There's so many of you.
Koliko 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.
Kad sam bio klinac, sakrio sam srce ispod kreveta, jer mi je mama rekla: "Ako nisi pažljiv, slomiće ti neko srce jednog dana." Poslušajte me. Nije dobro mesto za skrivanje ispod kreveta. Znam, jer sam bio oboren toliko mnogo puta da mi se zavrti u glavi dok se samo zauzimam za sebe. Ali to nam je rečeno. Zauzmi se za sebe. A to je teško uraditi ako ne znaš ko si. Očekivano je od nas da se definišemo pri tako ranom uzrastu i ukoliko nismo, drugi su to uradili za nas. Štreber. Debeljuca. Drolja. 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.
U isto vreme dok su nam govorili šta smo, pitali su nas: "Šta želiš da budeš kad odrasteš?" Oduvek sam mislio da to nije pošteno pitanje. Pretpostavlja se da ne možemo biti ono što već jesmo. Bili smo deca.
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.
Kad sam bio klinac, hteo sam da budem čovek. Želeo sam registrovani plan penzione štednje koji bi mi obezbedio dovoljno slatkiša da mi osladi stare dane.
(Laughter)
Kad sam bio klinac, hteo sam da se brijem.
When I was a kid, I wanted to shave. Now, not so much.
Sada, ne baš.
(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."
Kada sam imao osam godina, hteo sam da budem morski biolog. Kada sam imao devet, pogledao sam film "Ralje" i pomislio: "Neka hvala."
(Laughter)
A kada sam imao 10 godina, rekli su mi da su me roditelji napustili jer me nisu želeli.
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.
Kada sam imao 11 godina, hteo sam da me ostave na miru. Kada sam imao 12, hteo sam da umrem. Kada sam imao 13, hteo sam da ubijem klinca. Kada sam imao 14, rečeno mi je da dobro razmislim o karijeri.
I said, "I'd like to be a writer."
Rekoh: "Želim da budem pisac."
And they said, "Choose something realistic."
A oni su rekli: "Izaberi nešto realnije."
So I said, "Professional wrestler."
Onda rekoh: "Profesionalni rvač."
And they said, "Don't be stupid."
A oni su rekli: "Ne budi blesav."
See, they asked me what I wanted to be, then told me what not to be.
Vidite, oni su me pitali šta želim da budem, a onda rekli šta ne mogu da budem.
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.
I nisam bio jedini. Govoreno nam je da nekako moramo da postanemo ono što nismo, žrtvujući ono što jesmo da nasledimo maskaradu onoga što ćemo biti. Rečeno mi je da prihvatim identitet koji će mi drugi dodeliti.
And I wondered, what made my dreams so easy to dismiss? Granted, my dreams are shy, because they're Canadian.
I pitao sam se, zašto je tako lako odbaciti moje snove? Doduše, moji snovi su stidljivi, jer su kanadski. (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.
Moji snovi su samosvesni i preterano pravdalački. Stoje sami na maturskoj večeri i nikada se nisu ljubili. Vidite, moje snove su takođe vređali. Blesavo. Budalasto. Nemoguće. Ali sam nastavio da sanjarim. Trebalo je da budem rvač. Sve sam smislio. Trebalo je da se zovem Smećar.
(Laughter)
Moj završni potez je trebao da bude Kompaktor smeća.
My finishing move was going to be The Trash Compactor. My saying was going to be, "I'm taking out the trash!"
Moje geslo je trebalo da bude: "Iznosim smeće!"
(Laughter)
(Smeh) (Aplauz)
(Applause)
I onda mi taj lik, Djuk "Kontejner" Drozi,
And then this guy, Duke "The Dumpster" Droese, stole my entire shtick.
ukrade ceo štos.
(Laughter)
I was crushed, as if by a trash compactor.
Bio sam slomljen, kao da me slomio kompaktor smeća.
(Laughter)
Pomislio sam: "Šta sada? Kako dalje?"
I thought to myself, "What now? Where do I turn?"
Poetry.
Poezija.
(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.
Kao bumerang, stvar koju sam voleo mi se vratila. Jedan od prvih stihova poezije koji se sećam da sam napisao je bio odgovor svetu koji zahteva da mrzim sebe. Od 15. do 18. godine, mrzeo sam sebe jer sam postao ono što sam prezirao: siledžija.
When I was 19, I wrote, "I will love myself despite the ease with which I lean toward the opposite."
