, Shakira, comes up. And I go, "Whenever, wherever, we're meant to be together," and I said, "My name is Mariana, and I'm going to auction a dance class." It seemed like the whole school raised their hand to bid. My dance class really stood out from, like, the 10th violin class offered that day. Going back to my dorm room, I didn't feel different. I felt really special. That's when I started thinking about Fatima, a person that I had failed to see as special, when I first met her. She was from the Middle East, just like Shakira's family was from the Middle East. She could have probably taught me a thing or two about belly dancing, had I been open to it. Now, I want you all to take that sticker that was given to you at the beginning of our session today, where you wrote down what makes you special, and I want you to look at it. If you're watching at home, take a piece of paper, and write down what makes you different. You may feel guarded when you look at it, maybe even a little ashamed, maybe even proud. But you need to begin to embrace it. Remember, it is the first step in appreciating what makes others special. When I went back home to Venezuela, I began to understand how these experiences were changing me. Being able to speak different languages, to navigate all these different people and places, it gave me a unique sensibility. I was finally beginning to understand the importance of putting myself in other people's shoes. That is a big part of the reason why I decided to become a journalist. Especially being from a part of the world that is often labeled "the backyard," "the illegal aliens," "third-world," "the others," I wanted to do something to change that. It was right around the time, however, when the Venezuelan government shut down the biggest television station in our country. Censorship was growing, and my dad came up to me once again and said, "How are you going to be a journalist here? You have to leave." That's when it hit me. That's what he had been preparing me for. That is what the future held for me. So in 2008, I packed my bags, and I came to the United States, without a return ticket this time. I was painfully aware that, at 24 years old, I was becoming a refugee of sorts, an immigrant, the other, once again, and now for good. I was able to come on a scholarship to study journalism. I remember when they gave me my first assignment to cover the historic election of President Barack Obama. I felt so lucky, so hopeful. I was, like, "Yes, this is it. I've come to post-racial America, where the notion of us and them is being eroded, and will probably be eradicated in my lifetime." Boy, was I wrong, right? Why didn't Barack Obama's presidency alleviate racial tensions in our country? Why do some people still feel threatened by immigrants, LGBTQ, and minority groups who are just trying to find a space in this United States that should be for all of us? I didn't have the answers back then, but on November 8th, 2016, when Donald Trump became our president, it became clear that a large part of the electorate sees them as "the others." Some see people coming to take their jobs, or potential terrorists who speak a different language. Meanwhile, minority groups oftentimes just see hatred, intolerance, and narrow-mindedness on the other side. It's like we're stuck in these bubbles that nobody wants to burst. The only way to do it, the only way to get out of it is to realize that being different also means thinking differently. It takes courage to show respect. In the words of Voltaire: "I may not agree with what you have to say, but I will fight to the death to defend your right to say it." Failing to see anything good on the other side makes a dialogue impossible. Without a dialogue, we will keep repeating the same mistakes, because we will not learn anything new. I covered the 2016 election for NBC News. It was my first big assignment in this mainstream network, where I had crossed over from Spanish