I WANT OTHER PEOPLE TO EXPERIENCE THE EXPRESSIVE POTENTIAL OF THIS BEAUTIFUL LANGUAGE, THIS BEAUTIFUL COMMUNITY. I WANT OTHER PEOPLE TO SEE WHAT I SEE.

and emotionally exhausting. I’d retreat to my room after the school day and play saxophone or just lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

One night, when our English class was publicly performing poems in ASL, one of my classmates blew my mind wide open. It was a simple poem, but he immediately drew us into the concept and mood. It was like watching a one-man film. Using his hands, face and body, he zoomed in and out, placing himself and the audience deep inside his composition, then shifting again in time and space.

I understood that night that I’d found my true language — a mode of communication that matched my brain’s wiring perfectly. As a result, I became more outgoing and could be myself with my classmates. I saw myself as part of a community and a culture — capital ‘D’ Deaf — rather than someone with a medical condition — small ‘d’ deaf.

Discovering this deep bond with other Deaf students was like falling into a familiar embrace.

It was the difference, for me, between life and death.

Buoyed, I experimented with not speaking aloud at all. I had to take some classes at a nearby mainstream school and presented myself as fully Deaf, rather than a deaf person who can lipread and speak well. Surprisingly, I felt more welcome than ever.

No one got angry if I didn’t turn when they yelled my name. Some students even tried to learn sign language. I felt respected. Outside of school, I began ordering coffee in ASL. Even when the barista didn’t understand everything I signed, the dynamic had changed.

I am Deaf. I communicate in ASL. It’s who I am. Why pretend otherwise?