(inspirational music)
- Thank you so much, Lynn, for those really lovely words,
and thanks to all of you for picking my book.
It's a huge honor.
Thank you for being here, President, Doctor Hernandez.
Just, before I begin, just to say thank you
to Brad Thomas, for your words.
As President of PEN International,
I don't know if you know this organization;
some of you might, some of you might not,
but we're the oldest human rights organization in the world.
We're in over 100 countries, 150 chapters,
PEN stands for poets, essayists, and novelists,
but actually now includes journalists,
bloggers, anybody who is dealing
with the word, basically.
It started out as an organization
that believed in friendship, and creating bridges,
and the sort of, a realization that writers
had been responsible, themselves,
for some of the xenophobias and hatreds
that happened during the first World War.
But very soon, in the 30s, it became
a highly political organization,
with the realization of the growing of fascism, in Europe.
But, apart from the fact that we are very much involved
with writers in prison, and the defense
of freedom of expression, the other thing:
that we believe in deeply, is literature,
and we believe in literature as a great power of force.
I'm bringing this up because of your program,
and because of choosing my book, which is such an honor.
So, I just wanna say that if you look at history,
novels especially, but some poems as well,
have been forces of great change.
So if we think of Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens,
that book changed child labor laws,
and nobody remembers the journalism of that time,
but we all remember Oliver Twist.
When we think of the novels of Jane Austen
or Charlotte Brontë, thanks to those books,
women were allowed, finally, to own property.
If you cross the ocean to France,
Victor Hugo changed the way we looked at the poor,
with Les Misérables, or Zola's novel, Germinal,
changed conditions for miners,
in France, which were horrific.
And of course, in the United States,
I mean, there are seminal works such as Moby Dick,
for example, made one
wonder about evil and good, and how
the United States viewed these
issues, as well as Uncle Tom's Cabin, for sure,
was an important book, novel, that addressed racism.
And then, you take a book like To Kill a Mockingbird,
that really set the course of a kind of ethical standard,
within the country.
So, to think that a novel is not a powerful thing;
it is a powerful thing, and I have to say
that extraordinary for me, I was invited
to the U.S. Congress, I spoke to many groups
about Prayers for the Stolen.
So, that was a completely unexpected thing
that happened to me, with this novel,
and it was incredible to talk about these people
as though they were real.
I'd have congressmen saying to me:
"So, do you think that Paula"
and I would be like, Paula doesn't exist.
(laughing) I just invented her.
But anyway, it was incredibly moving
to have that happen to the book.
So, Prayers for the Stolen was written because
I really wanted to understand how violence
was affecting women in Mexico.
It was very much a male-driven story,
both in the press, and
in what we now have, a genre, which is called
(speaking in foreign language)
literature, was also very male-driven,
and the women in the novels tended to be sort of cliched,
stereotyped women, there was always a prostitute.
There was always a table-dancing girl, and a mother.
I mean, that was sort of like the three types
that you would find, and so,
I found this very disturbing and I wanted
to understand it all better.
So the first two years of research,
I was interviewing the women of drug traffickers,
and they were mainly women who were in hiding
And then, this was at the end
of President Vicente Fox's administration,
and then when Calderon came in,
he won the presidency by a very small margin.
Some people think perhaps he didn't actually win.
But anyway, he won, and he felt the need
to sort of, you know, show his force,
and decided that he would start what he called the war
on drug trafficking.
So, it became very difficult to continue
to interview these women; it became dangerous.
But that coincided with me hearing this story,
in Guerrero, and Guerrero's a part of Mexico
that I know very well, so I felt very comfortable
writing about that part of Mexico;
I've been going there ever since I was a little girl,
and it's, you know, my second home, perhaps.
So,
I heard about how they were hiding the girls in holes,
because these SUVs would suddenly appear,
like a horrible animal on the horizon,
and drive towards their homes and steal their girls,
and traffic them, sometimes within the country,
sometimes across the border, into the United States.
So it was that image of the hole
that really gave birth to the novel.
So I'll read a little section from this part.
Oh, there are many sub-themes, as you know, in the novel,
and one of the sub-themes is the idea
of television knowledge.
I'm very interested in how, not only in Mexico,
but in many parts of the world,
people that have very little education
do have contact with television,
and how that knowledge
is processed within them.