television. And I wanted to do something different. I watched election results with undocumented families. Few thought of sharing that moment with people who weren't citizens, but actually stood the most to lose that night. When it became apparent that Donald Trump was winning, this eight-year-old girl named Angelina rushed up to me in tears. She sobbed, and she asked me if her mom was going to be deported now. I hugged her back and I said, "It's going to be okay," but I really didn't know. This was the photo we took that night, forever ingrained in my heart. Here was this little girl who was around the same age I was when I went to camp in Brainerd. She already knows she is "the other." She walks home from school in fear, every day, that her mom can be taken away. So, how do we put ourselves in Angelina's shoes? How do we make her understand she is special, and not simply unworthy of having her family together? By giving camera time to her and families like hers, I tried to make people see them as human beings, and not simply "illegal aliens." Yes, they broke a law, and they should pay a penalty for it, but they've also given everything for this country, like many other immigrants before them have. I've already told you how my path to personal growth started. To end, I want to tell you how I hit the worst bump in the road yet, one that shook me to my very core. The day, April 10th, 2014, I was driving to the studio, and I got a call from my parents. "Are you on the air?" they asked. I immediately knew something was wrong. "What happened?" I said. "It's your sister; she's been in a car accident." It was as if my heart stopped. My hands gripped the steering wheel, and I remember hearing the words: "It is unlikely she will ever walk again." They say your life can change in a split second. Mine did at that moment. My sister went from being my successful other half, only a year apart in age, to not being able to move her legs, sit up, or get dressed by herself. This wasn't like summer camp, where I could magically make it better. This was terrifying. Throughout the course of two years, my sister underwent 15 surgeries, and she spent the most of that time in a wheelchair. But that wasn't even the worst of it. The worst was something so painful, it's hard to put into words, even now. It was the way people looked at her, looked at us, changed. People were unable to see a successful lawyer or a millennial with a sharp wit and a kind heart. Everywhere we went, I realized that people just saw a poor girl in a wheelchair. They were unable to see anything beyond that. After fighting like a warrior, I can thankfully tell you that today my sister is walking, and has recovered beyond anyone's expectations. (Applause) Thank you. But during that traumatic ordeal, I learned there are differences that simply suck, and it's hard to find positive in them. My sister's not better off because of what happened. But she taught me: you can't let those differences define you. Being able to reimagine yourself beyond what other people see, that is the toughest task of all, but it's also the most beautiful. You see, we all come to this world in a body. People with physical or neurological difficulties, environmentally impacted communities, immigrants, boys, girls, boys who want to dress as girls, girls with veils, women who have been sexually assaulted, athletes who bend their knee as a sign of protest, black, white, Asian, Native American, my sister, you, or me. We all want what everyone wants: to dream and to achieve. But sometimes, society tells us, and we tell ourselves, we don't fit the mold. Well, if you look at my story, from being born somewhere different, to belly dancing in high school, to telling stories you wouldn't normally see on TV, what makes me different is what has made me stand out and be successful. I have traveled the world, and talked to people from all walks of life. You know what I've learned? The single thing every one of