Alice’s speech:
Good morning, it's an honor to be here.
The poet Elizabeth Bishop once wrote: "The art of losing isn't 't hard to master, so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost, and their lost is no disaster. "
I am not a poet. I'm a person living with early on-set Alzheimer' s. And as that person, I find myself learning the art of losing every day. Losing my bearings, losing objects, losing sleep, but mostly losing memories.
(Then her speech papers fell on the ground)
Em, I think I will try to forget that just happened.
(She joked after picking up the papers)
All my life, I've accumulated memories. They've become, in a way, my most precious possessions. The night I met my husband, the first time I held my textbook in my hands, having children, making friends, traveling the world. Everything I accumulated in life, everything I'veworked so hard for, now all that is being ripped away. As you can imagine or as you know, this is hell, but it gets worse.
Who can take us seriously when we are so far from who we once were? Our strange behavior and fumbled sentences change other's perceptions of us and our perception of ourselves. We become ridiculous, incapable, comic. But this is not who we are. This is our disease. And like any disease, it has a cause, it has a progression, and it could have a cure.
My greatest wish is that my children, our children, the next generation, do not have to face what I am facing. But for the time being, I'm still alive, I know I'm alive. I have people I love dearly . I have things I wanna do with my life. I rail against myself for not being able to remember things, but I still have moments in the day of pure happiness and joy. And please, do not think that I am suffering, I am not suffering. I am struggling, struggling to be a part of things, to stay connected to who I once was.
So living in the moment I tell myself.It's really all I can do. Live in the moment, and not beat myself up too much. And not beat myself up too much for mastering the art of losing.
One thing I will try to hold on to, though, is the memory of speaking here today. It will go, I know it will. It may be gone by tomorrow. But it means so much to be talking here today like my old, ambitious self who was so fascinated by communication.
Thank you for this opportunity. It means the world to me.
Thank you!
Good morning, I am honored to be here. The poet Elizabeth Bishop once wrote: “The art of losing is not difficult to master. Many things seem to be lost in the end. This loss does not mean disaster.”
I am not a poet, I am just a person suffering from early Alzheimer’s disease. Ordinary people. Because of this, I find that I am learning the lost art every day, losing my reason and direction, losing my goal, losing sleep, but most importantly, losing my memory.
I will try to forget what just happened.
In my whole life, I have accumulated all kinds of memories. In a sense, it has become the most precious wealth. The night I met my husband, when I took the textbook I wrote for the first time, I had children, made friends, and traveled around the world. Everything is the accumulation in my life, the reason why I work so hard, and now all of this is deprived. As you can imagine or you know, this is simply hell, but the situation is still getting worse.
We are no longer our original selves, who can take us seriously? Our weird behavior and clumsy words change the way others think about us, and also change how we think about ourselves. We become ridiculous, incapacitated and funny. But this is not what we should be, this is our disease. Like other diseases, it has some reason for suffering from this disease, and there will also be a good medicine to cure it.
My greatest wish is that my children, our children, and our next generation will not have to face everything I am facing. But at least so far I am still alive, and I also know that I am still alive. I have someone I love deeply, and I still have what I want to accomplish in life. I blame myself for not being able to remember things, but every day I experience pure happiness and joy. Please don't think that I am suffering, I am not suffering, I am struggling, struggling to blend in, struggling to keep in touch with who I was.
So I told myself to live in the present, which is indeed the only thing I can do now. Living in the present, don't be defeated, don't defeat yourself in order to master the lost art.
Nevertheless, I will try to remember what I said here today. It will disappear, I know it will. Maybe it will disappear by tomorrow, but speaking here today is of great significance to me, just like the ambitious me before, I was always attracted by communication.
Thank you everyone for giving me this opportunity. It has extraordinary significance to me. thank you all!
"Angels in America" little daughter's monologue:
Night flight to San Francisco, chase the moon across America.God! It' s been years since I was on a plane.
When we hit 35,000 feet, we' ll have reached the tropopause, the great belt of calm air,as close as it will ever get to the ozone.I dreamed we were there. The plane leapt the tropopause, the safe air, and attained the outer rim, the ozone, which was ragged and torn, patches of it, threadbare as old cheesecloth, and that was...frightening.But I saw something only I could see, because of my astonishing ability to see such things.
Souls were rising, from the earth, far below.Souls of the dead of people who' d perished from famine, from war, from the plague, and they floated up… like skydivers in reverse, limbs all akimbo, wheeling, spinning.And the souls of these departed joined hands, clasped ankles and formed a web, a great net of souls. And the souls were three-atom oxygen molecules of the stuff of ozone, and the outer rim absorbed them and was repaired.
Cause nothing' s lost forever.In this world there is a kind of painful progress, longing for what we left behind and dreaming ahead.At least I think that' s so.
Take a late flight to San Francisco, chasing the moon, across the United States. God! I haven't taken a plane for many years.
When we rise to an altitude of 35,000 feet, we will reach the top of the convection, in a perfect windless zone, and even reach the ozone layer. I dreamed that we had been there. The plane flew over the top of the convection. The safety airflow belt, on the edge of the outer ozone layer, was scattered and broken, with many fragments, and it was as shabby as old cheesecloth. It was frightening. But I saw something that only I could see, because I have an amazing ability to see such things.
The soul is rising, from far below on the earth. Souls who died due to famine, war, and plague, they float up...like reverse skydivers, all with their hands on their hips, spinning up. These dead souls, arm in arm and on foot, form a web, a great web of souls. These souls are three-atomic oxygen molecules, which are the composition of the ozone layer. The outer edges absorb them and are repaired.
Nothing will disappear forever. In this world, there is a kind of painful progress, longing for what we left behind, and at the same time dreaming of moving forward. At least I think so.
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