In the summer of 2012, I received my cochlear implant at 21 years old. This is my adventure. Bio: I was born with a bilateral profound hearing loss to two deaf parents (who became deaf in their childhood). The interesting thing is that my older sister is also hard of hearing, and except for a cousin, we are the only deaf family in our family tree. I grew up with two hearing aids, becoming proficient at American Sign Language, speaking orally and reading lips. I have both deaf and hearing friends, and I am a passionate advocator for the hearing loss community. I hope that by reading about my life, others can see both the advantages and disadvantages of being deaf, the technologies that I use, as well as seeing the way I interact with the world. This is my story.
Instead of a regular blog post, I’m excited to share this video (with subtitles!) with you all. It is a roughly one hour documentary, and if you want to understand Deaf Culture a bit more, I highly recommend watching this video. I’ve never found anything else that was as close to being comprehensive, yet unbiased and still manages to challenge the viewers’ perceptions while doing so respectfully.
It’s also made me realize I’m very fortunate to be able to sign, speak and read lips – allowing me to participate in both the Deaf and hearing cultures, although I find that I have more hearing friends than deaf friends right now.
The official synopsis:
“An insightful documentary by director Claire Braden about five deaf teenagers as they take their first steps into the hearing world. It follows some extraordinary young people who have some extreme and surprising attitudes towards their deafness. It highlights how not all deaf teens want to be able to hear and are often defiant against being part of the hearing world, but also the lengths some deaf teenagers will go to in order to improve their hearing.
The film highlights the difficulties deaf teenagers face when they enter the big, wide hearing world for the first time - providing a fully-immersive experience which illustrates what it's like to go to a music festival and not hear the music, how hard it can be to keep up with conversations and make friends, but also the joy of silence.”
Please watch, and feel free to comment here with your thoughts! Below, here are my thoughts:
In general, I really enjoyed the discussions that took place in the video, and even though none of them had the same background as I do, I was able to find a small connection in each of them to relate to.
Christianah, who takes her hearing aids out a lot (hm, reminds me of my childhood and stubborn refusal to accept my hearing loss, although not embrace it like Christianah does). Also in the way that she has frustrations when ordering/talking to strangers in customer service (like a fast food restaurant, hearing the repetition over and over again).
Jake and Adam – talking about employment, which I found heartbreaking. It’s true, but I like to think it’s better now with technology and more communication-based jobs revolving around computers/software. But to hear that he can’t become a pilot, that’s just disheartening.
Meghan, who I found myself relating to more, was a champ. I identified with a lot of her experiences – hearing silence for a month after the CI operation, not really enjoying music in that time period, and the audiologist telling Meghan that it takes time to recognize the sounds eventually – that is absolutely spot on. In addition, her frustration with the education system – having to struggle with lectures in the dark is something I never want to experience again.
Sarah’s educational experience was also illuminating. She relies on a notetaker and interpreter to understand and learn the material – her point about having to watch the interpreter and have a notetaker because she can’t look away to take notes – this is a salient fact many people fail to grasp when it comes to hearing loss support. When she dines with Asher and they explain how they take turns talking/eating – this is a great point of Deaf Culture – there is only one speaker at a time. AT ALL TIMES.
I wish there was a deaf club/social event as awesome as theirs in my area! That’s all.
An old photo - back in 2011 - pre CI, when I was on a research expedition promoting advocacy and awareness on hearing loss.
I've often been told that I'm inspirational, a great role model, and that the work I'm doing is making the world a better place. And now, I'm inclined to agree - I've participated in several speech competitions, I was a 3-year peer mentor at the university I recently graduated from, and I've even made a film for a competition that garnered me several television interviews later. These are just a few of the examples of my unrelenting spirit in the pursuit of advocacy.
But I'll let you in on a secret: I haven't always been this 'amazing' person everyone thinks me to be. In fact, you could say I was more of the anti-role model.
Being born deaf, I experienced a lot of frustrations and disappointments growing up being unable to communicate. There was always a lack of support, despite the help of technology and supportive people. So it's no surprise that as a young kid, I was quite the notorious troublemaker at my school. I regularly visited the office, and was on a first-name basis with the administration department there. I even had a chair reserved for me. Looking back, I didn't realize until many years later, that I was acting out my frustrations. But what kid doesn't?