us has in common is being human. So take a stand to defend your race, the human race. Let's appeal to it. Let's be humanists, before and after everything else. To end, I want you to take that sticker, that piece of paper where you wrote down what makes you different, and I want you to celebrate it today and every day, shout it from the rooftops. I also encourage you to be curious and ask, "What is on other people's pieces of paper?" "What makes them different?" Let's celebrate those imperfections that make us special. I hope that it teaches you that nobody has a claim on the word "normal." We are all different. We are all quirky, and unique, and that is what makes us wonderfully human. Thank you so much. (Applause)
Terima kasih banyak. Saya seorang jurnalis. Tugas saya berbicara dengan berbagai kalangan masyarakat, di seluruh dunia. Hari ini, saya ingin sampaikan mengapa saya melakukan hal ini dan pelajaran apa yang saya dapatkan. Cerita saya dimulai dari Caracas, Venezuela, di Amerika Selatan, tempat saya tumbuh besar; satu tempat yang menurut saya adalah, dan akan selalu, penuh daya tarik dan keajaiban. Sejak kecil, orang tua menginginkan saya memiliki pandangan lebih luas tentang dunia. Saya ingat saat saya berumur sekitar tujuh tahun, ayah mendatangi saya dan berkata, "Mariana, ayah akan mengirimmu dan adik perempuanmu..." - yang berumur enam tahun waktu itu - "...ke tempat yang tak seorang pun berbahasa Spanyol. Ayah ingin kamu merasakan budaya lain." Dia terus bercerita tentang keuntungan melewatkan sepanjang musim panas di sebuah perkemahan musim panas di Amerika Serikat, dengan sedikit penekanan yang saya tak peduli sama sekali waktu itu: "Kamu tak pernah tahu bagaimana masa depan nanti." Sementara itu, di pikiran saya saat itu, saya membayangkan, kami akan pergi ke perkemahan musim panas di Miami. (Tertawa) Mungkin malah lebih menyenangkan, mungkin kami akan berkunjung sedikit ke arah utara, di Orlando, tempat tinggal Mickey Mouse. (Tertawa) Saya sangat bersemangat. Tapi ternyata ayah punya rencana yang sedikit berbeda. Dari Caracas, dia mengantarkan kami ke Brainerd, Minnesota. (Tertawa) Mickey Mouse tak ada di sana, (Tertawa) di sana juga tak ada ponsel, Snapchat, atau Instagram, saya tak bisa mencari informasi apapun. Kami tiba di sana. Salah satu hal yang pertama saya amati yaitu rambut anak-anak lain dengan beragam warna pirang, dan hampir semua bermata biru. Sementara, rambut kami seperti ini. Malam pertama, pemandu perkemahan mengatur kami mengelilingi api unggun kemudian berkata, "Anak-anak, perkemahan tahun ini sangat bernuansa internasional; di sini ada keluarga Atencio dari Venezuela." (Tertawa) Anak-anak lain memandangi kami seolah-olah kami berasal dari planet lain. Mereka menanyakan beberapa hal seperti, "Apakah kalian tahu hamburger?" Atau, "Apa kalian ke sekolah naik keledai atau perahu kano?" (Tertawa) Saya jawab dengan bahasa Inggris yang berantakan, dan mereka kemudian tertawa. Saya tahu mereka tidak berniat kasar. Mereka hanya ingin mencoba memahami siapa kami, dan menghubungkan dengan lingkungan yang mereka tahu. Kami bisa saja seperti mereka, atau seperti tokoh dari buku cerita dengan segudang petualangan, seperti Aladin atau The Jungle Book. Jelas kami tak terlihat seperti mereka, tidak juga memakai bahasa yang sama. Kami berbeda. Ketika berumur tujuh tahun, hal ini tentu menyakitkan. Tapi saya punya adik yang harus saya jaga, dan saat itu dia menangis setiap hari di perkemahan. Oleh karena itu saya bersikap tegar, dan menerima semua gaya hidup orang Amerika. Kemudian kami berkegiatan berupa "percobaan perkemahan musim panas," selama delapan tahun di kota berbeda yang bahkan orang Amerika sendiri belum tahu. Yang paling berkesan saat itu adalah ketika saya akrab dengan seseorang. Mendapatkan seorang teman adalah hal yang istimewa. Semua orang ingin dihargai dan diterima, dan kita pikir ini akan terjadi secara spontan, tapi ternyata tidak begitu. Ketika Anda berbeda, Anda harus mempunyai