You can't tell I'm partially deaf just by looking at me. I'm young-looking, and relatively fashionable and hip. This is not to say that the hearing impaired can't be young, fashionable, or hip. It's just that I don't fit the stereotype that appears in all the “deaf jokes”: the elderly person who's out of touch, and not all there. And believe me, I've heard all the jokes.
I was diagnosed as hearing impaired at the age of 18 and was prescribed hearing aids on the spot. Before the diagnosis, I thought I was normal. But it did explain why I could be such a space cadet. I never stayed focused in class, couldn't sustain conversations at loud parties, and unknowingly ignored people who tried to speak to me. I would also mishear most lines in movies and songs, making me an unintentional source of comedy.
I dealt with the diagnosis the way any 18-year old would: complete denial. I'd gotten by just fine without hearing aids. Like many people with hearing loss, I'd developed a finely-tuned aptitude for delivering the appropriate reaction in any conversation despite not completely understanding what was being said. I knew when to laugh, when to nod, and when to make a sympathetic face. I was so good at appearing normal- until I left the Philippines and moved to Australia.
I would constantly ask Australians to repeat themselves, after which they'd either assume I couldn't speak English and talk to me very slowly, or look at me like I was dumb.
Like many immigrants, I struggled to find friends and get a good job, and trying to understand the Australian accent as a hearing-impaired person was a nightmare. Where the expressive Filipino tongue loves to enunciate, laid back Aussies like to pronounce as few sounds as possible. I would constantly ask Australians to repeat themselves, after which they'd either assume I couldn't speak English and talk to me very slowly, or look at me like I was dumb. But perhaps what hurt the most was the time I got yelled at during my first job as a barista. After asking a customer to please repeat his order, he screamed, “Go back to Fiji!”, right there, in full range of everyone.
To this day, I've been unable to identify the emotion that coursed through my shaking hands after being spoken to like that. The closest I've come to is “othered”. It hurt more than I wanted it to.
Having a disability and being an immigrant are very similar. Both are experiences of being on the outside looking in. Dealing with both at once compounded my sense of otherness. Not only was I culturally different, but my hearing impairment left me on one end of a communication gap I couldn't bridge. This slowly wore away at my confidence and optimism. I walled myself off and avoided situations that required speaking to people. Depression hovered over me for many years, and I was convinced that Australia would never open its doors to me.
The tragedy of hearing loss is not in being unable to hear, but in being socially excluded.
It was Former Prime Minister John Howard who saved me, or rather a news article about his own lifelong struggle with significant hearing loss. It was a revelation. If a partially deaf person could run the country for 11 years, then I could certainly build an enriching life here. After eight years in Australia, I finally got a hearing aid. They're precisely what they claim to be- an aid, not a cure; but it gave me the courage to take those first tentative steps towards a more fulfilling life.
But more important than hearing aids, I began to tell people about my hearing loss. It was, after all, completely invisible. Nobody knew.
In hindsight, I see the damage caused by pressuring myself to appear normal. I missed so many chances to reach out and let people in. The tragedy of hearing loss is not in being unable to hear, but in being socially excluded. Hearing aids help, but a dialogue between the hearing and the hearing impaired is what ultimately bridges the gap. I'm grateful to those who accepted my invitation to meet me half-way.
Accepting my hearing loss came hand-in-hand with embracing my otherness. Australia did eventually open its doors to me, but more importantly, I opened my doors to it first.
