There's so many of you.
Toliko vas je.
(Laughter)
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.
Ko sem bil majhen, sem svoje srce skril pod posteljo, ker mi je mama dejala: "Če ne boš previden, ti ga bo nekdo nekega dne strl." Verjemite mi, da pod posteljo ni dobro skrivališče. Vem, ker so me že tolikokrat zatrli, da se mi zvrti od višine, že ko se postavim zase. A to nam pravijo. Da se moramo postaviti zase. To je težko, če ne veš, kdo si. Pri tako majhni starosti so od nas pričakovali, da se definiramo, in, če se nismo sami, so nas pa drugi. Geek. Debeluh. Kurba. Peder.
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.
Ob istem času, ko so nam govorili, kaj smo, so nas spraševali: "Kaj hočeš postati, ko odrasteš?" Od nekdaj se mi je to zdelo nepošteno vprašanje. Predpostavlja, da ne moremo biti to, kar že smo. Bili smo otroci.
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.
Ko sem bil otrok, sem si želel biti moški. Želel sem ustvariti načrt za varčevanje za pokoj, ki bi dovolj dolgo skrbelo za zalogo sladkarij, ki bi sladkale moja stara leta.
(Laughter)
Ko sem bil otrok, sem se hotel briti.
When I was a kid, I wanted to shave. Now, not so much.
Zdaj pa niti ne.
(Laughter)
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."
Ko sem bil star osem let, sem hotel biti morski biolog. Ko sem bil star devet let, sem videl film "Žrelo" in sem si mislil: "Ne, hvala."
(Laughter)
Ko sem bil star deset, so mi dejali, da so me starši zapustili, ker me niso želeli imeti.
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.
Ko sem bil star 11, sem želel biti sam. Ko sem bil star 12, sem želel umreti. Ko sem bil star 13, sem želel ubiti nekega mulca. Ko sem bil star 14, so mi dejali, naj resno razmislim o karieri.
I said, "I'd like to be a writer."
Rekel sem: "Rad bi bil pisatelj."
And they said, "Choose something realistic."
Rekli so mi: "Izberi si nekaj realističnega."
So I said, "Professional wrestler."
Na to sem dejal: "Poklicni rokoborec."
And they said, "Don't be stupid."
Dejali so: "Ne bodi neumen."
See, they asked me what I wanted to be, then told me what not to be.
Veste, vprašali so me, kaj hočem biti, in mi nato dejali, česa ne smem biti.
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.
Nisem bil edini. Dejali so nam, da moramo nekako postati, kar nismo, žrtvovati, kar smo, da bi podedovali pretvarjanje tega, kar bomo postali. Dejali so mi, naj sprejmem identiteto, ki mi jo bodo nadeli drugi.
And I wondered, what made my dreams so easy to dismiss? Granted, my dreams are shy, because they're Canadian.
Spraševal sem se, zakaj so moje sanje tako zlahka odpisali. Moje sanje so resda majhne, ker so iz Kanade. (smeh)
(Laughter)
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.
Moje sanje so nesamozavestne in preveč opravičujoče. Same stojijo na srednješolskem plesu in nikoli jih še nihče ni poljubil. Veste, tudi moje sanje so zmerjali. Trapaste. Butaste. Nemogoče. A jaz sem sanjal naprej. Postal naj bi rokoborec. Vse mi je bilo jasno. Bil bi "Smetar".
(Laughter)
Moja glavna poteza bi bila "Stiskalec smeti".
My finishing move was going to be The Trash Compactor. My saying was going to be, "I'm taking out the trash!"
Moj moto bi bil: "Ven bom odnesel smeti."
(Laughter)
(smeh) (aplavz)
(Applause)
Potem pa se je pojavil ta tip, Duke "Kontejner" Droese,
And then this guy, Duke "The Dumpster" Droese, stole my entire shtick.
ki je popolnoma ukradel mojo idejo.
(Laughter)
I was crushed, as if by a trash compactor.
Stisnilo me je, kot bi to storil stiskalec smeti.
(Laughter)
Sam sebi sem rekel: "Kaj pa zdaj? Kam se obrnem?"
I thought to myself, "What now? Where do I turn?"
Poetry.
K poeziji.
(Laughter)
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.
Stvar, ki sem jo oboževal, se je kot bumerang vrnila nazaj k meni. Ena izmed mojih prvih vrstic, ki se jih spominjam, je bil odgovor svetu, ki je zahteval, da sovražim samega sebe. Od starosti 15 do 18 sem se sovražil, ker sem postal, to kar sem preziral: nasilnež.