salah satu dari hal ini. Anda suka menolong, pintar, lucu, atau apapun itu yang terdengar keren bagi kelompok di mana Anda ingin diterima. Saat saya di sekolah menengah, ayah memperluas rencana musim panasnya. Dari Caracas dia mengirim saya ke Wallington, Connecticut, saat saya di masa SMA. Pada saat itu, saya teringat mengkhayal di atas pesawat tentang "pengalaman sekolah menengah di Amerika" - lengkap dengan lokernya. Kelihatannya menyenangkan, seperti di acara TV favorit saya: "Saved by the Bell." (Tertawa) Saat tiba di sana, saya diberi tahu bahwa teman sekamar saya sudah menunggu. Saya buka pintu, dan terlihat dia duduk di tempat tidur, memakai jilbab. Namanya Fatima, seorang Muslim asal Bahrain. Dia bukan orang yang saya harapkan. Sepertinya dia merasakan kekecewaan saya karena saya tidak berusaha menutupinya. Sebagai remaja, saya ingin diterima di lingkungan, saya juga ingin populer, punya pacar yang menemani ke acara prom, karenanya saya anggap Fatima bisa jadi halangan dengan sikap pemalu dan pakaiannya yang tertutup. Tanpa saya sadari justru saya membuat dia merasakan yang saya rasa saat masih anak-anak di perkemahan lalu. Ini sama saja dengan menanyakan pertanyaan "Apa kamu tahu hamburger?" versi anak SMA. Saya dipengaruhi rasa egois waktu itu. Saya tidak mencoba memposisikan diri saya di posisinya. Jujur saja, kami tinggal sekamar hanya beberapa bulan, karena dia kemudian dipindahkan sekamar dengan konselor ketimbang siswa yang lain. Saya dulu berpikir, "Ah, dia akan baik-baik saja. Dia memang berbeda." Saat kita labeli seseorang berbeda, berarti kita tidak memanusiakan mereka. Mereka menjadi "yang lain." Mereka tidak berharga bagi kita, mereka bukan masalah kita. Sebenarnya, mereka, "yang lain," justru bisa jadi adalah penyebab masalah kita. Nah, bagaimana kita mengetahui kekurangan diri sendiri? Mulailah dengan memahami apa yang membuat Anda berbeda, dengan cara menerima perbedaan tersebut. Dengan begitu Anda kemudian bisa menerima apa yang membuat orang lain spesial. Saya ingat ketika menyadari ini. Itu terjadi beberapa bulan setelah kejadian itu. Saya sudah punya pacar untuk diajak ke prom, mempunyai beberapa teman, karenanya saya melupakan Fatima, sampai suatu hari tiap siswa harus ikut di pertunjukan bakat untuk amal. Saya harus menunjukkan bakat yang akan dilelang. Tampaknya setiap orang mempunyai suatu hal yang spesial untuk ditampilkan. Beberapa siswa akan memainkan biola, yang lain akan membawakan monolog teater, dan saya sempat merenung, "Tak ada pertunjukan bakat seperti ini di negara kami." Tapi saya bertekad menampilkan sesuatu yang bernilai. Hari pertunjukan bakat pun tiba, saya tampil di panggung dengan boombox mini, meletakkannya di samping dan menekan tombol "Putar," terdengarlah lagu dari artis favorit saya, Shakira. Saya bernyanyi dan menari "Whenever, wherever, we're meant to be together," kemudian saya berkata, "Saya Mariana, saya akan melelang sebuah kelas dansa." Tampaknya seantero sekolah angkat tangan menawar. Kelas dansa saya sangat menonjol dibanding, misalnya, sepuluh kelas biola yang ditawarkan hari itu. Saat kembali ke asrama, saya tidak merasa berbeda. Saya merasa sangat spesial. Waktu itulah saya mulai berpikir tentang Fatima. Seseorang yang tidak saya pandang spesial saat pertama bertemu. Dia berasal dari Timur Tengah, sama seperti keluarga Shakira yang juga dari sana. Dia bisa saja mengajari beberapa gerakan tari perut. jika saya menanyakan padanya. Sekarang, saya ingin Anda ambil stiker yang diberikan kepada Anda pada awal pertemuan kita hari ini, saat Anda tulis apa yang membuat Anda spesial, dan saya ingin Anda melihatnya. Penonton di rumah, silakan ambil selembar kertas, dan tulislah apa yang membuat Anda berbeda. Anda mungkin merasa waspada, mungkin sedikit malu, mungkin juga bangga saat membacanya. Tapi Anda perlu menerima hal ini. Ingat, itulah tahap awal menghargai apa yang membuat orang lain spesial. Ketika saya pulang ke Venezuela, saya mulai menyadari