Kad sam imao 19 godina, napisao sam: "Voleću sebe uprkos lakoći kojom naginjem suprotnom."
Standing up for yourself doesn't have to mean embracing violence.
Zauzeti se za sebe ne mora da znači prigrliti 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."
Kad sam bio klinac, trampio sam domaće zadatke za prijateljstva, a zatim delio izgovore prijateljima za stalna kašnjenja ili u većini slučajeva za nepojavljivanja. I davao sebi školske propusnice da prebrodim svako prekršeno obećanje. Sećam se jednog plana, skovanog iz frustracije zbog jednog klinca koji me stalno zvao "Jogi" i pokazivao prstom na moj stomak govoreći: "Previše piknik korpi". Ispada da nije teško prevariti nekog i jednog dana pre časa, rekao sam: "Da, možeš da prepišeš moj domaći", i dao sam mu sve pogrešne odgovore koje sam napisao noć pre. Vraćen mu je rad, i očekujući skoro savršen rezultat, nije mogao da veruje kada me pogledao preko učionice i pokazao nulu. Znao sam da ne moram da pokažem svoj rad sa 28 od 30, ali moje zadovoljstvo je bilo potpuno kada me pogledao, zbunjen, i pomislio sam: "Pametniji nego prosečan medved, kretenu".
(Laughter)
(Smeh) (Aplauz)
(Applause)
Ovo sam ja.
This is who I am. This is how I stand up for myself.
Ovako se zauzimam za sebe.
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.
Kad sam bio klinac, mislio sam da su svinjski odresci i karate pokreti ista stvar. Mislio sam da oba pojma znače krmenadla. I pošto je moja baka mislila da je to slatko i pošto su to bile moje omiljene stvari, pustila me je da u to verujem. Nije baš velika stvar. Jednog dana, pre nego što sam otkrio da debela deca nisu stvorena da se penju na drveće, pao sam sa drveta i izudarao desnu stranu tela. Nisam hteo da kažem baki mislio sam da ću biti u nevolji jer sam se igrao gde nisam smeo. Nekoliko dana kasnije, nastavnik fizičkog je primetio modrice i bio sam poslat kod direktora. Odatle sam bio poslat u još jednu malu sobu sa jako finom ženom koja me pitala svakojaka pitanja u vezi sa mojim životom kod kuće. Nisam video razloga da lažem. Koliko se meni činilo, imao sam poprilično dobar život. Rekao sam joj, kad god sam tužan, moja baka mi dalje karate udarce.
(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 dovelo do potpune istrage, a ja sam bio uklonjen iz kuće naredna tri dana, dok nisu napokon odlučili da me pitaju kako sam dobio modrice. Vest o ovoj maloj smešnoj priči brzo se proširila kroz školu i zaradio sam svoj prvi nadimak: Krmenadla. Do današnjeg dana, mrzim kmenadle.
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.
Nisam jedini klinac koji je odrastao na ovaj način, okružen ljudima koji su govorili onu rimu o štapovima i kamenju, kao da polomljene kosti bole više od imena kojim su nas nazivali, a bili smo nazivanim svim mogućim. Odrasli smo verujući da se niko nikada neće zaljubiti u nas, da ćemo zauvek biti usamljeni, da nikada nećemo upoznati nekoga zbog koga ćemo se osećati kao Sunce, to je bilo nešto što su gradili za nas u šupi. Tako su slomljena srca krvarila bluz i pokušali smo da se ispraznimo da ne osećamo išta. Nemoj mi reći da to boli manje od polomljene kosti, da je život u osami nešto što hirurzi mogu da odstrane, da nema načina da se razvije; postoji način. Imala je osam godina,
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."
naš prvi dan trećeg razreda kada su je nazvali ružnom. Oboje smo bili premešteni u zadnji deo učionice da bi nas prestali bombardovati pljucama. Ali školski hodnici su bili bojna polja. Bili smo brojčano nadjačani svakog prokletog dana. Ostajali smo unutra za vreme odmora, jer je napolju bilo još gore. Napolju, morali smo da vežbamo bežanje ili da naučimo da budemo mirni kao kipovi, da ne dajemo znake da smo bili tamo. U petom razredu, zalepili su znak na prednji deo njene klupe na kojem je stajalo: "Čuvaj se psa".
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.