When I was 19, I wrote, "I will love myself despite the ease with which I lean toward the opposite."
Ko sem bil star 19, sem napisal: "Ljubil bom samega sebe kljub lahkoti, s katero se nagibam k nasprotnem."
Standing up for yourself doesn't have to mean embracing violence.
To, da se postaviš zase, ne pomeni nujno, da sprejmeš nasilje.
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."
Ko sem bil otrok, sem domače naloge menjal v zameno za prijateljstvo, in svojim prijateljem odpustil, kadar so zamudili ali se (pogosto) sploh niso prikazali. Sam sebi sem omogočil beg iz učilnice, da sem se spopadel z vsako prelomljeno obljubo. Tega načrta se spominjam. Nastal je iz frustracije zaradi otroka, ki me je klical "Yogi" nato pa je pokazal na moj trebuh in dejal: "Preveč piknikov." Izkazalo se je, da ni tako težko prelisičiti nekoga. Nekega dne sem pred poukom rekel: "Ja, lahko prepišeš nalogo," in mu dal napačne odgovore, ki sem jih zapisal prejšnji večer. Ko je dobil nalogo nazaj, je pričakoval skoraj popoln rezultat in ni mogel verjeti, ko me je pogledal preko sobe in pokazal list z oceno nezadostno. Vedel sem, da mi ni treba pokazati svojega rezultata, ki je bil 28 od 30, a moje zadovoljstvo je bilo popolno, ko me je zmedeno pogledal in sem si mislil: "Pametnejši kot navaden medved, pičkica."
(Laughter)
(smeh) (aplavz)
(Applause)
To sem jaz.
This is who I am. This is how I stand up for myself.
Tako se postavim zase.
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.
Ko sem bil otrok, sem mislil, da sta kotlet in kotel ista reč. Mislil sem, da sta oba kotlet. Ker se je moji babici to zdelo prisrčno in ker sem bil njen najljubši, mi je pustila, da nadaljujem s tem. Ni bila velika reč. Nekega dne, preden sem spoznal, da debeli otroci niso narejeni za plezanje po drevesih, sem padel z drevesa in si potolkel desno stran telesa. Nisem hotel povedati babici, ker me je bilo strah, da bom v težavah, ker sem se igral, kjer se ne bi smel. Nekaj dni kasneje je učiteljica pri športni vzgoji opazila modrico in poslali so me k ravnatelju. Potem so me poslali v še eno manjšo sobo, kjer me je zelo prijazna gospa spraševala vse vrste vprašanj o mojem življenju doma. Nisem videl razlogov za laž. Kar se mene tiče, je bilo življenje kar dobro. Povedal sem, da me babi, kadar sem žalosten, da v kotel.
(Laughter)
(smeh)
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.
To je pripeljalo do temeljite preiskave in za tri dni so me odpeljali iz hiše, ko so se končno odločili, da bi vprašali, od kje modrice. Ta kratka smešna zgodbica se je hitro razširila po šoli in prislužil sem si prvi vzdevek: Kotlet. Še danes sovražim kotlete.
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.
Nisem edini otrok, ki je tako odrasel; obkrožen z ljudmi, ki so govorili, da besede ne bolijo toliko kot poškodbe, kot da bi zlomi kosti boleli bolj kot žaljivke, katerih žrtev smo bili vsi. Odrasli smo misleč, da se nihče nikoli ne bo zaljubil v nas, da bomo večno osamljeni, da ne bomo nikoli spoznali nekoga, ki bi v nas prebudil občutek, da so sonce za nas zgradili oni v svoji delavnici. Zlomljeno srce je pelo blues in mi smo se poskusili izprazniti, da ne bi ničesar čutili. Ne recite mi, da to boli manj kot zlom kosti, da je vase zaprto življenje nekaj, kar lahko kirurgi izrežejo, za katerega ni načina, da bi ga presadili, a boli. Stara je bila osem let,
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."
bil je prvi dan tretjega razreda, ko so ji rekla, da je grda. Oba sva se premaknila na zadnji del razreda, da naju bi nehali obmetavati s papirčki. A hodniki šole so bili bojišče. Vsak mučen dan sva bila v manjšini. Med odmorom sva ostala notri, ker je bilo zunaj huje. Zunaj sva vadila, kako pobegniti ali kako stati pri miru kot kipa in ne nakazati, da sva tam. V petem razredu so na sprednji del njene mize nalepili list, na katerem je pisalo: "Pozor, hud pes!"
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.
