Moments

The Doll Hint

2009-08-24T18:04:00.005-04:00

Several months ago, a friend sent a link of a home video to his friends on Facebook that he took of his deaf wife and four hearing daughters, with the oldest in elementary school, and possibly the younger two in pre-school, and the last one a baby. They all knew ASL.

At the beginning, the mother, carrying the youngest baby daughter in her arms, signed with one hand to the three girls who were lined in an arc, eagerly watching what she was going to say.

The mother said that the girls would be playing a game similar to the one called "Blue Clues". She hinted that as a surprise someone would be arriving to their house this fall but would not reveal who the person would be. The girls' responsibilities are to find the clues being set up all over the house and collect them.

The video showed some of the locations where the girls excitedly found the clues which were folded yellow stickers. The mother told them to collect them and take to the basement where they all gathered at a table. The last clue was a doll.

With her request, the girls unfolded the stickers and lined them up on the table. The eldest daughter assisted with the re-arranging with the clues, with putting the doll at the end of the line-up.

The videocamera zoomed in to the beginning of the clue and then slowly proceeded to the end of the clue, the doll.

It said: We are going to have a (doll).

The older two girls had a puzzled look as if trying to figure out what the clues meant, especially the doll.

Suddenly, with the mouth agape, the eldest daughter excitedly said "Oh, YOU ARE going to have a baby!!?"

After a moment of silence with the girls trying to look at the mother's tummy, the mother asked the middle daughter what she thought about it and encouraged her to talk about it.

She pondered for a second then shook her head and signed, "Oh no, there's trouble cooommminnn'.....!!"

Doggie Game

2009-01-30T21:05:00.002-05:00

Several years ago, when my black cocker spaniel mix, Coral, was a puppy, I baby-sat another six months older puppy, Alexa, a husky mix, for few days.

When my friend first got Alexa, about seven months before I got Coral, I used to take her out for walks daily after work for about three months since my friend worked overtime. Hence, Alexa was already familiar with me.

While baby-sitting Alexa at my home with Coral, daily, taking them out for walks was a bit hassle with them pulling in different directions, but somehow I managed... with gritted teeth.

In spite of that, I still enjoyed their company and the camaderie, like one who have kids at home.

They played, slept together, and walked together. The puppies were slowly becoming "friends".

One evening, I relaxed on the sofa in the living room and watched TV, leaving the puppies to play among themselves.

Suddenly, I felt some vibration and the corner of my eye caught them running.

Craning my neck towards the dining room, I saw they were running around the dining table.

After watching them for five minutes, I then realized, to my astonishment, that they were playing "tag" like children do, with one chasing the other and touching it with its nose, and then the tagged puppy gave chase!

History repeats itself...

2008-10-16T20:16:00.004-04:00

Regarding this new post, please refer to my previous blog about my sister's birth when I was four years old, please click on this link: "WowALiveDoll!"

When my sister and her husband first announced their pregnancy, my mother was quite ecsastic as it would be her first grandchild.

She practically called everyone that she knew, including distant relatives, of the news.

Since my brother-in-law worked abroad, in the third country, his job policy required my sister to give birth in the U.S., for safety & security reasons. So, three months prior to the birth, my sister came to U.S. and stayed with my mother.

During this time, my mother enthusiastically helped my sister in making preparations for the baby's arrival.

Since my mother had only one car, a family friend kindly offered one of the cars to my sister so that she could run errands while my mother was at work.

However, due to her late age and for some unknown reason, my sister was rushed to the hospital because of her high blood level.

Upon examination, the doctor ordered an early birth, which was about three weeks, and induced the labor.

My sister gave birth to a baby boy. Although the baby was tiny, he was quite healthy in every aspect as a preemie. However, my sister had to stay in the hospital for few more days due to some unexpected afterbirth health problems.

My brother-in-law could not arrive from abroad until about two days later when he was able to get ahold of a last-minute flight.

During this time, my mother visited the hospital daily.

Upon entering my sister's room each time, my mother immediately made a bee-line to see the baby, not even bothering to say "hi" to my sister.

"Honey, I'm shrinking...!"

2008-10-16T20:03:00.003-04:00

My sister, an Asian Indian, married an American, Ben, whom she met in Peace Corps in Africa several years ago. They were friends for about seven years before deciding to move their relationship to the next level.

Two years later, their wedding was a nice combination of Indian and American styles, even including the reception dinners.

