Have you ever felt like you are saying something, but not one person around you hears you or understands you? I live my life one day at the time, but most of the time I have that feeling where I am screaming at the top of my lungs, but no one hears or understands me. I always wondered why is that so? I speak English as everyone else around me, understand the same concepts as everyone else, know what is right and what is wrong as most people do, yet I feel as if I am silent to the world. What I did not know was that this day was going to be special. Thanks to a little boy, my life changed forever with the help of a silent and poetic language in motion - American Sign Language.
On that particular day, thinking about my unfortunate position of countless misunderstandings, I was sailing on the sparkling waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The glorious metal giant, the Royal Caribbean cruise ship “Majesty of the Seas,” was cutting every wave into two. The day was longer than usual, and I did not like that length because it gave me more time to think about my own life and my own egocentric problems. I was the perfume and make up specialist on board, I also carried a title of a Second Safety Officer of the Retail Division. My titles sounded very important to the gawking guests who were intrigued by who I was and where I came from. Most of the time I felt like an exotic animal trapped in a cage of a zoo, but I knew that my visitors did not even understand what I was saying, they just wanted to be human, they just wanted to hear my accent, and to have a story to tell when they went back home. I felt as unimportant as the running track on the upper deck; I was there to stock up shelves with cosmetic, smile to every spectator, and lower a life boat if this majestic floater decided to drag all with it down in the bottom of the ocean. I speak ten different languages, and none of them worked to my advantage. I wanted to climb on top of the ship and scream over the loud speaker, “Does anyone understand how I feel, or am I the only one?!?”
My thoughts of darkness were interrupted by a soft male cry. For a moment I thought that was it my own soul just crying for help, understanding, and attention. I glanced through the wide opened door of the cosmetic shop into the lobby area, and saw a boy clearing his face of his salty tears. Was I imagining my own sorrow, or was that little child really there? I wanted to know if I were losing the grasp of my own reality, so I approached the boy with fear in my heart. By the time I got to him, I had a conversation in my head with both my negative and positive side of my own human nature. I stopped right in front of my own imagination or reality, and said, as quietly as I could, “ What is wrong? Can I help you somehow?” The boy just continued to sob while his eyes were getting red from all those tears. I started to believe more and more that my imagination had finally overrun my reality, or maybe the boy was just plain rude.
I thought to myself that if the child were not real my fingers would go through him if I tried to touch him. I raised my right arm and poked his shoulder with my index finger in order to get his full attention. My finger touched his soft cotton material and I felt the bounce from his flesh. “He is real, he is real!” --I was jumping from joy inside my head. The boy turned and just gave me a sad, almost pitiful, grin. I started to study his hair characteristics and features with the goal to determine which was the most possible language he understood. His skin was dark, but not black, it almost looked as if he had been tanning in the hot summer sun his whole life; his eyes were big and round with dark brown color and looked like marbles; his hair was black and straight as if someone has been pulling it with a hair iron. I asked him the same question in Spanish, and still nothing. My next attempt was Portuguese and as soon as I was done with the question, I noticed his face changed expression. He started talking in the language I was a little familiar with already, but what confused me even more was the poor pronunciation. I kept on repeating to slow down, but he kept on going as if he did not hear me say a word. I noticed that his hands were flying everywhere while he was trying to speak. At that point I heard something deep inside me say, “ Use your hands, not your mouth.” So I did, I knew just a bit of sign language from a dvd that I saw once. I signed, “Do you want help?” At that very moment I saw a smile on his face, and he silented his own voice, and his arms were flying around as if he would become an angel at that very moment and fly away. His hands were signing so fast from excitement that I had no moment to think what I was doing. My mind was telling me, “What did you just do? You know only a few signs, and now this child is asking for your help, but you cannot understand most of what he is signing.” I tried every single way I could to explain to him that I could not understand and to slow down, but he kept on signing. At one moment, I sighed and just felt disappointment of myself because I could not help him. He stopped and looked at me as if he read my face; he started signing slowly and it look more like charades. Finally, I understood that he was lost and was looking for his mother. I took his guest card and called the front desk; all this time I felt a little uncomfortable because he did not take his eyes off of me. I was wondering why he kept on staring at me, but I did not give it a lot of thought; I had a mission and that mission was to find his mom. After a few minutes, a lady came storming through the store's door and went straight for the boy. They were signing back and forward, not noticing me for a moment. The mother turned to me and thanked me for all I did, and she took the boy by his hand and they left together.
That day my world changed. I wanted to know this angelic language in motion, I wanted that feeling again. I never forgot that child's happy expression and smile when I took a moment to try and understand him, and I never want to forget it. I know that both in the child's eyes and his mother's eyes I was the hero, I was the one that saved them, but in my eyes it was the other way around. I know that there will be a lot of people who will never understand or hear me, but that is not important now. That day I got out of my egocentric bubble and saw a different world, a world where I can understand people the best as I can; a world where I can make a small difference, yet big enough for those who need it; a world where one problem can be solved with kindness and understanding. This was going to be my world where walls do not rise in front of people, and bridges can be crossed with a little attention, open mind, and understanding. I finally knew who I wanted to be and that I am not alone in this world of confusions and misunderstandings. I decided to learn this language of poetic movements. I know now that we are all a little lost, trying hard to tell people what we mean and what we want; but I am not lost anymore. My path was clear and I had to say goodbye to the powerful metal prison and all those smiling clueless guests. I wanted to know that one day, when I see a child or an adult on the street so frustrated with trying to be understood by other people, I will be able to stop them and say, “You are not alone, I am here, and I understand you.”
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