Še danes, kljub ljubečemu možu ne misli, da je lepa, ker ima na skoraj polovici obraza materino znamenje. Otroci so rekli: "Videti je kot napačen odgovor, ki ga je nekdo poskusil izbrisati, a mu ni popolnoma uspelo." In nikoli ne bodo razumeli, da vzgaja dva otroka, katerih definicija lepote se začne z besedo "mama", ker vidijo njeno srce, prej kot vidijo njeno kožo, ker je od zmeraj bila nič manj kot neverjetna.
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.
On je bil lomljena veja, ki so jo pripeli na drugo družinsko drevo, posvojen, in ne ker bi njegovi starši izbrali drugačno usodo. Ko je bil star tri leta, je postal koktejl iz samote in tragedije. V osmem razredu je začel s terapijo, imel je osebnost iz testov in tablet, živel tako kot bi bile vzpetine in spusti gore prepadi. Delno je bil sestavljen iz samomorilskih nagnenj, monsuna antidepresivov. V puberteti so ga klicali "fiksar" delno zaradi tablet a večinoma iz krutosti. V drugem letniku se je poskušal ubiti, ker si je nek mulc, ki je še vedno lahko šel domov k mami in očetu, drznil reči: "Preboli že." Kot da bi se depresijo lahko pozdravilo z nečim iz prve pomoči.
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.
Še danes je kot palica TNT-ja, ki je prižgana z obeh strani, ki bi vam lahko podrobno opisal, kako se upogiba nebo trenutek preden se bi sesulo. Kljub gruči prijateljev, ki mu pravijo, da je navdih, ostaja predmet pogovora za ljudi, ki ne razumejo, da je biti brez drog manj povezano z zasvojenostjo in več z duševnim zdravjem.
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.
Nismo bili edini otroci, ki smo tako odrasli. Še danes se otroke zmerja. Običajno jim pravijo: "Kje si tele," ali "Kje si budala." Zdi se, da ima vsaka šola orožarno zmerljivk, ki se vsako leto posodablja. Če se nek otrok v šoli zlomi ter ni nikogar naokrog, ki bi to želel slišati, ali sploh oddajajo zvok? Ali so le zvoki iz ozadja na plošči, ki se je zataknila, ko ljudje rečejo nekaj takega kot: "Otroci so lahko kruti." Vsaka šola je bil velik cirkuški šotor in prehranjevalna veriga je šla od akrobatov do krotilcev levov, od klovnov so delavcev, ki so bili kilometre pred tem, kdo smo. Mi smo bili čudaki: fantje s kleščami namesto rok, bradate ženske čudni ljudje, ki so žonglirali z depresijo in osamljenostjo, ki so igrali pasjanso, zavrti steklenico, poskušali poljubiti ranjene dele samega sebe, da bi se pozdravili. Ponoči pa, ko so vsi spali, smo še kar hodili po vrvi. To je bila vaja in nekateri izmed nas so padli.
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?
A želel sem jim povedati, da so vse to le črepinje, če se končno odločimo razbiti vse reči, za katero smo mislili, da smo to mi, in če pri sebi ne vidite ničesar lepega, si kupite boljše ogledalo, se bolj pozorno zazrite in malo dalj strmite, ker je znotraj vas nekaj, zaradi česar ste se še naprej trudili, kljub vsem, ki so vam dejali, da odnehajte. Okoli zlomljenega srca, ste si zgradili mavec in ga sami podpisali. Napisali ste: "Niso imeli prav." Morda niste pripadali skupini ali kliki. Morda so vas vedno izbrali zadnje pri košarki. Morda ste na "pokaži, kaj znaš" prinesli modrice in zlomljene zobe, a tega nikoli niste povedali, ker, kako naj se postaviš zase, če ti vsi spodkopavajo tla pod nogami? Morali ste verjeti, da nimajo prav. Morajo se motiti. Zakaj bi drugače še bili tu?
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.
Med odraščanjem so nas naučili naj spodbujamo neverjetnega zmagovalca, ker sami sebe vidimo v njih. Zrasli smo iz korenine, ki so jo posadili v vero, da nismo to, kar nam pravijo, da smo. Nismo zapuščeni avtomobili, ki so se pokvarili in prazni stojijo na avtocesti. Če pa na nek način smo, naj vas ne skrbi. Samo stopiti moramo ven in iti po bencin. Mi smo maturanti razreda "Uspelo nam je" in ne medli odmevi glasov, ki kričijo: "Zmerljivke me ne bolijo." Seveda, da nas.
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.
A naša življenja bodo vedno bila lovljenje ravnotežja, ki se manj nanaša na bolečino in več na lepoto.
(Applause)
(aplavz)