I like to think that being born deaf was a blessing in disguise; that it gave me something to be passionate about. By experiencing those frustrating years, years of teachers making assumptions, years of social isolation and years of doing poorly in classes, I was becoming a much stronger and more determined individual. (In case the first paragraph wasn't evident, I did in fact graduate just fine, and with top marks to boot).
Through these difficult trials and speech competitions, I became more confident and my linguistic skills improved, allowing me to become a much more effective communicator. I began participating in community events, competitions and even made lifelong friends; I was helping them to understand what it was like to be deaf, bit-by-bit, so that they could help others too. I illustrated to others that inequality and discrimination is still prevalent in society today. Sometimes I would just go out with friends and they'd be incredulous at the treatment or lack of accommodation I'd receive.
And you know what? It's very easy to say that it's just you against the world. But if my blog has taught you anything, it's that it's never the case. You are not alone, and you most certainly shouldn't give up. Give yourself a voice, and help others around you by sharing their voices too. No matter how miniscule or small your contribution is, it'll always send ripples and create change. It may just not be noticeable at first, but as long as you keep at it, you'll see that anything is possible. Don't believe me yet? One of my favourite quotes is by the wise Yoda, from the Star Wars films, who says, "Do or do not. There is no try." And he's right. You can't create change if you don't do something, and that's what I've been doing from the get go, like with this blog. You have the ability to create social change – the very power lies in both your words and actions.
Anybody who's ever used technology knows that dreaded panic, the one where you intentionally avoid water at all costs; keeping phones out of the rain, even putting tablets in plastic bags near pools, baths and hot tubs. It's salient especially when you wear hearing aids, cochlear implants, or even headphones - you avoid water like the plague because you know it's too expensive to replace whatever could get damaged by water.
Growing up (pre-CI), I was, well, awful with my hearing aids sometimes. At one point I threw my hearing aids into the toilet (it was that phase where I wasn't happy being so different from the other kids, and I took my frustrations out on the hearing aids themselves… I was little, and a bit naive and dumb, okay?). My dad had to dry them out (not a fun task), and thankfully they worked just fine after. (I think, my memory isn't very good that far back).
Then there was that other time where I forgot to take them off when I took a shower. I remember thinking it was so odd I could hear the water gushing from the shower head. Then, of course, a huge mental face palm as I realized the hearing aids were still in my ears... followed by sheer panic as I tried to get out of the shower and take them off immediately, disassembling the entire thing so it could all dry ASAP. I was quite protective of them, and I felt ashamed for being so careless at the time. Quite the 180 from the previous example, eh? I go from hating hearing aids to actually loving them. What a shocker.
My fear of water has always been propagated by the fact that I wore two expensive hearing aids. It was a knowledge that became an All-Important Truth as I grew; something that only a kid who had to wear them would learn about - other 'hearing' kids would never "understand".
Actually, let me rephrase that. Other people would never understand why I feared water. Mostly for a variety of reasons, but because they forgot I was wearing two hearing aids, or because they didn't know I wore them in the first place. That made for a lot of scary moments, like the time where I was surprised with a water-fight attack at overnight summer camp, followed by overnighting (thank you FedEx) my soaked hearing aids to the hearing clinic back in the city and getting them back after a day of silence. (This resulted in me becoming phobic of all water fights unless I opted to take the hearing aids out. No wonder I was a miserable kid, heh).
Or, another example, getting caught in the rain. Which I hated a lot. I would run, or take the hearing aids off, tuck it into a pocket deep in my jacket, my sweater, my backpack and just RUN for shelter. No singin' in the rain for me.
Now? It's still strange to me, but thanks to advancing technology, my hearing aid and my CI is what the manufacturers like to call "water-resistant and sweat proof". In simple terms, it means they'll be fine if I sweat at the gym, if I get caught in the rain, or get blasted by a water gun. The threshold of water-resistance is also pretty vague, so I still have to be cautious. However, it still means I can't swim with them on, much less take a shower with them. (We haven't quite gotten there yet, but I'm hopeful. And yes, I know that there is a CI model that is entirely waterproof but extensive research led me to go with the other model that wasn't entirely waterproof - my current Harmony processor).
Because I feared water, I never really got to enjoy the feeling of rain on my skin. Which I'm still getting used to these days. It's strange. And I'm still trying to convince myself to walk instead of run when it starts to rain… after all, I have nothing to worry about anymore.