betapa pengalaman ini mengubah saya. Saya sudah bisa komunikasi dengan bahasa yang berbeda, saya bisa memahami perbedaan tiap orang maupun tiap daerah, di mana hal ini membuat saya menjadi lebih peka. Akhirnya saya mulai memahami betapa pentingnya memposisikan diri saya di posisi orang lain. Inilah alasan terbesar saya menjadi seorang jurnalis. Khususnya mewakili bagian dunia yang sering dijuluki "halaman belakang" "alien ilegal," "dunia-ketiga," "yang lain," saya ingin melakukan sesuatu untuk mengubahnya. Rupanya, waktu itu saat yang tepat, ketika pemerintah Venezuela menutup stasiun televisi terbesar di negara kami. Sensor terhadap media meningkat, dan ayah mendatangi saya sekali lagi lalu berkata, "Bagaimana kamu bisa jadi jurnalis di sini? Kamu harus pergi dari sini." Saya tersentak. Ayah mempersiapkan saya untuk hal seperti ini. Inilah masa depan yang saya harus hadapi. Maka di tahun 2008, saya berkemas dan pergi ke Amerika, kali ini tanpa tiket pulang. Saya sangat menyadari, di usia 24 tahun, Menjadi seorang pengungsi, imigran, "yang lain", sekali lagi, dan kali ini untuk menetap. Saya memperoleh beasiswa untuk belajar jurnalistik. Saya ingat saat diberikan tugas pertama untuk meliput pemilihan bersejarah Presiden Barack Obama. Saya merasa beruntung dan penuh harap. Saya berkata, "Ya, inilah saatnya. Saya akan mengalami hilangnya rasisme di Amerika, di mana batasan kami dan mereka semakin terkikis, kemudian mungkin akan terhapus selama-lamanya." Tapi sepertinya saya salah, ya? Mengapa terpilihnya Barack Obama tak mampu mengurangi tensi isu ras di negara kita? Mengapa masih ada orang yang merasa terancam oleh imigran, LGBTQ, dan kaum minoritas yang hanya ingin mendapatkan tempat di Amerika Serikat ini yang semestinya untuk kita semua? Saya tidak punya jawabannya saat itu, tapi pada tanggal 08 November 2016, saat Donald Trump menjadi presiden, ternyata jelas, bahwa mayoritas pemilih melihat mereka sebagai "yang lain." Ada yang mengira pendatang akan merebut pekerjaan mereka, atau curiga mereka adalah teroris yang berbicara bahasa berbeda. Sementara itu, kaum minoritas seringkali mengalami kebencian, intoleransi, dan pikiran sempit di pihak lain. Seperti terjebak dalam gelembung yang tak seorang pun mau memecahkannya. Satu-satunya cara untuk dilakukan, satu-satunya jalan keluar adalah menyadari bahwa menjadi berbeda berarti berpikir secara berbeda pula. Butuh keberanian untuk menunjukkan rasa menghargai. Menurut Voltaire: "Saya mungkin tak setuju dengan apa yang Anda katakan, tapi saya akan berjuang sampai mati membela hak Anda mengatakannya." Kegagagalan melihat sisi baik di pihak lain membuat dialog sulit dilakukan. Tanpa berdialog, kita akan mengulang kesalahan yang sama, karena kita tidak akan belajar hal yang baru. Saya membuat liputan pemilihan tahun 2016 untuk NBC News. Ini merupakan tugas besar pertama saya di saluran TV utama, setelah pindah dari TV Spanyol. Saya ingin mengerjakan sesuatu yang berbeda. Saya menonton hasil pemilihan dengan warga tanpa KTP. Membicarakan momen tersebut dengan mereka yang bukan warga negara, tapi justru paling menanti hasil suara malam itu. Ketika jelas Donald Trump yang jadi pemenang, gadis umur 8 tahun bernama Angelina mendekati saya seraya menangis. Dengan tersedu-sedu, dia bertanya apakah ibunya akan dideportasi saat itu juga. Saya peluk dia dan berkata, "Tenang, kamu jangan khawatir," tapi saya sendiri tidak yakin. Ini foto kami malam itu, akan selalu membekas di hati saya selamanya. Inilah gadis kecil itu sekitar umur yang sama dengan saya waktu perkemahan di Brainerd. Dia sudah tahu kalau dia "yang lain." Setiap harinya dia pulang sekolah sambil ketakutan, khawatir ibunya bisa saja dibawa pergi. Jadi, bagaimana jika kita ada di posisi Angelina? Bagaimana membuatnya mengerti bahwa dia spesial, dan bukannya malah merasa tidak layak untuk hidup bersama keluarganya? Dengan menyoroti Angelina dan juga keluarga seperti keluarga Angelina, saya coba membuat orang-orang memandang