What life sounds like
They tell me that when a footballer scores, the crowd “roars”. I don’t know what that sounds like.
All I see is people jumping up and down in the stands, with their faces mutating from the strain of excitement. They seem to be living every moment as if their life depends on that single goal. And when something goes wrong, you can see the blood gushing to their face, painting it red with anger.
They all seem to be yelling something at every instance, but I don’t know what it is.
I don’t like watching football. Everyone tells me that I am missing out from all the fun if no screaming is involved. But it is not my fault.
It is even worse when I go to a concert. Well, actually, when they drag me there and I just stare at the stage at people jumping up and down in what appears to be a contest of who will wear less clothes.
But I can’t hear anything.
I was born like this. Deaf.
I don’t know what a singing bird sounds like. Or what my parents’ voices are like.
I have never heard the crack of a biscuit, or the ruffling of leaves. Neither the sound of pages turning, or the beating of a heart. Nor the noise a jumping car makes, or the swish of waves.
I don’t know what music is. Or what it means to yell at the top of your voice to release the tension.
I never experienced the thrill of a good shout.
And I will never know what it means to roar like a lion when you are mad. Or sob and squeak like an infant when you are sad.
I wish I could hear a voice. Even an angry one. Just hear something.
I am living in a silent world. And the only thing I can hear is the sound of my heart breaking from it.