They lived abroad, moving from country to country every a couple of years due to Ben's job.

Three years after the wedding, they had a nice announcement: a baby.

Few months later, to update the family, my sister took photos of Ben playing with the baby which she posted on the Internet. In one of the photos, the baby was lying down on a quilt with the "playground" of toys hanging above the baby. Ben was lying beside the baby, looking at the toys as well.

Below the photo, my sister typed a caption: "Dad in the land of the Lilliputians".

A "Blind" Oriental

2008-08-23T14:34:00.002-04:00

Twelve years ago, I worked part-time while searching for a full-time job. At my job, another deaf girl, Amy, also worked with me, but different hours. However, her shift and my shift overlapped at least two hours or so.

Amy was married with two boys and lived only five minutes away from me. Upon meeting her for the first time, we quickly became fast friends. Almost every weekend, we would visit each other and often get together to go shopping and to parties.

Amy is South Korean who was born hearing. When she was 1-1/2 years old, in Seoul, her mother, for some unknown reason, dumped her at a bus station. An orphanage took her in for the next 1-1/2 years.

Due to unsanitary conditions at the orphange, Amy developed high fever which lasted for a while and as a result, caused her to become "stone" deaf. Hearing aids would not even help her.

When she was three, a couple in Germany decided to adopt her through an agency. However, when Amy was flown there, the couple suddenly changed their mind. Poor Amy was flown back to Seoul to hopefully await another adoption or otherwise stay at the orphanage for the rest of her childhood.

Meanwhile, a Caucasian couple in the U.S. wanted to adopt a boy but when the agency stated they had a girl immediately available but she was deaf. As if it was a coincidence, the adoptive-to-be mother already knew sign language because she had two deaf sisters.

On the spur of the moment, they decided to adopt Amy after all.

Amy grew up in a small town, surrounded mostly by whites. She hardly knew anything about her own country and culture.

Although she was South Korean, Amy always suspected she was abandoned by her own mother possibly due to the fact that she may be half Korean, and with no support from the real father.

She certainly looked Oriental but her hair color was always lighter and her eyes shape and color did not match to those of full-Koreans.

During those two hours of our shift overlap daily at my part-time job, Amy and I would often "whisper" in signs in catching up with the news on what was happening in our lives.

This was during the time that Amy told me this story which made me laugh.

When she was younger, she met a Chinese boy for the first time. He had flat nose and very slanted eyes that looked like as if he was "peering". You could hardly see his irises.

Being a boisterous and outgoing person, Amy wanted to befriend this boy. Curiously, Amy looked at his face, feeling quite uncertain on how to talk to him.

Slowly approaching the Oriental boy and standing across from him, Amy waved in front of his eyes and timidly asked:

Can you see me?

A Child's Admonishment

2008-06-08T10:27:00.003-04:00

Young children tend to over-generalize things and think in "black and white". Their perspectives and comments on life can be funny at times.

My deaf friend, Katie, has a son, Peter, who is hearing. Katie's hearing parents lived close by that they would visit at least twice a week.

From time to time, Katie taught Peter, who was then 3-1/2, the basic of "rights and wrongs". Peter nodded earnestly as if absorbing all the "do's and don'ts" in his tiny head. He knew how to be a "good boy".

One afternoon, Katie's father was driving when he happened to overlook another car in his path and tried to swerve but instead hit the car. Fortunately, his car was not damaged badly; just few dents here and there.

The next day, he visited Katie at her home and was narrating about "his-fault" accident to Katie's husband who is hearing. Peter was playing in the living room when he overheard the conversation.

Peter walked up to his grandfather, pointed at him, and piped up, "Bad boy!"

A fainting spell

2008-06-06T09:00:00.002-04:00

During my teen years in middle school, in my PE classes, every students were required to do sit-ups and stretching prior to starting an assigned sport. I used to do sit-ups quite fast, often beating other students whenever the coach timed us.

I would practice doing sit-ups at home with my sister sitting on my feet, to hold them in. I also practiced trying to split my legs as well, but not too successfully though.

After a year, I started to notice that whenever I started to do sit-ups, the middle of my butt would hurt a bit. The pain slowly increased in the span of few months, up to the point where I could no longer do any sit-ups, or even sit cross-legged on the floor.

The doctor diagnosed that I had a cyst between my butt. An operation was scheduled as soon as I finished 8th grade prior to summer-break.