So there's a lot of reference to televisions in the book.
The hole was too small.
My father had dug it up when I was 16 years old.
I had to lie down on my side with my knees at my chest,
like skeletal remains of ancient burials
I'd seen on television.
I could see slivers of light peer in on me
through the thatch of leaves.
I heard the sound of a motor approach.
The ground above me trembled, as the SUV
drove up to our small house, and stopped in the clearing,
right above the hole, and above me.
My small space became dark
as I lay in the shadow of the vehicle.
Through the leaves, I could see the SUV's underbelly,
a web of tubes and metal.
Above me, the motor was turned off.
I could hear the sound of the hand-brake
as it was cranked into place.
The car door opened on the driver's side.
One brown cowboy boot with a high, but square,
and manly heel, stepped out of the car.
Those boots did not belong to this land.
No one wore boots like that in this heat.
As he stood with the car door open,
he looked straight at my mother.
From the hole, I could only see his boots
and her red plastic flip-flops face each other.
"Good day, mother." he said.
The man's voice did not belong to this land.
The boots and his voice were from the north of Mexico.
"Is it always this hot here?", he asked.
"How hot do you think it is?"
My mother did not answer.
"Aah, mother, put down that gun."
The other car door opened.
I could not swivel in my hole to try and look around,
so I just listened.
From the passenger side of the SUV,
another man stepped out.
"Do you want me to shoot her missing?",
the second man asked.
He coughed and wheezed after he spoke.
He had an asthmatic voice, from the desert,
a voice of rattlesnakes and sandstorms.
"Where's your daughter, huh?", the first man asked.
"I don't have a daughter."
"Ah, yes, you do.
Don't lie to me, mother."
I heard a bullet hit the SUV.
The vehicle shook, above me.
I heard the bra-ta-ta explosion of machine-gun fire,
along with the sound of the bullets
breaking up the adobe brick walls of our home.
Then, it stopped.
The jungle swelled and contracted.
Insects, reptiles, and birds stilled,
and nothing rubbed against anything.
The sky darkened.
The machine-gun had fired the wind out of the mountain.
"We were your best hope, mother.", the first man said.
"I birthmarked the place, didn't I?",
I heard the second man say, through a shrill wheeze
that became a whistle.
The two men got back in the car and slammed the doors shut.
The driver turned the key and started the motor.
When he placed his boot on the accelerator above me,
my hole was filled with the vehicle's exhaust fumes.
I opened my mouth and breathed in the noxious smoke.
The car backed up and drove off, down the path.
I breathed deeply.
I took in the poison, as if it were the smell
of a flower, or fruit.
My mother made me spend the next two hours in that hole.
"You're not coming out until I hear a bird sing.", she said.
It was almost dark when she pulled the fronds
off of the hole, and helped me out.
Our little house was sprayed with dozens of bullets.
Even the papaya tree had bullet wounds,
and sweet sap oozed from the holes in the soft bark.
"Just look at that.", my mother said.
I turned, she was pointing at the hole, with her finger.
I peered in, and saw four
albino-shelled scorpions there;
the deadliest kind.
"Those scorpions showed you more mercy
than any human being ever will.", my mother said.
She took off one of her flip-flops
and killed all four, in beating blows.
"Mercy is not a two-way street.", she said.
So that's the scene with the holes.
As a writer, I'm very concerned
with preserving the dignity of my characters.
I fall very much in love with them,
at a certain point of writing the book,
and so, in my books, you'll, for example,
I would never, ever write
the gang-rape scene that obviously,
Paula went through.
She says to Ladydi: "What can I tell you?
I was like a plastic bottle that everybody took a sip of."
I mean, to me, it's very important
that I not
put my characters in a position
where the reader can sort of
degrade them again.
So I'm very, very careful.
For example, I never write a sex scene, for the same reason,
because I think that's personal and private,
so I wouldn't wanna expose my characters
to the reader, reading that.
So, that's one of the things that I care about, a lot.
So, this little scene I'm going to read
is when Paula comes back.
I don't actually know anybody who has come back
from being trafficked,
but I have a friend who's met one person who has come back.
The reason that that initial research,
with the women of drug traffickers,
turned out to be so important,
is I was able to know very well, where Paula had been,
and was able to describe these ranches
in the north of Mexico.