keluarga ini sebagai manusia, dan sama sekali bukan "alien ilegal." Benar, mereka melanggar hukum dan mereka harus bertanggung jawab, tapi mereka juga telah memberikan segalanya untuk negeri ini, seperti banyak imigran lain sebelum mereka. Saya sudah menceritakan bagaimana pengembangan diri saya dimulai. Sekarang saya ingin menceritakan bagaimana saat saya mengalami masa terburuk, saat di mana sempat membuat saya terguncang. Hari itu, tanggal 10 April 2014, saat sedang di mobil menuju studio, saya mendapat telpon dari orang tua. "Apa kamu sedang siaran?" tanya mereka. Saya langsung tahu kalau ada masalah. "Apa yang terjadi?" tanya saya. "Adikmu; dia kecelakaan mobil." Waktu itu, rasanya jantung saya seolah-olah terhenti. Tangan saya mencengkam setir, dan saya ingat kata-kata itu: "Dia tak ada harapan berjalan lagi." Orang bilang, kehidupan seseorang bisa berubah dalam sekejap. Kehidupan saya pun berubah di saat itu. Adik saya, berubah dari orang yang sukses, usia kami beda satu tahun, menjadi tidak bisa menggerakkan kakinya, duduk, atau memakai baju sendiri. Ini bukanlah perkemahan musim panas, di mana saya bisa memperbaiki keadaan. Hal ini mengerikan. Selama dua tahun, adik saya mengalami 15 kali operasi, dan dia menghabiskan banyak waktu di atas kursi roda. Tapi bukan hanya itu. Ada sesuatu yang paling menyakitkan, yang sulit dilukiskan dengan kata-kata. Yaitu cara orang-orang memandangnya, cara orang memandang kami juga berubah. Orang-orang tidak melihatnya sebagai seorang pengacara sukses atau seorang milenial cerdas yang baik hati. Ke manapun kami pergi, Saya tahu mereka hanya melihat seorang gadis malang di atas kursi roda. Mereka tak bisa melihat apa pun di balik itu. Setelah bertarung ibarat pejuang, syukurlah kini adik saya bisa berjalan lagi, dia sudah sembuh melebihi ekspektasi orang-orang. (Tepuk tangan) Terima kasih. Tapi selama masa traumatis itu, saya belajar bahwa ada perbedaan yang sangat menyesakkan, di mana sulit berpikiran positif tentang hal tersebut. Adik saya bukan sembuh karena didorong oleh apa yang terjadi, Tapi dia mengajari saya: jangan biarkan perbedaan itu membatasi Anda. Mampu melihat diri sendiri melebihi apa yang dilihat oleh orang lain, memang pekerjaan yang paling sulit, sekaligus paling indah. Kita semua lahir ke dunia dalam bentuk jasmani. Orang dengan keterbatasan fisik ataupun syaraf, komunitas terdampak lingkungan, para imigran, anak laki-laki, anak perempuan, lelaki yang ingin berdandan seperti perempuan, wanita berjilbab, wanita yang mengalami pelecehan seksual, atlet yang menekuk lutut sebagai tanda protes, kulit hitam, kulit putih, orang Asia, asli Amerika, adik saya, Anda, atau saya. Kita semua punya keinginan yang sama: bermimpi dan menggapainya. Tapi terkadang, lingkungan sosial maupun diri kita berkata, kita berbeda dengan lingkungan kita. Jika Anda melihat cerita saya, dari lahir di suatu tempat yang berbeda, tarian perut di SMA, sampai pada menceritakan cerita yang jarang Anda lihat di TV, apa yang membuat saya berbeda adalah yang membuat saya menonjol dan sukses. Saya telah berkeliling dunia, dan berbicara dengan berbagai kalangan masyarakat. Apa yang telah saya pelajari? Satu hal yang kita semua miliki adalah identitas kita sebagai manusia. Jadi berpegang teguhlah untuk membela ras Anda, ras manusia. Ayo kita satukan hati. Mari kita bersikap humanis, dalam segala hal. Akhirnya, saya ingin Anda ambil stiker itu, kertas itu. di mana Anda tulis apa yang membuat Anda beda, silahkan rayakan ini hari ini dan setiap hari, teriakkan dari atap rumah. Saya juga mengajak Anda mencari tahu dan bertanya, "Apa yang tertulis di kertas orang lain? "Apa yang membuat mereka berbeda?" Marilah kita hargai ketidaksempurnaan yang membuat kita spesial. Saya harap ini mengajari Anda bahwa tidak seorang pun berhak dengan kata "normal". Kita semua berbeda. Masing-masing kita mempunyai keunikan, dan itulah yang membuat identitas kita sebagai manusia. Terima kasih banyak. (Tepuk Tangan)