There's so many of you.
Sodes moitos...
(Laughter)
(Gargalladas)
When I was a kid, I hid my heart under the bed, because my mother said, "If you're not careful, someday someone's going to break it." Take it from me: Under the bed is not a good hiding spot. I know because I've been shot down so many times, I get altitude sickness just from standing up for myself. But that's what we were told. "Stand up for yourself." And that's hard to do if you don't know who you are. We were expected to define ourselves at such an early age, and if we didn't do it, others did it for us. Geek. Fatty. Slut. Fag.
De rapaz, escondía o corazón baixo o leito porque miña nai dicía, "Se non tes coidado, alguén virá rompercho algún día" Facédeme caso: ese non é un bo escondedoiro. Seino porque fun derribado tantas veces que teño vertixe só estando de pé. Pero iso é o que nos dicían. "Mantente en pé e faite valer" Iso é difícil cando non sabes quen es. Esperábase que nos definísemos desde cativos, e se non o facíamos, outros facíano por nós. Rariño. Gordo. Puto. Marica.
And at the same time we were being told what we were, we were being asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I always thought that was an unfair question. It presupposes that we can't be what we already are. We were kids.
E á vez que se nos dicía o que eramos, preguntábasenos, "Que queres ser de maior?" Sempre pensei que esa pregunta era inxusta, Supón que non se pode ser o que xa se é. Eramos cativos.
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a man. I wanted a registered retirement savings plan that would keep me in candy long enough to make old age sweet.
De cativo, quería ser un home. Quería un plan de pensións para poder mercar moitos doces e ter unha boa vellez.
(Laughter)
(Gargalladas)
When I was a kid, I wanted to shave. Now, not so much.
De cativo, quería barbearme. Agora, xa non tanto.
(Laughter)
(Gargalladas)
When I was eight, I wanted to be a marine biologist. When I was nine, I saw the movie "Jaws," and thought to myself, "No, thank you."
Con oito anos quería ser biólogo mariño. Con nove, vin <i>Tiburón</i>, e pensei: "Non, grazas".
(Laughter)
(Gargalladas)
And when I was 10, I was told that my parents left because they didn't want me. When I was 11, I wanted to be left alone. When I was 12, I wanted to die. When I was 13, I wanted to kill a kid. When I was 14, I was asked to seriously consider a career path.
Cando tiña dez anos, dixéronme que meus pais marcharan porque non me querían. Con once anos, quería estar só. Con 12, quería morrer. Con 13, quería matar a un neno. Cando tiña 14 anos, dixéronme que tiña que escoller unha profesión.
I said, "I'd like to be a writer."
Dixen: "Quero ser escritor."
And they said, "Choose something realistic."
E responderon: "Escolle algo realista".
So I said, "Professional wrestler."
Entón dixen: "Loitador profesional".
And they said, "Don't be stupid."
Responderon: "Non sexas estúpido".
See, they asked me what I wanted to be, then told me what not to be.
Mirade, preguntáronme o que quería ser, e logo dixéronme o que non ser.
And I wasn't the only one. We were being told that we somehow must become what we are not, sacrificing what we are to inherit the masquerade of what we will be. I was being told to accept the identity that others will give me.
E non era ao único. Dicíasenos que debiamos chegar a ser o que non somos, sacrificando o que somos e así herdar a farsa do que seremos. Dixéronme que aceptase a identidade que outros me darían.
And I wondered, what made my dreams so easy to dismiss? Granted, my dreams are shy, because they're Canadian.
E eu preguntábame por que os meus soños son tan fáciles de obviar? De acordo, os meus soños son tímidos, porque son canadenses.
(Laughter)
(Gargalladas)
My dreams are self-conscious and overly apologetic. They're standing alone at the high school dance, and they've never been kissed. See, my dreams got called names too. Silly. Foolish. Impossible. But I kept dreaming. I was going to be a wrestler. I had it all figured out. I was going to be The Garbage Man.
Os meus soños son cohibidos, e dados a pedir desculpas. Están parados sós no baile de fin de curso, e nunca foron bicados. Mirade, os meus soños tamén recibiron alcumes. Parvo. Estúpido. Imposible. Pero seguín soñando. Ía ser un loitador. Xa o tiña todo argallado. Ía ser O Home do Lixo.
(Laughter)
(Gargalladas)
My finishing move was going to be The Trash Compactor. My saying was going to be, "I'm taking out the trash!"
O meu movemento de remate sería O Compresor de Lixo. O meu dito ía ser, "¡Estou sacando o lixo!"
(Laughter)
(Gargalladas)
(Applause)
(Aplausos)
And then this guy, Duke "The Dumpster" Droese, stole my entire shtick.