And then, a sort of, rather
surprising thing happened, is that
when my book came out in Mexico,
Proceso, which is the most important
magazine in Mexico, for news,
the equivalent of maybe your Time Magazine,
or Newsweek, published the whole bit,
from the novel, about those ranches, in the news
part of the magazine.
So, I didn't expect that to happen, ever.
I always thought my book would be in the cultural pages
or in the book review pages.
So I actually left Mexico for two months,
and went to stay in Pittsburgh, at the City of Asylum,
because I was worried that, more than
that the drug traffickers would know about the ranches.
I was worried that they would know
that I knew where their women were, and their children were.
And that would be very dangerous,
because they'd say, well, who told her about this?
But it did become very, a very important part of the book.
So I do bring Paula back,
and this is that scene, when she runs into Ladydi,
in the jungle, and then Ladydi takes her back
to her mother, and she's obviously very traumatized,
by what's happened to her.
If you've been stolen, you burn the inside
of your left arm with cigarettes.
"Why, I don't understand.
Are you crazy?", she asked,
"Are you stupid?"
I'm sorry.
"A woman decided it a long, long time ago,
and now we all do it.", she said.
"If we're found dead, someplace,
everyone will know we were stolen.
It's our mark.
My cigarette burns are a message."
I looked at the pattern of circles on her arm
as she continued to hold her limb
stretched out like an oar, into the jungle air.
"You do want people to know it's you,
otherwise, how will our mothers find us?"
It was almost dark.
"We have to go now.", I said.
"Come with me, I'll take you."
Her mother was standing at the front door, waiting.
She held a baby bottle filled with milk in one hand.
"It's time for my baby to go to bed.", Concha said.
"What on Earth were you doing out in the jungle"?
Paula didn't answer, and went straight into the house.
Her mother walked me out to the edge of their property.
"Did she say anything to you?", Concha asked.
"Don't say anything to anyone.", Concha said, in a panic.
"How did they know she was here?
Who watched and knew a beautiful girl lived up here?
They came for her; they knew what they were coming for.
If they know she's back, if they find out,
they'll come and get her.
We have to leave; there's no time.
In a day or so, I've been planning, Ladydi
we're escaping.
What did she tell you?"
"She told me about the cigarette burns".
"Did she tell you that she did it to herself?
Did she tell you that all the women who have been stolen
do this to themselves?"
I nodded.
"Do you believe her?", Concha asked.
"I don't believe it at all.
I can't even imagine burning myself; that's impossible."
"Yes, I believe it."
At that moment, Paula appeared behind her mother.
She was like a white, vaporous creature.
She held a baby bottle in one hand.
She was naked, in the dark,
under a river of moonlight.
I could see the nipples of her breasts,
the black hair between her legs,
and the constellation of cigarette burns
all over her body.
I could see the cigarette burn stars
that make up Orion, and Taurus.
Even her feet were covered in the round burns.
Paula had walked through the Milky Way,
and every star had burned her body.
And, the last little bit I'll read,
will take place in the jail.
I spent quite a lot of time
at the Santa Marta Jail, in Mexico City, for women,
and one of the sort of great gifts
of writing this book, apart from being here
and seeing everybody's amazing
work, inspired by the book, that's so moving,
is, I get letters from women prisoners
from all over the world.
I mean, that is something I never expected would happen.
And what they're always saying about the book,
is that it's so loving,
but the truth is, I found a loving world
in the women's prison.
And so that's a bit, what I wrote about.
And I could have written three books on the women's jail
in Mexico City, but all the prisoners there
have the book; when a new prisoner comes, they're like,
oh, you have to read this book, it's our book.
You know, they think it's their book.
And of course, they do do collages.
That's one of the workshops, and the only person
in the book that's actually based on a real, real person,
is the collage teacher; he actually exists.
And he also thinks this is his book; he's very happy.
(laughing)
So, this is a scene in the jail.
"What happened to you?", I asked,
as Aurora lay back on her bed.
She had no pillow, so she had to lie flat.
I took the rat poison out from under the kitchen sink,
and mixed it in with the coffee.
Aurora's eyes were so pale, they made me think
of the light-blue color, of dead jellyfish,
on the beach, in Acapulco.
"Where are you from?", I asked.
Aurora was from Baja, California.
She grew up in the village of San Ignacio.