Do današnjeg dana, uprkos mužu punom ljubavi, ne oseća se lepom zbog belega koji zauzima malo manje od polovine njenog lica. Klinci su govorili: "Izgleda kao pogrešan odgovor koji su probali da izbrišu, ali nisu to baš dobro odradili". Nikada neće razumeti da ona odgaja dvoje dece čija definicija lepote počinje sa rečima "Mama", zato što oni vide njeno srce pre njene kože, jer je ona oduvek jednostavno bila neverovatna.
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 bio polomljena grančica nakalemljena na drugačije porodično stablo, usvojen, ne zato što su mu se roditelji opredelili za drugačiju sudbinu. Imao je tri kada je postao mešano piće jedan deo ostavljen sam i dva dela tragedije, počeo je sa terapijom u osmom razredu, imao ličnost sačinjenu od testova i pilula, živeo je kao da su uzbrdice planine a nizbrdice litice, četiri petine samoubica, cunami antidepresanata, i mladost zvana "Gutač", jednim delom zbog pilula, 99 delova zbog okrutnosti. Probao je da se ubije u 10. razredu jer je klinac koji je imao mogućnosti da ode kući mami i tati imao smelosti da mu kaže: "Pređi preko toga". Kao da je depresija nešto što se može lečiti stvarima iz kutije za prvu pomoć.
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.
Do današnjeg dana, on je štap dinamita upaljen sa oba kraja, mogao bi da opiše u detalje kako se nebo krivi u momentima pre nego li padne, uprkos armiji prijatelja koji ga nazivaju inspiracijom, ostaje tema razgovora između ljudi koji ne mogu da razumeju da ponekad biti čist od droge ima manje veze sa zavisnošću a više sa prisebnošću.
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 jedini klinci koji su odrasli na ovaj način. Do dana današnjeg, decu i dalje nazivaju pogrdnim imenima. Klasika je, "Hej glupane", "Hej trzajko". Izgleda da svaka škola ima arsenal imena ažuriran svake godine, ako se klinac slomi u školi i niko u okolini ne odluči da to čuje, da li će načiniti zvuk? Da li su to samo pozadinski zvuci sa trake zaglavljeni na ponavljanju kada ljudi kažu stvari kao: "Deca mogu biti okrutna". Svaka škola je bila veliki cirkuski šator, i raspored kljucanja je išao od akrobata do ukrotitelja lavova, od klovnova do učesnika, svi oni kilometrima ispred onoga što smo mi bili. Bili smo nakaze - dečaci sa klještima jastoga i bradate žene, čudaci koji žonglirajući depresiju i usamljenost, igraju pasijans, zavrtimo flašu, pokušavamo da poljubimo svoje ranjene delove i da se izlečimo, ali noćima, dok su drugi spavali, mi smo šetali po zategnutom užetu. Bila je to vežba, i da, neki od nas su pali.
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?
Ali želim da im kažem da je sve ovo samo otpad preostao kada budemo konačno odlučili da razbijemo sve one stvari koje smo mislili da smo bili i ako ne možeš videti ništa lepo u sebi, nabavi bolje ogledalo, pogledaj malo bliže, zuri malo duže, jer ima nešto u tebi što te je teralo da pokušavaš urpkos svima koji su ti rekli da prestaneš. Stavio si gips oko polomljenog srca i potpisao ga sam. Potpisao ga sa: "Nisu bili u pravu". Možda nisi pripadao nekoj grupi ili skupini. Možda su odlučili da te biraju poslednjeg za košarku ili za sve. Možda si donosio modrice i polomljene zube na prezentacije, ali nikad nisi rekao, jer kako bi mogao da se braniš kada te svako želi zakopati? Moraš da veruješ da su svi oni pogrešili. Mora da nisu u pravu. Zašto bismo još inače bili ovde?
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.
Odrasli smo učeći da navijamo za gubitnike jer vidimo sebe u njima. Mi rastemo iz korena zasađenog u verovanju da nismo ono što nas nazivaju. Nismo napušteni povučeni auti koji stoje prazno na nekom autoputu, a i da u neku ruku jesmo, bez brige. Samo smo izašli da se prošetamo i kupimo gorivo. Mi smo maturanti razreda Uspeli smo, ne bledeći odjeci plačućih glasova iznutra, "Imena me nikada neće povrediti". Naravno da jesu.
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.
Ali naši životi će jedino biti i dalje čin balansiranja koje ima manje veze sa bolom a više sa lepotom.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)