I came across this article through a friend of mine. "A Vacation from My Hearing Loss", describes how a woman named Gael has made the decision to go on a trip up to a cottage on a lake for a month with her hearing aids. The piquing point of her article? A caveat. Namely, choosing to leave her hearing at its "current, imperfect level", a new stress-free program that Gael calls, "I Will Not Let My Hearing Loss Cause Me Any Stress in Any Situation".
I have to admit, having a hearing loss is a little stressful. Okay, maybe not little. Really stressful. I'm always trying to advocate for myself, ensuring communication - whether it's with friends, on public transit or in a coffee shop waiting for my order to be called. It may not seem like much, but it adds up at the end of the day, and when you're doing this on a daily basis for your entire life… now the numbers seem significant, right?
Ah, to live a no-stress life... Poor Pacman.
Which is why I like nature. Or rather, camping and hiking. Because I'm cloistered up in the throes of technology and a booming modern society, I'm always experiencing new sounds and having to fend of myself (and let me just add, I do pretty darn well, thank you very much). But when I'm hiking or deep in nature, away from pretty much anything technological, it's a relief. I can just not have to focus. It's even better when I'm talking with someone one-on-one - that same peaceful respite is the same feeling I also experience when it's just one other person I have to worry about in terms of successful communication. It's also best in isolation, like sitting outside on a dock on the lake, or in a small cafe in the middle of nowhere.
Speaking of isolation, how about silence? I admire people who can mediate and filter out sounds around them and hear nothing but their breathing. It's the same way people marvel at me for being able to turn my hearing on and off - with the flick of a switch or a disconnect, so to speak. We all want that moment of silence, even more so when we're experiencing awful headaches and migraines, or wanting to tune out some annoying droning sound, or even the sound of someone's voice.
Now, I fully admit, I've gone through days without hearing aids (pre-cochlear implants, back when I used to forget spare batteries all the time). It was stressful when I was in school. But when it was intentionally planned on a vacation of some sorts, it was well worth it. I could just focus on myself and whatever I wanted to do without the assailing sounds of everything around me draining my energy away. Even with my cochlear implant, I'm still tempted to take my time putting it on in some mornings - not right away, but just until I need to step outside and begin my day, so I can cling onto that last bit of silence before I immerse myself back into the world of sound.
So I challenge you, go to a cottage, or go somewhere calming where you don't have to worry about hearing. Put some earplugs on. Do it for a couple of hours, or for a day. Admire the difference, and know that taking a break from reality, however brief, is always allowed.
Let me preface this by saying that no one's perfect, especially me, when it comes to my speech. More particularly, my pronunciations.
Unlike the average person, I have a higher tendency to… really mess up words. A lot. And the sad thing is, I get it; a lot of people are hesitant to correct me, because they would think it'd be rude to correct a deaf person, the poor thing, can't even pronounce that word correctly, but it would just crush their soul if they ever found out…
You get the gist. But I'm blunt, and I can handle criticism well. And even though I sometimes have to really remind the people around me, I encourage others to correct me. Even if it's in public and they may appear to be a jerk to me from the outsider's perspective. I really couldn't care. I want to improve my speech, and guess what? It's not going to improve unless someone corrects me. You don't let a person bake awful pies and keep on torturing yourself by eating each spoonful with a horrendous fake smile plastered on your face, trying to swallow that cement-flavoured bite, overloaded with way too much salt. You let the baker know, that maybe, they should try a different recipe, because the one they're using is too DAMN SALTY.
Okay, salty language aside, I understand the tension, and the hesitation. But think of it this way, you don't want us deaf people to keep on making fools of ourselves, oblivious to the awful way we're botching up common every-day words in the English language. Think of it this way instead - you're doing us a favour.
Having said that, can I just please say, to the ESL people, geez! It's a hard language. I sympathize, really. Why do we have so many weird rules for pronouncing things? Why is 'damn' said like 'dam', but 'debt' is 'det'? Why not 'deb'? Why do rules only apply to a smattering of words, but not to everything else? What's the point of having all these rules if they don't even apply in the first place? There's a point where you can have only so many exceptions before you have to throw the rule book out the proverbial window. And that's window, pronounced exactly like it says - 'win-dow'. Simple and easy, the way I like it. Why can't English just be simple and easy? (Perhaps that's another question for another time...)
