Anybody hearing impaired around here...looking to do some research!?

Answer 1

I have hearing loss but I don't wear a hearing aid, I just say What alot. What's your research?

Answer 2

I was born deaf in my right ear...what kind of research??

Answer 3

huh???what???

Answer 4

I am, lost my hearing while at age 8, now am 32, my poetry currently won an award in bbc... am desparatly looking for finance to get published

An Open Door (A True Story) by Urdeen Sylvester
Submitted by silencespks on Sun, 08/15/2004 - 21:14.

I sensed the basket behind me, I knew its angle, and I have no hope of
passing by this three-man defense, always at their best when it was I
with the ball. Their pride is always in the way and the time is tickling
off. I have to take the chance; I always do, not without pain as I
jumped twist-turn in the air, for the lay up. Though I live beyond the
sound barrier the shout when the ball went in, it vivid power, the
source of every silent scream was beyond that of dreams. People stood,
most with hands on their head as if holding in their brain, looking at
me. I can sense them, I was being drown to their train of thought, they
know who I am, they knew about the silence within, the way I got it from
my mothers’ milk. Whatever I do every step I take, every utterance of
any volume could be analyzed critically-I liked such attention. It was
different once.

When I was a kid I liked sports and competition, but I hated the
attention. I spent most of my time just hating everything about being in
the spotlight, and when am alone, I'd stand in front of the mirror, and
look at myself. The face I knew, and compared it with what I imagined
people saw. I'd see this distorted image, an exotic bird.

Coming to school everyday, knowing that I am different, I hated it. Each
day people made it clear how I looked. They are curious about me.
Constantly looking into my eyes trying to engage me in conversation.
Conscious of my difference they cannot help observing "The man who talks
without hearing his own voice." The attention was suffocating. I felt in
some way false, a perfect fake of a form who thinks he is normal, I
thought that I was being used as an instrument of every whim that was
not my own. I had no ability to do anything about it.

It is not simply the attitude, which saps my strength, but some human
commodity is missing, that part of me that needed to socialize was
lacking. Looking at them (looking at me) I'd say to myself they do not
care. To me they did not appear to care, people look at me at times as
if they were looking out through a window, trying to assess the silence
I was born with. I knew they were talking about me, even though they
were not looking at me. I knew (like every other self absorbed kid at
that age could put two and two together and come up with the result of
eight.)

At times I tried to squelch my fear by telling myself that it was only
words, but each time the silence worked on me. When I stand in front of
the mirror I'd move my arms try to speak with the language of signs, and
watch myself speak to myself without hearing my own voice trying to see
the man in the mirror with a third eye.

The eye from the outside word, and try to see what they and I hardly
knew. Did not know what they were thinking about me. Nor what they saw,
but I always thought it was negative. Because they seemed to be
withdrawn, when my schoolmates speak, they always over do it. The
language of sign fascinated them. I felt that I was always being
sectioned by a referee or by a policeman by the way the tried to speak
with every division. People have always been fascinated by what they
consider different.

There are times through history when people were fascinated enough to
hang or burn those they considered different. I was convinced as you
should expect in such a situation that no one outside my immediate
family would ever accept me as a normal person or love me as such. I
felt that no one liked me as a person. As I grew I decided that in order
to survive in what I saw as a cruel world I have to arm myself against
repeated bruising. So I grew like a weed, arrogant stubborn, and decided
that I had to weed my life of any thing that does not support my identity.

It became an obsession and my drive. Every thing that motivated me in
any competition was the result of constant rage. The poison that can
only be exorcised by intense pain a self-act of violence like the feel
of my hand on the rim as the ball goes in. I wanted to prove a point in
every game I took part in. I am normal and can do everything that
everyone else can do.

I began by measuring my achievement, not against my personal
capabilities, but against everyone else. I started dressing and acting
in ways to fit in, but still underneath these facades I still have the
feeling of inferiority, and today I liked such attention.

In the beginning because there is simply an awareness that life is
simply not working, that suffering has ceased to be interesting, and
somehow you know that there should be something in your heart that will
make sense out of what appears to be the senseless suffering. So we
begin to seek. What is it we long for? We begin to ask, and question
ourselves, what makes us suffer? After a time it becomes habit, a
practice a way to see our world. As we talk to our soul and question it.
What are we separate from that make us suffer and why? What are we
missing? What have we lost? So we begin to look, to question ourselves.
We move along unfamiliar roads, and embank on a journey within, toward
the person we really are. I asked myself once, If we are not really what
people say we are why are we trying to prove them wrong in the first place.