Her father worked as a tour guide
taking tourists out in his boat,
to see the California gray whales.
"Look at this.", Aurora said.
She pulled out a piece of cardboard
from under her pile of plastic bags.
It was a collage of a beach, with a whale
on the surface of the water,
and several starfish, and shells,
cut out from magazines, and glued to the brown sheet.
"I cut the starfish from black paper.", she said.
"No magazine in this jail had a photograph of a starfish".
"I like it", I said, "it's pretty.
It reminds me of beaches on the outside of Acapulco.
I've never seen a whale though".
"You have to understand, the first time I was stolen,
I was only 12", Aurora continued
"I was only a small fish,
the kind you always throw back into the ocean,
because it's too small to eat."
"They should not have done that."
"I was the only girl in the village with light eyes."
Her eyes were like the glass
in a glass-bottom boat.
No one could believe it at the ranch.
Who would ever have thought that Aurora,
the sweetest, and most obedient of all,
could have done it, but I did.
I could see into Aurora's eyes,
and down into her body of light-brown sand, and shells.
I killed five men; isn't that so special?
They were gathered at the ranch for a meeting.
It took them two days to die in a hospital, in Tijuana.
The police came and arrested me,
when the doctors proved that the men had been poisoned.
The police tested the coffee cups,
and they tested positive for poison,
and I'd even washed them over, and over, with Ajax.
Everyone knew I made the coffee for the rats' meeting.
Everyone knew there was a bottle of rat poison
in the rats' kitchen, under the sink.
Rats need to be poisoned, right?
Aurora rummaged through one of her plastic supermarket bags.
She un-knotted a bag filled with buttons,
and a stack of nail files that were held together
with a rubber band.
From here, she also pulled out a small pile
of old newspaper clippings.
"Here, read this if you don't believe me.
It was even in the newspapers."
I read the newspaper article,
and then handed the clipping back to her,
and she placed it into the pile.
She was proud of killing those men;
it was her act of justice.
I boiled the water, I added the coffee,
I let it sit.
I placed the cups on a tray with a bowl of sugar.
I could hear the men talking in the dining room.
I stirred the coffee grounds in the pot.
Aurora paused to take a breath.
She only seemed able to breathe out.
She tried to breathe in, not only with her lungs,
but also with her whole body, in heaves, but failed.
"How did you do it?"
"It just took one minute.
It was easy; I took out the bottle of rat poison
from under the sink, I poured it into the coffee.
It was so easy, it was like adding sugar, or Coffee Mate."
I reached over and took her arm.
The surface of her skin felt coarse,
as if it were still covered in beach sand.
I looked into the sea landscape of her eyes,
and saw the whales and dolphins.
So I guess I'll leave it at that,
and ask if there's any questions.
Anybody have any questions?
Yes?
- Hello? - Hi.
- [Woman] Hi, why did you decide
to make it like a fictional book,
instead of like, one of somebody's lived stories?
Or did you just put a whole bunch
of lived experiences together in one book?
- Well, you know, I think I'm, you know,
I think of journalism
as a very serious discipline,
and serious journalists always have
two sources, and has a very
trustful relationship with his or her reader.
It's a completely different world, that trust.
And in fiction, you're able to play, and have fun,
and, I have actually written
journalistic pieces on the subject,
but I would prefer, always, to write a novel,
because, for one, I'm very interested in language.
In many ways, I'm more interested in how something's told
than what I tell.
I think you can see, from the way I write,
that I'm very interested in poetry,
and so, you wouldn't be able
to do that in journalism.
So, that's the choice.
Thank you.
Yes?
- [Woman] I'm really curious about
what happened after you interview everybody,
and does their life got changed,
after you post your book?
- Sorry, I didn't under-- - Published, published.
- I didn't understand the question though.
- [Woman] So, like, you interview a lot of people,
and your putting everybody into the book,
and I'm just curious, is anyone,
like, what you wrote on your book,
their life got changed after?
- Did the book change anybody's life?
Sort of, that?
So, the people I interviewed
didn't actually end up in the book.
So the only person in the book that's based on a real,
real person, is the collage teacher.
So, I invented everybody.
You know, we could have a lot of talks
about the creative process, that has a very mysterious
element to it, where you kind of allow
the unconscious to kind of come in and work.
And the more you write, and the more mature you get,
as a writer, you tend to trust that more,
and control less.