After the operation, for almost 6 months, I had to wear skirts daily. I was not allowed to wear pants due to the fact that the seams may rub my stitches and scar.

By the time school started for the fall, I was forced to bring a seat pillow since I was unable to sit on the hard desk seats for a prolonged time. I felt like a freak, yet no one said anything to me. Perhaps they said something behind my back, or so I imagined.

Prior to the start of fall semester, I developed a high fever and was confined to bed for about 4 days. I did not eat much and barely consumed liquids.

On the 4th day, I woke up in the morning, almost feeling quite back to normal.

Happily and relieved, I walked from my bedroom to the bathroom to finally brush my teeth.

As soon as I finished brushing my teeth, but not yet putting the toothbrush back in its holder, I looked at myself in the mirror.

Somehow, the mirror became a bit blurry and a bit darker. Puzzled, I tried to strain my eyes at the mirror.

Suddenly, I felt dizzy and my eyes saw "black".

"MOM, MOM, I CAN'T SEE!!!" I screamed, running out of the bedroom and into my parents' bedroom.

The next thing I remembered was I found myself lying down, with my mom hovering me, frantically trying to rouse me.

I looked to my right to my outstretched arm which was half -way under my parents' bed. In my tightly fisted hand was my toothbrush.

Apparently, I had fainted due to lack of food for days.

A Child's Hint

2008-06-05T13:47:00.002-04:00

There is an old saying that has been around for hundred of years: "Children can be seen, not heard".

On the contrary, children usually have better perspective than adults simply because they have not yet acquired many notions that they learn from school and friends. Their minds are quite simple and focused. Parents can also learn from their children.

A friend of mine, I will call Melinda, recently told me this story about her son.

Melinda is the head of household while her husband is a "house-husband", a new term coined nowadays in lieu of housewife. Previously, she often worked over-time and traveled quite frequently, at least twice a month.

They have a 7-year old son and a 3-year old daughter. They eventually grew used to their mother's frequent absence, knowing that she has to work to bring home the "bacon".

One night, a year ago, Melinda arrived home late and exhausted. Nevertheless, she mustered up the remaining of her energy and tucked her children to bed.

Her son begged her to read a story to him.

Melinda slipped comfortably into the covers with him and started signing the story of a puppy who loved to roam around and sniff new things. Eventually, the puppy got lost, trying to find its mother.

Patiently, Melinda answered her son's questions in the midst of signing the story.

Finally, upon finishing the story, Melinda closed the book and asked her son a question.

"Why do you think the puppy got lost?"

Her son signed innocently, "Because his Mommy had to work all the time".

The Hearing Miracle

2008-06-04T08:02:00.003-04:00

As a stay-home freshman at my home state university, I often hung out in the university lounge with hearing Indian friends with most of whom I grew up with. The university was only 10 minute-drive from my parents' home.

An avid lip-reader back then, I managed to get some of the conversations between my friends. If I did not understand, I would often ask for some repeats. Most of my friends were used to my voice and knew to tap my shoulder whenever they wanted to speak to me. They used some exaggerated lip-movements so that I could easily grasp of what were being said.

One afternoon, between break in my classes, I had ample time to relax and chat with my friends. One girl who I had known since middle school, Rita, invited me to visit a friend of hers at one of the dorms.

Cheerfully tagging along with Rita and her other friends who also followed, we walked about a mile to one of the dorms.

Rita's friend opened the door and was a bit surprised to see us all standing in the doorway. She immediately invited us in her dorm room. After brief introductions, for about an hour we chatted and had some tea. Then Rita looked at her watch and beckoned that it was time to leave.

Rita's friends quickly filed to the door with me as the last person to leave.

We were not yet a foot away from the door when Rita's dorm friend, who was sitting on the other side of her room by the window, called out to please close the door for her.

Not knowing that the friend had just called out, I suddenly thought it would be polite to close the door since I was the last person.

Upon closing the door, I turned around to find Rita and her gang, frozen in spot across from me, staring and gaping.

With a shock on her face, Rita gasped and suddenly grabbed my shoulder. Puzzled, I looked at her face while she moved her lips quickly.

"Nita, you can hear now?!"

A "Weighty" Problem

2008-05-13T19:16:00.002-04:00

Five years ago, my then-husband, Atul, arrived to USA from India. After obtaining the appropriate papers and passing the driver's license test, he stood in line, waiting for his turn to have his photo taken for the driver's license.