I'm just happy that a lot of people experience confusion, and that it's not just isolated to only those who are ESL, deaf and/or intellectually challenged. A small part of me feels like I belong even more, when someone also messes up a word. Is that bad of me to admit?
And for the record, I still think GIFs should be pronounced 'kifs', like the throaty way you say 'good' as 'kood'. Saying GIF as 'jif', is just making it even more confusing man.
Sometimes, I feel like I'm cheating nature. I've been busy planning camping trips (something I have been sorely missing for a while), not just because I'm Canadian (okay, it's totally true) and it's in my blood, but because I want to experience real nature with my new hearing.
But then I came to a very glaring realization. When one goes out into nature, foraying into the true wilderness, one leaves the shackles of technology behind, or at least, tries to minimalize the amount of technology that tags along. (GPS/phones would be a good exception of this).
So how the heck does a person, who relies on medical technology, survive in the wilderness?
The key, my dear readers, is preparation, and a bit of cheating.
I know I'll be traveling by car. Therefore, I acquire a generator or a traveling adapter that allows me to plug my battery charger into the car somehow while it's running. That's one solution.
Another accompanying solution is to bring lots of spare batteries. In my case (due to some sheer dumb luck and, perhaps, some karma), the batteries I thought I lost months ago were somehow returned to me recently, resulting in an even larger total of spare batteries (new + old batches). I now have 7 batteries. As much as I'd like to say it's good for each day of the week, the reality is that my latest map is taking up more processing power and draining the battery faster. I estimate 7 batteries will last me, maybe, just maybe, 5 days. Good for short trips, no?
Another elegant solution is to just say, 'screw it', and go with only my one hearing aid and thousands (okay, maybe I'm exaggerating here) of disposable cheap hearing aid batteries at my disposal, mwahaha. But that really limits my hearing capabilities, thus I reserve this as an emergency contingency option. I told you it was real elegant.
I'm also thinking that a convoluted but also a pretty reliable solution would be to acquire a gas-powered generator of sorts, and use it sparingly to charge my batteries. But that's just wrong, especially in nature.
In my case, I think I get a free pass when it comes to nature. I can't say the same for most people though.
I admit, I live nearby a hospital, and for a while, I enjoyed being oblivious to it pre-CI surgery. Not anymore. Sirens pervade my silence the few times I stay at my apartment in the daytime. I go to places where background noise is common occurrence, and people somehow just manage. Like rain falling down, dripping, splashing and sploshing on trees and windows. Serene to most people, even, but to someone like me, each drop is the equivalent of trying to solve a quadratic equation. I can't help but fixate on each drop.
It comes to the training and early developments of the brain. It's common knowledge (at least, I think it is), that the more frequently one hears a noise, the easier it is for that noise to be pushed to the background/back of the brain. It makes sense; the familiarity and consistency creates a pattern, and one that isn't disruptive is easy to acclimate to.
The thing is, people have had years to train themselves to this. So to a deaf person like me, the new hearing I've acquired means I treat each raindrop as if it's a gunshot. I'm being a little dramatic here, but it's true. I'll spontaneously exclaim, "what was that?!" to whoever's nearby upon hearing a sound. This has disrupted quite a few conversations in public, I'll admit, but my education doesn't just simply arise in perfectly orchestrated situations. It's random. Spontaneous. And it's fun.
Except, well, there are a few sounds I'm still having trouble ignoring - like airplanes, sirens, dogs barking, and weather, most notably roaring wind and rain.
I guess this means I'm not going to be a fan of white noises for a long, long time.
Seriously, how do people fall asleep to these sounds?
I went up to a cottage for the long weekend. And a small, microscopic part of me, specifically, the little kid inside of me who runs around exclaiming random things, was hoping that, well... fireworks would be a part of that weekend.
My wish was granted.
Hearing fireworks go off… was a very surprising experience. Not to mention, how remarkably loud they can be. I had heard them before with hearing aids, but now that I've listened to them again with a CI, let me tell you, it was completely different. The experience with hearing aids was the equivalent of eating food that you knew would be oh so delicious, except that you have a horrible cold and sore throat that basically kills your tastebuds, and the food tastes like cardboard sprinkled with some dirt on it. For extra garnish, you know. Now, on the other hand, hearing the fireworks with more clarity thanks to the CI… like a $200 5-course gourmet dinner, with food that just makes your taste buds sing, in the fanciest restaurant possible.