E entón ese mozo, Duke "Vertedoiro" Droese, foi quen fixo a miña actuación.
(Laughter)
(Gargalladas)
I was crushed, as if by a trash compactor.
Sentinme esmagado, como por un compresor de lixo.
(Laughter)
(Gargalladas)
I thought to myself, "What now? Where do I turn?"
Pensei para min: "E agora? Que fago?"
Poetry.
Poesía.
(Laughter)
(Gargalladas)
Like a boomerang, the thing I loved came back to me. One of the first lines of poetry I can remember writing was in response to a world that demanded I hate myself. From age 15 to 18, I hated myself for becoming the thing that I loathed: a bully.
Coma un búmerang, o que amaba volveu a min. Unha das primeiras liñas de poesía que recordo escribir respondía a un mundo que esixía que me odiase. Desde os 15 ata os 18 anos, odiábame por me converter no que aborrecía: un matón.
When I was 19, I wrote, "I will love myself despite the ease with which I lean toward the opposite."
Cando tiña 19 anos, escribín: "Voume querer malia a facilidade con que tendo facer o contrario".
Standing up for yourself doesn't have to mean embracing violence.
Valerse só non ten que significar abrazar a violencia.
When I was a kid, I traded in homework assignments for friendship, then gave each friend a late slip for never showing up on time, and in most cases, not at all. I gave myself a hall pass to get through each broken promise. And I remember this plan, born out of frustration from a kid who kept calling me "Yogi," then pointed at my tummy and said, "Too many picnic baskets." Turns out it's not that hard to trick someone, and one day before class, I said, "Yeah, you can copy my homework," and I gave him all the wrong answers that I'd written down the night before. He got his paper back expecting a near-perfect score, and couldn't believe it when he looked across the room at me and held up a zero. I knew I didn't have to hold up my paper of 28 out of 30, but my satisfaction was complete when he looked at me, puzzled, and I thought to myself, "Smarter than the average bear, motherfucker."
Cando era neno, Intercambiaba tarefas escolares por amizade, e poñía escusas aos amigos por non chegaren a tempo, na maioría dos casos, por non apareceren. Deime carta branca para librarme de todas as promesas rotas. E recordo este plan, nado da frustración cun neno que non paraba de chamarme "Yogi". Sinalaba o meu ventre e dicía: "Demasiadas cestas de picnic". Resulta que non é tan difícil enganar a alguén. Un día antes da clase, díxenlle: "Si, podes copiar a miña tarefa" e deille todas as respostas erradas que escribira a noite anterior. Cando lle devolveron a tarefa, el esperaba case un dez, e non podía crer que estaba a termar dun cero. Eu sabía que non tiña que ensinar o meu traballo de 28 sobre 30, a miña satisfacción foi completa cando me mirou desconcertado, e pensei para min, "máis intelixente que o oso medio, fillo de puta ".
(Laughter)
(Gargalladas)
(Applause)
(Aplausos)
This is who I am. This is how I stand up for myself.
Este son eu. Así é como me vallo eu só.
When I was a kid, I used to think that pork chops and karate chops were the same thing. I thought they were both pork chops. My grandmother thought it was cute, and because they were my favorite, she let me keep doing it. Not really a big deal. One day, before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees, I fell out of a tree and bruised the right side of my body. I didn't want to tell my grandmother because I was scared I'd get in trouble for playing somewhere I shouldn't have been. The gym teacher noticed the bruise, and I got sent to the principal's office. From there, I was sent to another small room with a really nice lady who asked me all kinds of questions about my life at home. I saw no reason to lie. As far as I was concerned, life was pretty good. I told her, whenever I'm sad, my grandmother gives me karate chops.
Cando era neno, pensaba que costeletas de porco e costeladas de karate eran o mesmo. Para min eran costeletas de porco. Á miña avoa facíalle graza, e como eran as miñas favoritas, deixoume seguir dicíndoo. Non parecía importante. Un día, aprendín que os mozos gordos non están deseñados para trepar, cando caín dunha árbore e machuquei o lado dereito do meu corpo, Non quería dicirllo á miña avoa para non me meter en problemas por xogar onde non tiña que estar. Cando o profesor de ximnasia viu as feridas, mandoume ver ó director. Logo, enviáronme a unha pequena sala cunha señora moi agradable que me facía moitas preguntas sobre a miña vida na casa. Non vin razón para mentir. Para min, a vida era bastante boa. Díxenlle: cando estou triste, a miña avoa dáme costeladas de karate.
(Laughter)
(Gargalladas)
This led to a full-scale investigation, and I was removed from the house for three days, until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises. News of this silly little story quickly spread through the school, and I earned my first nickname: Porkchop. To this day, I hate pork chops.