Crossing my legs and arms on my chest, I sat on the first row, waiting. What seemed to be an eternity finally arrived. The flashing number on the upper red box indicated Atul's number.

The woman at the counter started scanning at his papers and driver's test certificate. Looking up at Atul, she asked what his weight was.

Pondering, with his hand on his chin, for a moment, he replied that he could not remember as it had been a while. And he had lost some weight since coming here from India.

The woman leaned over the counter, trying to second-guess Atul's body frame but said she could not possibly estimate.

At this woman's some comment that I did not catch, Atul pointed at me, to indicate I was his wife.

Gleaning at my sitting posture nearby, the woman then asked Atul, "Can you please ask your wife how much you weigh?"

An Unexpected Interruption

2008-05-08T20:23:00.004-04:00

During my three week trip to England at age 17 in 1985, our group of 15 deaf & hearing were later split into two smaller groups. One group went to Devon and the other in which I was in, to York. (Please click on the word trip for more information about the purpose of my trip and how I won the free contest).

I became friends with few of them, especially with the guys named Rusty and Josh. Rusty was quite tall and had boyish looks who sometimes had impulsive behavior. He became somewhat infatuated with me, often pleading me to take off my huge, awkward 80's style glasses that practically covered half of my face, so that he could take photos of my "cute" face, as he called it.

I never had a boyfriend in high school. It would have been pointless anyway since I was forbidden to date until I was in college. I absolutely had no experience, although my heart would beat wildly whenever I saw any cute guys passing by, especially smiling at me.

One afternoon, after our usual tour of York with the group, I went to my room in the hostel to put away my things and then went to Josh's room which was adjacent to mine.

In his room, Josh was talking to Rusty and I eventually joined in the casual conversation.

Suddenly, someone came in the doorway and beckoned to Josh, leaving me and Rusty alone in the room.

With my back to the doorway and leaning towards the bunk bed railing, I chatted amicably with Rusty.

Somehow the topic turned to face features.

Slowly scanning my face, Rusty signed in a slow motion as if murmuring that he thought my lips looked luscious.

Flirting back, I replied, "Why don't you try 'em?"

Rusty looked at my lips for a moment and moved closer.

I also inched nearer to his face.... with our eyes becoming locked into each other.

The deafening (no pun pardoned) silence could have made anyone nervous.

Finally! I am about to get my very first kiss!

Anxious to experience this precious, stolen moment, I put my foot a bit forward when someone suddenly slapped my shoulder.

"I'm back! What are you guys talking about now?", Josh asked cheerfully.

The New Sucker

2008-05-06T19:25:00.002-04:00

My younger sister got married to an American about three years ago and moved abroad due to her husband's job. Every several months they would come to America to visit family and friends.

Last winter, my sister announced that she was expecting. Of course, my mom was quite thrilled as it would be her first grandchild. Due to the fact she lived abroad, my mother agreed to have my sister live with her for the last three months before birth and so that my mother could help her out.

However, five weeks before her due date, my sister unexpectedly developed some complications, thus resulting in having birth to a 4-lb 7 oz baby boy. Nevertheless, four days later, both my sister and the baby persevered and were soon released from the hospital.

With my sister breast-feeding the baby every three hours for about a week, slowly the baby started to gain a bit weight.

One week later, I drove down for the weekend to see them. On Saturday, my sister's high school classmate, Monica, stopped by with her parents to see them. After lunch, we all sat down on the sofa and chatted.

Monica got up from the sofa and picked up the baby from the crib. Gently and gingerly, she put the baby over her shoulder, right by her chin. Few seconds later of flashing shots of the captured moment, Monica then moved the baby, preparing to put him back in his crib.

But, the baby would not let go of Monica.

Instead, he sucked on her chin, trying to get something out of it.

Water trick

2008-04-16T21:51:00.002-04:00

After graduating from Gallaudet in 1994, I went back to my hometown and lived with my mother again while searching for a job. Two months later, I returned to D.C. for a week to visit Gallaudet in order to use their career center (That time, the web sites did not yet exist).

While in D.C., I stayed with my friend, Cindy, at her mother's place. There was another friend from Gallaudet, Brian, who also stayed with us for few days. We, along with other friends who lived nearby, frequently went out daily and "painted the town red".