I don't know if that makes sense,
if any of you here are creative writers.
I am not aware of anything specifically happening
in the country, that has created change,
but there's an intense awareness now, of the problem,
and there hadn't been any awareness.
So, now, you'll open newspapers and magazines,
and there will be articles, in Mexico, about the problem.
And, people within the human rights world,
not just the literary world but also the human rights world,
are reading the book,
and referring to it in papers, and things like this.
So I hope that it is making a change, at least,
and a change in the sense that people are more informed.
Yes?
- [Woman] What was the goal for writing the book,
if there was a goal, behind the whole storyline?
- There was no goal at all.
In fact, I'm the most surprised of all
that anybody wanted to read this book.
I'm always writing about the unprotected,
and it took me a long time to understand that about myself,
and to have written enough to see
that that was the course I was on.
So I'm always writing about what hurts, I guess.
And so, I had heard about these little girls in the holes,
and I don't think I slept for three nights, because,
you know, on one hand, I felt like they were rabbits,
and it was like a rabbit warren,
and they were there in the holes
with their little hearts beating like crazy, and
then they were also like, buried alive.
I couldn't get out of my head what they must feel
down there in that little hole.
So that's what made me write the book,
and then when I, my son is always my first reader.
And so, I gave him the book, and I said, you know,
I've written another book; I don't think
anybody's gonna care about this book,
because it's about people nobody cares about.
And then he read it, and he said, well, you know,
maybe, I think people might care about these girls.
Then it turned out that people are caring about this girl.
So I'm very surprised.
I didn't expect it at all.
Yeah?
Well it's sort of a complicated answer, and a simple answer.
I mean, the simple answer is that
there are many Ladydi's, in the Mexican countryside,
especially right after the wedding,
there were a lot of Ladydi; in Spanish, it's Ladydi.
And so, I always thought that was interesting,
that there were so many Ladydis.
And then of course,
I admired her very much; she was the first public celebrity
to touch somebody with AIDS.
And, I lived through the whole AIDS epidemic,
in New York City; I lost a lot of friends.
And I remember that moment.
It was a big deal,
that she would touch and hug somebody who had AIDS,
and we had no idea how you contracted AIDS.
And then, of course, the story of her life,
is the total anti-Cinderella story.
When she got married, everybody thought
it was a Cinderella story, and then it turned out
to be the exact opposite of a Cinderella story.
So, it allowed me to play with that,
in the novel,
and she, Ladydi is so not a princess.
I mean, she's so vulnerable.
So, it's the contrast, it's, you know, symbolic.
It's a metaphor.
- [Woman] Wondering what your thoughts are, about
some different conceptions of what we see, as a family,
through this novel.
I was thinking about the changing demographics,
about how so many of the men had left their town,
and the different kinds of relationships
that the girls and their mothers had.
Sometimes there was loyalty, sometimes there wasn't loyalty.
And also, themes of family, and support in the prison;
what are your thoughts on that?
- Well, you sort of covered a lot.
I think that a lot of the book is about, I mean,
these sub-themes, again, is about,
'cause there's also an environmental sub-theme,
about the use of pesticides, herbicides, insecticides,
but I think, another sub-theme,
is what happens when you lose the protection of men.
A lot of people think, oh this must be like an anti-men,
you know, book, and I don't see it that way at all.
I mean, Rita says, very soon in the beginning,
living without men is like sleeping without dreams.
And I really wanted to honor that,
that the loss of the men was not just any old thing,
that it was a terrible thing.
And there are whole communities in Mexico, there are no men.
That they're just communities of women,
because the men have come to the United States,
usually, or to another state,
but mostly to the United States, and then,
they often have a second family
in the United States.
And so, I mean, I wanted to talk about
how that was affecting the women in Mexico,
this loss of men.
And the truth is, in the jails, I mean,
in one of these projects,
the question is: do women have status?
Isn't that the question?
In this project, that one?
I don't know, who's here, who did that project?
Asking the questions?
Who did that?
- [Woman] It was Solay.
- Solay, is she here?
- Yes, I'm here. - Oh, hi.
So, everybody who you interviewed,
had quite a positive response.
You know, my experience is not so positive,
and so, for example, to go back to the jails,
one of the things that just shocked me, and
I remain shocked, was that the man's prison
is right next door to the women's prison, in Mexico City.