Isto provocou unha investigación, sacáronme da casa durante tres días, ata que finalmente preguntáronme como fixera as feridas. Axiña se espallou pola escola esta pequena anécdota, e obtiven o meu primeiro alcume: Costeleta de porco Ata hoxe, odio as costeletas de porco.
I'm not the only kid who grew up this way, surrounded by people who used to say that rhyme about sticks and stones, as if broken bones hurt more than the names we got called, and we got called them all. So we grew up believing no one would ever fall in love with us, that we'd be lonely forever, that we'd never meet someone to make us feel like the sun was something they built for us in their toolshed. So broken heartstrings bled the blues, and we tried to empty ourselves so we'd feel nothing. Don't tell me that hurts less than a broken bone, that an ingrown life is something surgeons can cut away, that there's no way for it to metastasize; it does.
Non son o único neno que creceu así, rodeado de persoas que adoitaban dicir esa rima sobre paus e pedras, como se os ósos rotos doeran máis que o que nos chamaban, e chamábannos de todo. Así que crecemos crendo que ninguén se namoraría de nós, que estariamos sós para sempre, que nunca coñeceriamos alguén que nos fixese sentir que o sol era un regalo seu para nós. As cordas rotas do corazón sangraban, e intentamos baleirarnos para non sentirmos nada. Non digades que iso doe menos ca un óso roto, que un cirurxián pode cortar unha vida encarnada, que non vai producir metástase; porque si o fai.
She was eight years old, our first day of grade three when she got called ugly. We both got moved to the back of class so we would stop getting bombarded by spitballs. But the school halls were a battleground. We found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day. We used to stay inside for recess, because outside was worse. Outside, we'd have to rehearse running away, or learn to stay still like statues, giving no clues that we were there. In grade five, they taped a sign to the front of her desk that read, "Beware of dog."
Ela tiña oito anos, o primeiro día en 3º de primaria, cando lle chamaron fea. Puxéronnos aos dous ó fondo da clase para que non nos bombardeasen con bólas de papel cuspido. Pero o vestíbulo era un campo de batalla. Atopámonos superados en número día tras mísero día. Adoitábamos quedar dentro no recreo, porque fóra era peor. Fóra, teriamos que ensaiar as fuxidas, ou aprender a ser como estatuas, sen dar pistas de que estabamos alí. En 5º de primaria pegaron un cartel na súa mesa que dicía: "Coidado co can".
To this day, despite a loving husband, she doesn't think she's beautiful, because of a birthmark that takes up a little less than half her face. Kids used to say, "She looks like a wrong answer that someone tried to erase, but couldn't quite get the job done." And they'll never understand that she's raising two kids whose definition of beauty begins with the word "Mom," because they see her heart before they see her skin, because she's only ever always been amazing.
Ata hoxe, a pesar de ter un marido amoroso, ela non pensa que sexa fermosa, por mor dunha marca de nacemento que ocupa case a metade do rostro. Os nenos dicían "Parece unha resposta incorrecta que alguén intentou borrar, pero non conseguiu facelo". E nunca entenderán que ela está a criar dous fillos cuxa definición de beleza comeza coa palabra "mamá" porque ven o seu corazón antes cá súa pel, porque ela sempre foi marabillosa.
He was a broken branch grafted onto a different family tree, adopted, not because his parents opted for a different destiny. He was three when he became a mixed drink of one part left alone and two parts tragedy, started therapy in eighth grade, had a personality made up of tests and pills, lived like the uphills were mountains and the downhills were cliffs, four-fifths suicidal, a tidal wave of antidepressants, and an adolescent being called "Popper," one part because of the pills, 99 parts because of the cruelty. He tried to kill himself in grade 10 when a kid who could still go home to Mom and Dad had the audacity to tell him, "Get over it." As if depression is something that could be remedied by any of the contents found in a first-aid kit.
El era unha rama rota enxertada nunha árbore xenealóxica diferente, adoptada, non porque os seus pais apostasen por un destino diferente. Con tres anos converteuse nunha mestura dunha parte de soidade e dúas partes de traxedia, comezou ir a terapia en 2º da ESO, tiña unha personalidade a base de tests e pílulas, vivía coma se os outeiros foran montañas e as baixadas acantilados, catro quintas partes suicida, unha marea de antidepresivos, de mozo chamábanlle "Drogata", unha parte a causa das pastillas, 99 partes a causa da crueldade. Intentou matarse en 4º da ESO cando un rapaz que aínda tiña na casa a súa nai e pai tivo o descaro de dicirlle "Supérao" Como se a depresión puidese remediarse con calquera dos contidos dun kit de primeiros auxilios.
