Sending a Message to My Senior Self
By Angelica Magno, Nevada H&V
A few days ago, I was doing a little bit of reflecting on my life so far.
As a young adult who is deaf, it has been a long ride with many ups and downs. I was identified with a progressive hearing loss at the age of four. I wore hearing aids until I completely lost my hearing, and then received cochlear implants at the ages of 9 and 10. Yep, I have some stories. Now, I can say I would not wish my life to be any other way and am proud of who I have become.
I recently came across a poem I wrote for a senior year final exam (below).
Silence. Emptiness. Nothing.
Angelica Magno
Fifteen years and counting of this.
Silence Emptiness. Missing.
The negative side of deafness in bits.
Struggling in embarrassment to understand the mumble-jumble of words,
And having to see the clear annoyance and judgment in people’s eyes.
Not knowing what’s being said behind my back like secret passwords…
My deafness is often used to my demise.
Being pushed aside the minute people see my ears. Stares. Disgust. Shame. They think, “What a loser; I feel bad
for her.” The feeling of inferiority produces tears and fears,
My deafness pushes me into a tight, closed ball that I want to burst and stir.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I will always be proud of my disability,
But just once, my heart wonders if I’ll ever stop feeling stranded and apart from society.
It has been a couple of years since I wrote this poem. Looking back now, my heart breaks for the teen girl that I was when I wrote and lived in this mindset. High school was challenging, and senior year especially made me doubt who I was with my talents and being deaf, this invisible yet visible disability. That year, I had never been so challenged.
I remember having nights where I would talk to my best friend wishing that I was “normal.” (I know now that normal is overrated, of course!) I wrote a lot of poetry back then.
During my senior year, I was my school’s first deaf captain of the color guard team. For context, color guard is a competitive, performance sport consisting of musical dance routines often accompanied with equipment such as flag, rifle, and sabre. As a deaf person, band and team members definitely raised concerns about whether I would even succeed in a sport like this where a big component was being able to match the rhythm of music. Did I prove people wrong? Yes. But, man, it was at a high cost.
There were many rewarding moments. I loved color guard – I loved spinning and performing. But that elation was beaten down at every little jab about my hearing. Judges would complain about our music volume being too loud in order to accommodate me. Some teammates made cruel jokes, saying “How can she lead? She’s deaf.” If there was ever one little mistake in choreography, sometimes one would say, “It’s because Ica is deaf.” (Yes, that’s my nickname) It was so incredibly isolating.
Regardless, I pushed through. I proved to every single judge, teammate, and person who doubted me that despite being deaf, I had earned my spot and executed my duties on that team beautifully. I remember my head coach sharing how incredibly awed and proud she was of me. She has a disability herself, so she understood more than most what I was going through. She said she saw my strength and perseverance and wanted me to know that I was doing an amazing job.
Of course, I had fans on my side besides this wonderful coach. My wonderful parents were always supporting and fighting when needed, my siblings (who are also deaf!) reminded me often that I was never alone. My extended family and friend-circle were an incredible support. Most days, I focused on these positives.
Thinking now about that poem, I have grown so much. I have always said that my disability does not define me. Now more than ever, I have never stood by that statement so firmly. My deafness is a beautiful part of who I am, but it does not, and will never, define me. I am more than just my deafness. I will strive to keep proving people wrong for myself, and for all of those who are going through the same struggles I have and continue to experience.
If I could go back in time and talk to the “me” who wrote that poem, I would tell her to keep holding her head up high. I would remind her of the strong girl she is and the even stronger woman she will become. The darkness would lead to lots more light. We are all perfect just the way we are. Don’t ever let anyone or anything let you believe otherwise. ~
H&V Communicator – Winter 2024/25