And on visitors day, sometimes I would go on visitors day,
sometimes I'd go during the week, but,
on visitors day, nobody went to see the women.
I mean, nobody.
And there would be great queues, and lines, you know,
of people, to see the men.
You know, and they all had Tupperwares
of delicious things to eat, and you know, a nice shirt,
and all this stuff for them,
and the women, you know, there'd be a grandmother,
and maybe a daughter, but I mean,
it was so striking to me,
how the women had no value,
and no status, and then if you're a prisoner,
then you have none at all.
The women were always shocked that I would come back.
They're like, you came back.
They couldn't believe I would come back, you know?
So then, since this book has had this incredible fortune
of being published all over the world,
this is true everywhere in the world.
I mean, so much so, that it would be an incredible,
I would love if I had the time to do a huge study on this,
and it would be so easy, 'cause you would
just have to take the logs, of visitors day,
in prisons all over the world,
and see how many women are being visited, and how many men.
It's shocking, I mean, even in a country like Finland,
where I went to present the book,
they were all like, yeah, nobody goes to visit the women.
So, I don't think we have,
we have a lot of work to do, on our status and our value.
- [Woman] Since you published the book,
did you have any threats, since you brought
so much awareness to everyone?
Like, in Mexico? - No.
I mean, I did leave for those two months,
when the whole thing about the ranches came out.
I had threats when I was President of PEN Mexico,
because we have a terrible problem
with the killing of journalists.
In fact, just in the month of March,
we already had four journalists killed, in Mexico.
It's just really a tragedy.
So yeah, there, I had things happen,
but it had to do more with,
with the PEN work, in Mexico.
- [Woman] Thank you so much for your visit.
When you wrote the book, did you write the book first
in English, or Spanish?
And the second half of that question is,
well, it's a comment,
it's so poetic and beautiful.
Do you think it reads, I haven't read it in Spanish,
so I wouldn't know, have you gotten any feedback
about how it reads also, in Spanish?
- Well, I was very involved in the Spanish translation.
It was sort of more like a transcription.
So, even though my credit isn't on it, I was on it.
And in the English, it's hard to see one's self,
but for example, in the reviews of the books,
a lot of people have talked about the quality of the English
having a kind of undercurrent of Spanish.
It's hard for me to see that; I'm completely bilingual.
So I'm not so aware of it.
But, people have detected that.
- [Woman] Yeah, we have time for one more.
- [Woman] I wanted to ask about the ending.
Because you, the ending is very uplifting,
or, I don't know,
almost like there could be a sequel.
But, can you speak about the ending, and
why you decided on that ending?
- Well, the great, sort of, mystery, to me,
is that people have different feelings about this ending.
So I don't really wanna influence anybody.
I didn't write it with that intention, I promise.
For me, it's very clear, what the ending is.
But, not everybody agrees with me, so,
I'll let you have your ending.
But I will say that
I haven't written a sequel, but I've written a diptych,
and it's, Lynn mentioned, that it's called Gun Love,
and for those of you who remember the book, or,
I don't know if you remember, there's an American girl
in one of the heroin towns, in Guerrero,
and they talk about how white she is,
and like, she's not
(speaking in Spanish) she's like,
really white, white.
And, the drug trafficker brings her the reindeer,
and the north pole, and the fake snow.
I don't know if you remember all that, but it's her story.
So, it's a diptych, so, Prayers is the Mexican girl's story,
and Gun Love is the American girl's story,
how the American girl gets to Mexico.
What many people don't realize, is,
how many U.S. guns go to Mexico.
In San Diego, they did this study, a few years back,
that was just so chilling, that if guns
were not going to Mexico, which is,
you know, legal guns, illegal guns, straw guns,
47% of all gun dealers in the United States
would be out of business; that's almost 50%
of the business, is going to Mexico.
And nobody talks about this.
And, I just think it's absolutely terrible.
On the border, on the U.S. side of the border,
there's 8,000 legal gun shops,
and many more thousands of illegal shops,
and illegal dealers, and that story is never told.
So, Gun Love will tell that story.
- [Man] Alright, I think we're adding Gun Love
to the list, we might invite you back next year.
We'll keep you posted.
Everyone give a round of applause for our guest author.
(audience applauding) - Thank you.
(inspirational music)
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