Ever since my limited “hearing”, we’ve been doing what the doctor said we should: maintain a regular routine. Please, I'm deaf, not autistic. But apparently, the doctor is God, so we are exactly what he told us.
Maintain a regular routine.
Every day starts with the usual: the mute vibrations of the alarm clock. Instead of playing music like what a normal one does, mine shakes the bed like an earthquake. I wake up after the same odd number, always the fifteenth shake, and fall face first to the cold hard wooden floor, still half-asleep. I groggily stumble to the washroom.
I did the usual there: brush my teeth, take a fifteen-minute shower, then change to the first things I pull out of my closet. How I manage to do all that in thirty minutes flat never ceases to amaze my family. Me, I’ve grown accustomed to it.
Grabbing some toast with butter and a Dasani water bottle from the table, courtesy of Mom, I walk out the door with my book bag strapped to a shoulder and commute to school in the average public bus.
Life is boring now, considering how I have to follow a stinking routine every single day. The only thing that keeps me happy – no matter how ironic it is – is music. Being deaf did make it slightly difficult, however, but not impossible.
I have my own special set of headphones, one that exclusively pumps the beats and rhythm to my ears, no sound. I haven’t updated my music collection the past few years. I only keep the ones I’ve actually heard and the beats help me recognize them. Once that's accomplished, my imagination takes over. It would replay that song in my mind, as if it was yesterday when I’ve first heard it.
It’s sad, how rarely I hear a new song. That’s only possible if I see the live performance, all instrumental of course, of an instrument I know how to play, which is quite a short list. There are: the drums, piano, guitar (electronic and acoustic) and, of course, the violin; though, I try not to go near a violin anymore. I don’t think I could survive seeing one without being able to play it. It would be like eating chocolate near a chocoholic who’s allergic: pure torture.
The bell rings at the usual time and I go to my first class. I can’t really understand the idea behind a school. I mean, no one really pays attention. There’re girls who have earbuds hidden behind their hair with their phone in hand. Some students are sleeping; if not, at least nodding off. Then there are the “popular kids” near the back of the class who were folding a paper airplane and had "accidentally" sent it gliding to the teacher’s head.
Mr. Skar snaps his head around, his face beet red. Everyone cowers under their desks as he yells something probably along the lines of “Who threw this?”
Seeing as I'm one of those who are on the phone, I didn’t realize he walked up to my desk until he pulls my phone from my grasp, yanking out the earbuds in the process.
“Melody! How many times have we told you, ‘No flying paper airplanes, no listening to music, no going on your phone, etc.’ in class?” he asks me, yelling.
Well, it’s most likely he yelled. I don’t know. I only know what people say through reading their lips. It's how I communicate with others, though I normally don't reply if I don't know them. It’s plain and simple, a common ability with the deaf, but my talent is a bit … more special.
I can "hear" things. Not hear, in the standard definition of the word, but sense things. My senses works like that: they transmit everything they detect through “sounds”. For instance, people would normally feel if a person is near them - sense them, if you will - but I sense them differently.
Each person has his or her unique voice, their own personal instrument that only they play. That's what I would "hear". It’s like a constant hum in my head. That’s their presence, their sound; I call it a tune. If they’re feeling something specific, like joy or anger, it would reflect on their tune. It may become heavier or lighter, or it would shake a bit too.
