From a statement explaining the inclusion of a tape recorder in the Museum of Broken Relationships in Zagreb, Croatia.

In 1968, exactly fifty years ago, my father passed away, leaving me and my mother behind. I was barely one year old then. There had always been a tightly sealed package inside our family Buddhist altar, and my mother repeatedly warned me not to open it. To satisfy my curiosity, she said it was a tape recorder with recordings of my father’s voice. The reason my mother sealed this recorder was because of an Italian film she had seen. There was a scene in which a motherless young boy finds a tape recorder, and when he plays it back, he hears the voice of his loving mother. The boy misses her so much that he plays the tape over and over again, until he accidentally erases her voice. The shock that my mother had had during the movie affected her so deeply that she decided to wrap the package up carefully and place it at the very back of the altar. How ironic it is to resign oneself to never hearing the voice of a loved one in an attempt to never lose them! I thought it was about time that we released ourselves from this binding spell, so I asked a technical expert to play this reel-to-reel recording that has since become an antique. It plays the sweet and loving voices of my mother and father, cheering and clapping and encouraging me to sing.