However, as much as I love pyrotechnics as the next little boy, they are really scary loud. I asked for a good comparison to the noise that erupts from these chemically powdered cylinder beasts, and I was given one word: gunshots.
I've never heard a gunshot in real life before (thankfully), and I'd like to keep it that way. But those fireworks - no wonder people jump at the noise, especially loud ones like those that bang and explode right inside your chest, making you literally FEEL the pops and whizzing.
I know elevated heart rates means more stress on your body, and now I kind of can understand why fireworks aren't always going off every day.
Although, that would be kind of cool. Except now I can hear them, so there goes my reasoning, and my enjoyment of them is starting to decline. But not much. I'll still love listening to them, even if they do feel like they're overloading my auditorial nerves.
It's the classic tell-tale sign of a person with a hearing loss. You speak to them, and they go, "what?", "huh?" or "say that again?". It becomes especially more obvious if it happens more than two times. Repeatedly. Over a large period of time.
Now that the dust is starting to settle, I still find myself asking people to repeat themselves again. And oddly enough, huh, every word that comes out of my mouth in my rehabilitation sessions with the therapist is either "say that again" or "again". Every. Single. Time. If you heard me with her, you'd think that was the only two phrases in my entire vocabulary.
If my blog is any indicator, I harness quite the vocabulary, not to worry.
People seem to lose patience with people like us, who constantly ask for repetition or clarification. But by saying "ah, never mind" or "it wasn't important, don't worry", you're kind of hindering our aural development. Come on dude, really? You're telling me that whatever you were talking about, was okay to be heard by everyone else, but not by me?
Let me put it into perspective, imagine you're in a small group of friends, and they're all talking about the weather. Sure, it's not an important topic like politics or social change, but then before you know it, someone's made a joke, everyone's laughing, and then the moment's passed. They'll just give you a brief gist of it and then they're talking about pop stars and Instagram. It's not that you didn't hear the joke exactly the way it was said (although I will argue that a word can be important as a picture for contextual information), but that you weren't able to participate in the socialization.
Sure if it happens once or twice, not a big deal, right?
But when it happens on a daily basis, it's impairing your ability to formulate or strengthen those bonds with your friends. And you don't feel like one of them. Or you just pretend to laugh along, and hoping you could get the inside joke that they're all talking about next time.
So this is goes to anyone, even people who have trouble hearing in noisy situations like bars and parks (because we're all social creatures), just have a little patience with us, hmm?
Fun bonus!
While we're on the matter of jokes, here's one I used a long time ago (and occasionally to this day, still use it):
"I'm deaf, not blind. I can see, you know."
Now, don't go abusing this joke unless you're actually deaf.
I'm participating in a monster of a challenge next month. It's not for the faint of heart either. I'm not even sure if it's for the strong of heart… It's an obstacle course that is gruelling, both physically and mentally. A few of the courses involved include electrical shocks.
I'm not one to back away from a challenge. Even when I did my initial research on the event, I was definitely gung-ho for doing everything once, yes, even the electrical shock courses that my sister wasn't so keen on trying. Not even once. I mean, even I did parasailing with my sister, and that barely satiated my fearless appetite.
But because I now have an extremely expensive medical implant in my head, my impulses have to be reined in and constantly evaluated. So after emailing my audiologist and the event organizers, I was told that unfortunately, participants with pacemakers (because my implant is quite similar to a pacemaker and is affected by the same things pacemakers can be affected by) are insisted to stay clear of this particular course.
Damn.
It's hard when you're fearless but you're limited by the constraints of your physical body, or in this case, medical technology. In any situation, the payoff for hearing more is fearless enough than having to jump out of a plane.
That doesn't mean I don't want to do these things. I still want to go bungee-jumping, skydiving and zip lining and all these other things. I have to brainstorm other ways of achieving them, without causing any damage to my implant.
Recently, I was with a few musically inclined friends who introduced me to some of the new elements that are trending in pop culture right now, especially electronic and dub step music, with a few classic heavy metal and screamer metal thrown in, because they're eclectic like that.
Ever heard of the term 'bass drop'?
Well, I never did.
The best way to explain what it was? A brief lecture on the behaviour of music, and the auditorial precursors leading up to it and the significant changes in the music note and tempo (beats?). Followed by a series of songs, most notably some viral ones, in which my friends, with too much enthusiasm on their part, danced and clearly pointed out (with very helpful hand gestures) the bass drop.