Isn't it better to be who you are and make the best use of it? Haven't
we learned from experience? Also because my silence was so loud. In its
way my every gesture, my speech, my looks all went to emphasis my
difference. All the reason for my identity was to make a point. To tell
people about the difference with or without words; in sports or any
event people took notice by what I did. Not because of the silence
within, but because I was different. The game I played was different,
because I put a different approach to the game. The game as a whole was
different because there was a different person taking part on the game,
when I was there on the court, or the gymnasium, or the field, or the
classroom.

I must admit it’s true, that what people considered different in me
accredited to me; probably because I am different they never seem to
miss any minute detail. When ‘THE DEAF’ man does it. I can recall a
foreigner by the side line, during a game, among a group of people known
to me, as I stole a glance at him, I realized that he too was starring
at me. In what seemed undisguised wonder, though his eyes were open and
looking to my direction I knew instinctively that he was not seeing me,
but was wondering about my life. I allowed my eyes to wander over him
his eyes like manner wandered over me very slowly too, I can see a grin
opening my face until am unable to hold it anymore, it was good laughing
at people's fantastic image of you. They wonder about what lies within.
The man approached me after the game introduced himself as a missionary
and said that he liked the difference my presence made to the game he
asked me with a simple question. On what my purpose was in life, and how
did I see myself filling that role. He pointed out at the mast holding
the basket, and said that its purpose was to hold the basket, net,
board, and all the things above it. It was made solely for that purpose
he pointed out. Other things he pointed out and there designated purpose
in life. Then asked if they are more important to me?
I have always have a respect for the missionaries, I answered him as
best I could. No.

Now what is your purpose? Since you admit that things that are not as
important as you have a purpose. Isn't it reasonable that you too have a
purpose? I had thought of asking myself that same question but I never
did. In that silent moment right there in the court it was as if the day
was made for thinking of it. I could gladly have pushed each question to
the back of my mind but the only thing I did was to look at him, eye
seeing yet unseeing, in a silence so deep.

We are not born with the secret of discovering our differences in life,
but we were given free will and reasoning to discover each hidden door.
The secret lies in our heart, no one else holds it, but as long as we
look to others to give us the key we will never discover our purpose. We
must realize that there is a kingdom within us and that no one needs to
give us permission to explore the only one to give us that permission is
ourselves. Knowing that I had revealed myself. I did the very opposite
of deceiving, I wanted somehow to make manifest the man within. Better
they should know me than interpret me by my deeds. I found a way to be
one with myself for people to know that I am myself.

Through me its age, literature and its art, the truth may come out about
who the real man was. That whatever they have read is an illusion of
what is DEAFNESS TO MAN, I am the truth of what an impaired ought to be.
Today I am comfortable in the silence, I have nothing to hide. I have to
live with myself, and because I wanted to be able to look at myself and
like myself more, with what I do with myself every passing day, I do not
need to hide anything. Nor try believing nobody else will know.

My life is written on my face. As I look at you I can never hide myself
from me, or from those I live with. I hated trying to hide, and I knew
that if my impairment is normal why hide it. Why? I do not know what
direction my life currently treads, but in all things I wanted to be me.
I wanted to make a difference in this life before mine is through. I
wanted to share the riches within me.

I had always had this near irresistible feeling since I was a kid to
call out. To scream to the world, I am the REAL DEAF MAN. So that they
all will come and take a look at me, to see the deepness within, and
knew that my goodness is my difference.

Admiration of individuals has always focused on their differences. Those
who have high standards in all they do, exposing moral values which may
make them stand out in a different groups. Knowing that I opened a lot
of door to those in my school, and surroundings to help them recognize
that it is important to make the effort to understand that others are
different from them and there is a strength in their being different.

I opened a lot of doors for people to see that whatever background you
came from, what ever problem you have everybody can have an opportunity
if they are willing to go that extra mile to fight their own battle. I
was the fans favorite alien when I was at school. Most of my opponent
misjudged the silence within so it is not surprising when they meet
their "butt" down first before they knew they were down, I have always
dreamed of opening doors all my life. Now that I have it does not get
any better does it?

thanks
written and submitted by
omosun urdeen sylvester
(poet/author
Administrative office
Bells University of Technology
Ota-Ogun
State Nigeria
www.tribalpoetry.blogspot.com