Broken silence

    Silence is all I know. IT defines me, is me. I have never known anything but; nor will I ever. I am never brave enough to admit what has been so obviously true my entire life. People know the moment they see me exactly what is wrong. But I remain unable to say.
    Especially in front of Keni. It’s not like I can hide it. HE has had to adapt his entire life to be my friend. If he even is a friend. He is caring, yes, but we can never be friends again. Not like we used to be.
    My family knows how difficult I find it to be. They understand. They have to. They really have no choice. I have been labeled as a ‘special needs’ girl; and that’s a title my whole family has to deal with.
    No one else understands why it is so hard for me. To me, it makes perfect sense. I don’t want their sympathy. I’ve never known anything but the life I live; I don’t feel sorry for myself. And in no way do I want them to consider me anything but an equal- ever. Because I am. And no disability will change that. I promise you.
    There are two defining daily events in my life. One for each half of me, the first gradually shifting into the other, creating a personality possessed by me alone. One event I will never tire of, The other is something I would love to never again experience. One is why I consider myself undeservedly blessed, the other the appropriate curse.
    In the late mornings, when the breezes slow down and the sun seems to fade for a moment, I make my way to the most beacutiful place in the world. My castle, my peaceful alcove. There I can sit and let my imagination run wild, creating word pictures I use to fill in the blank spaces my heart craves. I could sit there on the tiny beach for hours, content to do nothing,
    The best days, though, are when I’m not alone.  Allie or Kyah will join me some days and we’ll sit and laugh until we cannot any longer. Every once in a while Mama or Keni will join me, and rarely Uncle Paul will stop by.  Those are my favorite days. Uncle Paul is my best friend- the big brother I never had. He knows me better then anyone else. He listens- truly listens- to the thoughts I cannot put into words not vocalize.
    Uncle Paul is a poet. The word pictures he creates for me are unlike any I could ever write for myself. No one else makes me laugh as hard. No one else has seen me cry the way he has. But truly, Uncle Paul is the one who understands my curse in a way no one else does.
    Sometime between midnight and five in the morning, everything logical in me is clouded. Then is the only time my silence is broken- even if it is only internally. Mama is afraid of me then, and the kids stare. I don’t like it either, in fact I hate it worse then they do.
    I dream. And it isn’t normal dreams either. Strange things happen- people talk. If that’s what talking is, I never want to know it. The horrible noise, so loud and overbearing and evil. I have tried everything to end these dreams, but nothing has worked. The only way to stop them is to not sleep; and that only works for so many days. Then the nightmares turn in to day mares.
    When the dreams get too bad, I’ll think I cannot go on like this. I don’t feel human, let alone normal, the person I want to be. But then Uncle Paul will talk to me, and I’ll go cry for a while. There’s something therapeudic about crying in the sunshine. My silence will return and my world will rebalance.
    If I can’t think of any reasons to smile, Uncle Paul will make me some. He’ll tell me funny stories about Grandma or Papa, or stories about himself as a kid. He was adopted  from Ethiopia by Grandma and Papa seventeen years ago, when he was six. He has stories from all over the world to distract me. And now, since he’s been living with us, he can laugh about being the only African- American in the whole state of Hawaii.
    I’m still afraid, though. No amount of Uncle Paul, sunshine, smiles or time will ever fix the fact that I’m weak. I can try my hardest not to be, but I am and always will be. The truth is hard. If I let it, it will preface everything I’ll ever do, I’ll ever say, and everything I’ll ever be.
    The notebook I carry is proof enough.  A screaming reminder that I’ll never be good enough. Allie has to come nearly everywhere with me. Maybe I should just wear a sign around my neck so no one stares when I start writing instead of speaking. So maybe they’ll treat me the way I want. A sign that could read  ‘Hi. I’m Kailani Love Akana and yeah, I do realize that I’m different. I know I’m deaf.’  



Okay so lemme know what you guess think. this is a prologue to a new story/book ish thing. lemme know what you think. :)