I have to say, it was pretty fascinating knowing that music can get too quick for the brain to even comprehend, that it becomes "noise" and then suddenly, silence, followed by very dance-able music/tempo.
The fact that music can behave this way is pretty incredible to me, and the fact that music can continue to be expressed in nearly infinite ways just makes me appreciate it that much more. Even before I had my CI, when I was wearing hearing aids and listening to music, I never really understood why people were so close to it, or why it provoked so many emotions for them.
The bass drop is one of those things - in that moment of listening to those songs, and watching my friends dance, I understood why people loved, got lost, and immersed themselves in music. It's a physical sensation in the same way that I hear sounds that transmit themselves through the skin of my headpiece to my internal processor. It's the way I hear music as colours sometimes, and it's the way people dance to understand the music they're listening to (or because, you know, dancing feels good).
So my friends have me listening to British rock, German industrial, Electronic, Glitch, Ambience, and even Dubsteb. So far, it's been a musical experience in seeing what I like and dislike.
I've still come to the same conclusion every time though; I still don't like rap. Sorry!
This one goes out to all my friends, including Deanna, for being musically fearless and exposing me to new sounds on a regular basis. My ears thank you.
In a way, I've come to realize how valuable hearing is - in that it provides you with this positive feedback loop where you can hear yourself talking, and others talk, and in turn, subtly correct your hearing/speech based on what you're hearing.
It's quite the difference from just wearing hearing aids and having sounds amplified. I know that with each new version of hearing aids I had (like clockwork, every 3 years thanks to government funding), my speech slightly improved, and my range of hearing slightly expanded - at one point, I went from hearing just pretty fine to hearing whirring noises in the background of my parents' house when I got digital hearing aids for the first time. I realized that those noises were all the machines humming and whirring - like the fridge, the laundry machines, and even the microwave when it was being used. Those were the little sounds that my old, outdated hearing aids never picked up on.
But going from a hearing aid to a cochlear implant (plus one hearing aid too), it's been quite the leap. It's probably equivalent to jumping out of an airplane without a parachute (with a cochlear implant), as opposed to jumping off a swing (with hearing aids).
I can hear myself talk. And I wince when I talk too loud, because it registers in my implant uncomfortably, the way loud and painful sounds do (most notoriously, flip flops and sandpaper, for my regular readers). And when I talk, I realize my volume is too loud, and I adjust. I notice if I'm skipping sounds (sometimes, but not always), and most importantly, I get to pay attention to other people's voices.
Not everyone is just straight up female and male - you've got old grandparent voices, young child voices, teenage whining voices, angry voices, indoor voices, outdoor voices, whispering… it goes on and on. And it's a radical difference from hearing aids.
This feedback is incredible. A large part of my aural rehabilitation has come from just listening and talking - so this is why I talk a lot, because I want to hear myself - which sounds kind of vain, I know.
Recently, I've received awards and accolades for my volunteer work as a mentor and my dedication in the field of diversity and equity initiatives. As a humble person, I thought I would take the time to reflect on what these awards mean to me, especially in the context of my hearing loss.
Although I don't see my hearing loss as a negative issue, or as a disability, I've been instilled with this self-drive for constantly advocating, adapting, and passionately pursuing my efforts in making the world a more accessible place, not just for me (although it happens when I encounter something myself first) but for others too. This self-drive, or rather, "my crazy work ethic that is unparalleled to a superhero/robot" spills out into other facets of my life. Particularly when I'm subconsciously trying to prove that people with disabilities, if given a fair chance, can do anything other people can do.
As a mentor, I feel like I have a lot to share with the world, but more importantly, as a mentor, and as someone who works in various departments promoting inclusivity and accessibility, I'm also indirectly exposing others to successful people with disabilities such as myself. Through this exposure, whether it's a collaborative effort on a project, or a quick correspondence/meeting, people are hopefully inspired, and hopefully more aware and understanding of others with disabilities. In this small way, I know that I'm slowly changing the world, one person at a time.
Getting recognition for my efforts is not merely a pat on the back and a high five. It is not just free money and free praise. It is not just two pieces of paper I frame and hang on my wall. It is an incredibly rewarding and and gratifying experience, and it reminds me every day that what I'm doing is a good thing, and one step towards becoming a better leader.