(Don't you miss the good ol' days? :))

While I used the big sofa in the living room for the night, Brian slept on the floor and Cindy shared the bed with her youngest sister.

Every night, we would come home real late and I would immediately crash on the sofa, completely exhausted but happy to shut my eyes, without a worry in sight about having to wake up early to either go to a class or work.

One early morning, as usual, I slept in late.

Then I started dreaming something about being in a fire. Over and over, I tried telling the firemen to hose down the fire with water but of to no avail. I shook my head, still asleep at this point, worrying about getting out of the fire.

Of all sudden, I felt something splashing on my face.

By reflex, I immediately panicked and held up my arms to protect myself from the sudden onslaught of water but got drenched...

When the water finally stopped coming at me, I opened my eyes.

Confused and dazed, I looked around and saw Brian grinning wickedly and holding...

A water gun.

Doggie beau

2008-04-15T20:48:00.004-04:00

My dog, Coral, is now 10 years old, even though she still looks and acts like a bouncy 4-year old. She is very sweet and loving dog that one could tell immediately upon meeting her. She wouldn't even harm a flea! My father who is not too fond of dogs, reluctantly admitted he liked her. On our walks, people including children would usually immediately come over to pat her, rarely asking me for permission.

When she was a puppy, in order to ask me for something, she probably initially made some noises but upon seeing no response from me since I could not hear, she eventually learned to use her body language. For instance, if she wanted something, she would use her right paw to nudge my shoulder or gently lay her paw on my arm as a signal.

That time, when she was about 6 years old, I moved to a new apartment in a different state. One month later, I decided to invite four friends, who were couples, over for dinner.

After enjoying dinner, my friends and I chatted amicably. Although they were not dog-lovers, they accepted Coral sitting among them, though I kept a watchful eye on her.

One guy named Apu was sitting at the edge of the sofa when Coral suddenly came over and sat next to him. After a moment, she then pawed him gently, perhaps to indicate wanting some pats or a belly rub.

Apu looked at her and replied, "Sorry, I already have a girlfriend".

Don't ever cry wolf

2008-03-31T19:32:00.003-04:00

When I was ten years old, my father would often, after coming home from work, take me and my sister swimming at our apartment complex pool. My mother was then too shy to don a swimsuit and she was too busy making dinner anyway.

I learned swimming when I was five in Mumbai, but never got to accomplish it without a "floater" around my stomach. In those days, I had a small "barrel" shaped floater with ropes tied around my stomach before jumping into the pool with my teacher.

Upon moving to U.S. from India, my mother immediately enrolled me and my sister for swimming lessons at a YMCA. I finally learned how to do the strokes and the backstrokes without a lifejacket or any other support.

One early evening at our apartment pool as usual with my father and sister, I decided to play a small trick.

My father was only few feet away, in a deep section while I was in the shallow area.

I pretended to suddenly panic and flapped my arms in the water, while screaming for help.

My father made a mad rush to pick me up but to find me instead laughing and saying that it was only a joke.

After telling me not to do it again, with a serious look on his face, my father explained briefly the story of a boy who "cried wolf".

There was a boy who loved to roam in the forest. He decided to play a prank on the villagers. He cried there was a wolf close by. Hearing his plea for help, the villagers rushed to rescue the boy but found him laughing instead. This happened at least two times. Then the third time, for real this time, a wolf appeared near the boy. The boy panicked and screamed loudly for help. But alas, the villagers, thinking it a joke as usual, ignored the boy's cry.

The moral of the story stayed in my mind for years.

Obedience vs Religion

2008-03-30T19:12:00.004-04:00

One evening, after about a year after we moved to USA from India when I was nine, and my sister, five, my parents had to go out somewhere important for a brief time. With some hesistant decision, they quickly lectured me and my sister NOT to open the door to anyone until they returned.

Looking up at our parents' stern faces, we seriously nodded our heads and promised.

One hour later, while we were watching TV, there was a knock on the door.

Puzzled, putting the upper chain lock on the door, I opened it a bit to peek.

There were two older, seemingly nice, ladies standing on the top steps, smiling.

One of them said it was important that they talk to us about Jesus. I merely replied I could not let them in and they had to leave.

Undeterred, they insisted it was quite essential to our lives that they introduce Jesus to us.

I refused to budge, however my sister said she felt it looked okay to let them in as they seemed harmless. But I insisted NOT to let them in at all.

Defiantly, she looked at me, and said to open the door now.