To this day, he is a stick of TNT lit from both ends, could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends in the moment before it's about to fall, and despite an army of friends who all call him an inspiration, he remains a conversation piece between people who can't understand sometimes being drug-free has less to do with addiction and more to do with sanity.
Ata hoxe, é un cartucho de TNT prendido por ambos os lados, podería describir en detalle como o ceo se dobra no momento antes de caer, e malia un exército de amigos que o consideran inspiración, el segue sendo tema de conversa entre persoas que non entenden que ás veces deixar as drogas ten menos que ver coa adicción e máis que ver coa cordura.
We weren't the only kids who grew up this way. To this day, kids are still being called names. The classics were "Hey, stupid," "Hey, spaz." Seems like every school has an arsenal of names getting updated every year. And if a kid breaks in a school and no one around chooses to hear, do they make a sound? Are they just background noise from a soundtrack stuck on repeat, when people say things like, "Kids can be cruel." Every school was a big top circus tent, and the pecking order went from acrobats to lion tamers, from clowns to carnies, all of these miles ahead of who we were. We were freaks -- lobster-claw boys and bearded ladies, oddities juggling depression and loneliness, playing solitaire, spin the bottle, trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal, but at night, while the others slept, we kept walking the tightrope. It was practice, and yes, some of us fell.
Non fomos os únicos nenos que creceron deste xeito. Ata hoxe, os nenos aínda reciben alcumes. Os clásicos foron "Oe, estúpido", "Oe, panoco". Parece que todas as escolas teñen un arsenal de nomes que se actualiza todos os anos. E se un rapaz se rompe na escola e ninguén decide escoitar, fai algún son? Son só ruído de fondo dunha banda sonora posta en bucle, cando a xente di cousas como: "Os nenos poden ser crueis". Todas as escolas eran coma circos, e a xerarquía pasaba de acróbatas a domadores de leóns, de pallasos a feirantes, todos moi por diante de quen eramos nós. Eramos monstros rapaces con pinzas de lumbrigante e mulleres barbudas, rarezas facendo malabares coa depresión e a soidade, xogando a soas, xirando a botella, intentando bicar as partes feridas de si mesmos e curarse, pero pola noite, mentres os demais durmían, seguiamos a camiñar pola corda bamba. Cousa de práctica, e si, algúns de nós caeron.
But I want to tell them that all of this is just debris left over when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought we used to be, and if you can't see anything beautiful about yourself, get a better mirror, look a little closer, stare a little longer, because there's something inside you that made you keep trying despite everyone who told you to quit. You built a cast around your broken heart and signed it yourself, "They were wrong." Because maybe you didn't belong to a group or a clique. Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything. Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth to show-and-tell, but never told, because how can you hold your ground if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it? You have to believe that they were wrong. They have to be wrong. Why else would we still be here?
Pero quero dicirlles que todo isto é só entullo de cando ao fin decidimos esmagar o que pensabamos de nós mesmos, e se non podes ver nada fermoso sobre ti mesmo, consegue un espello mellor, mira máis preto, durante máis tempo, porque hai algo dentro de ti que te fixo seguir intentándoo malia todos os que dixeron: "abandona". Cubriches de escaiola o teu corazón roto e ti mesmo escribiches nela: "Eles equivocábanse". Porque tal vez non pertencías ao grupo. Quizais escollíante último para o baloncesto ou para todo. Traías contusións e algún dente roto para mostrar na casa, e nunca o facías, porque podes aguantar no teu terreo se todos ao teu redor te queren sepultar nel? Tes que crer que estaban equivocados. Teñen que estar equivocados. Por que se non aínda iamos estar aquí?
We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog because we see ourselves in them. We stem from a root planted in the belief that we are not what we were called. We are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on some highway, and if in some way we are, don't worry. We only got out to walk and get gas. We are graduating members from the class of We Made It, not the faded echoes of voices crying out, "Names will never hurt me." Of course they did.
Crecemos aprendendo a animar os indefensos porque nos recoñecemos neles. Partimos dunha raíz plantada na crenza de que non somos o que nos chamaban. Non somos coches baleiros abandonados nalgunha cuneta, e se o somos, non vos preocupedes. Só imos andando a por gasolina. Estámonos a graduar como membros da clase "Lográmolo", non coma ecos de voces que choraban: "Os alcumes nunca me mancarán". Claro que o fixeron.
But our lives will only ever always continue to be a balancing act that has less to do with pain and more to do with beauty.
Pero as nosas vidas seguirán sempre a ser un equilibrio que ten menos que ver coa dor e máis que ver coa beleza.
(Applause)
(Aplausos)