We are not boring people. If anything, my blog should prove that otherwise. And same goes for American Sign Language. But just in case my witty words have yet to convince you, here's an arsenal of great videos that show a deaf joke and deaf poetry, using everything but verbal words. Enjoy!
KING KONG DEAF JOKE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k35oh48CJQA
The King Kong Deaf Joke is a classic one. This is a very shortened, simple version (in which King Kong knows sign language, okay?), which I think gets across the message nicely. Here's a rough transcript, but the visual language and signs themselves should be more than enough information:
King Kong walked down and saw a beautiful girl.
He picked her up and the girl screamed, "don't hurt me, etc, etc".
King Kong told her she was beautiful.
She told him to go away, because he was smelly.
King Kong sniffed her deeply.
He asked her, will you marry-
(Note, the sign for marry is the clasping of two hands together. By doing the sign, he had squashed the girl).
(And then King Kong goes, "drat!").
ASL POETRY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIkf89zC7qw
I like how the black credits at the beginning say, "Captioned for the ASL-impaired". Nonetheless, if you look at the the people signing, you'll find that you need no words or translations to understand what they're signing - it is truly a physical and visual language.
A bit of variety to show you that there's some pretty amazing things you can do with ASL these days besides doing translations of songs!
Deaf people are largely awkward by nature. Can you blame us, really, when we don’t learn the norms of socializing that hearing people do as they grow up? We’re sequestered away with therapists and other deaf children, left to grow and develop on our own, because we simply can’t keep up with the unaffected hearing kids? This is similarly true for any child with any sort of disability or inability.
It’s a small wonder I even made friends, really. As I grew up relying on reading lips and speaking as best as I could (this was pre-CI), I started following a code of sorts, the code of the deaf people...
Always, always, always face the person you’re talking. Never turn away from them unless the conversation is finished. When in a group, face as many as you can - usually a half-circle facing one person.
Use facial expressions to communicate as well.
Enunciate to pronounce words easier, and to make it easier for those reading lips to understand you.
No one cares about how loud you’re talking if you’re all deaf. Of course, if you’re talking to a hearing person, try to keep your volume level lower than a screaming banshee’s.
No facial hair. Ever. Beards and mustaches are the last circle of hell for deaf people.
Never make eye contact. You’ll be too preoccupied looking at the hands (if you’re signing/reading signing) or the lips (reading lips) or the body (as a whole, for non-verbal communication purposes). What eyes? Don’t ask us what colour your eyes are, we’ve probably never even bothered to look. (What, you have blue eyes?! How did I not know this 20 years ago when I met you?!)
Don’t wear crazy colours or patterns. This is true for signers, mostly because it hurts to read hands that are moving so fast with a crazy, funky printed shirt you’re wearing... it burns the eyes, okay?
Being unabashedly bold. We will sign in public, we will yell, we will make loud proclamations without caring what other people think. If you hang around us, you best be confident and okay with that. The shy avoid us largely because of this, but those who stick around slowly get converted, like a slow infection, in a nice way I suppose.
Even though I have the CI, these habits are hard to break. I always talk with people face-to-face, and I stop talking when they don’t face me anymore (even though I forget that hearing people can still hear without having to face me). It’s awkward and it's damn hard, but I’m trying. The eye contact thing is something I’m still getting used to - I gaze and stare into my family’s and friends’ eyes while they blather on about the news that day, because I can sort of hear them now without having to read their lips. And I get really distracted by how complex their eyes are, and how varied the colours are... even the flecks in their irises are so mesmerizing to me. Point being, I’m guilty of still abiding by the code even though most of it no longer applies to me.
Old habits die hard, I guess.
Since December, I have started wearing the CI with my hearing aid on the other side (also known as bimodal hearing). I wasn’t really encouraged to do so, but I felt it was time to stop relying so much on the CI, which was still giving me difficulties in getting used to hearing my own name being called, amongst other things. A few observations I have noted:
(Oh Batman, I can relate. That cowl must be impossible to turn your neck in.)
The cochlear implant is a really remarkable device, and I should be incredibly fortunate that it is as small and compact as it is now than it was before. Granted, it no longer requires wearing a gigantic battery belt (Batman utility belt, anyone?) or having wires adorned all around me, but the sheer size of the processor on my small ear is quite hilarious actually.