Then the ladies acted as if they had "won" my sister over and inched closer to the door as if to say, "DO let us in... you won't be sorry!"

Looking back and forth at my sister and the ladies, with much reluctance, I slowly unlocked the chain and opened the door.

For about half an hour, they showed us brochures about Christianity and Jesus.

I anxiously nodded to their talk, while hoping that they'd leave soon before my parents returned.

Finally, to my relief, they got up from the sofa and proceeded towards the door.

As they were opening the door to go out, one of them turned, smiling, and said, "Don't ever open the door to strangers".

A childish crush

2008-03-23T10:50:00.004-04:00

In the summer of my eighth grade year, my parents decided to put me and my sister in a deaf/hearing day camp few miles away.

There were about a total of 20 of us, half which were deaf and the other half, hearing. Mostly, those hearing ones were simply the siblings of the deaf ones.

We mostly spent our time hiking, doing creative projects, canoeing, and rehearsing for a silent play, called "Midsummer's night dream".

During this time, there was a fad of liquid flavored candy-laced toothpicks. Some liquid candy was so spiced that if you merely touch the very tip of a toothpick on your tongue, you would immediately feel the burn.

One day, there was a guy named Chris whom I had a crush. Some other deaf kids and I were playing a joke on Chris. Somehow, it went awry. In the midst of our playing around with Chris, a bottle of the spiced liquid candy spilled on Chris' face.

Screaming and crying, Chris thrashed on the floor, with the rest of us, looking terrified at him and dreading the looks of the camp coaches who came in to see what the racket was all about.

Immediately, he was taken to the hospital where the nurses put some medicine on his face. The next day, he came to the camp with all the band-aids. His skin looked quite reddish and sore.

Of course, the camp coaches confiscated all our bottle of liquid candy and toothpicks.

I kept my crush on Chris a secret, yet I wanted to "confess". So, I thought of a method to write it down so that way, no one would ever know.

Or so I had thought.

One evening, after a day at the camp, my sister and I arrived home. My mother was working in the kitchen when my ten-year old sister suddenly piped up to my mom that made me want to wring my little sis' scrawny little neck.

"Nita loves someone and it is written at the bottom of her shoe."

The poor "orphan"

2008-03-23T08:17:00.006-04:00

In high school, there was a hoh guy named Scott. He was quite tall, possibly 6' and a bit skinny. He was in two grades ahead of me. Although not that intelligent, he was quite a hard-working student, doing his best to graduate. He never got into trouble like most deaf guys in my school; instead he avoided most of us, roaming down the halls like a quiet and lonely spirit.

His mother died when he was young. His father eventually stopped caring about him and his older brother. As soon as his older brother became an adult, he moved out and became a guardian for Scott until he graduated.

There was hoh girl named Lisa. She and I rode the same school bus. Often, she would tell me how much she liked Scott but he seemed to not to notice her. Finally, in their senior year, Scott mustered courage to ask Lisa to the prom. Lisa said he was such a gentleman and she had a good time.

After graduation, it seemed we heard the last of him. I am not sure if he did go to college but probably due to lack of money, he possibly got a job to support himself.

Two years later, he with his friends went bowling on a Saturday night. The son of one of the teachers for the "hearing-impaired" at my high school happened to be there with his own friends. Seeing Scott, he waved and nodded and went back to his bowling.

Finishing the bowling game, Scott and his friends piled up in the car. Scott sat in the back.

As the car was going up the ramp, getting ready to merge to the highway, suddenly a big truck came plowing. The car seemed not to have time to swerve.

And the truck crashed into the car, slicing the top half.

Everyone, including Scott, were instantly killed.

At the funeral, guess who finally showed up, after all these years?

His father.

The sassy girl

2008-03-22T21:39:00.003-04:00

From fifth grade to high school, I had known a deaf girl named Jennifer. She was few years younger than me. We rode the same school bus to the elementary school.

Because many deaf people often go to public schools that were not their "base" schools, the distance was often long. Mostly, deaf students go to schools afar because of their "hearing-impaired" program. Hence, a special yellow school bus in a form of station wagon was provided to pick up the deaf students from afar.

Jennifer had a bright red hair and freckles. Although a cute girl, she had such a spunky personality, speaking out whatever came to her mind, often being tactless. As she grew older, she started to swear in practically every other sentences.

Although we also attended the same junior and high schools, we never got to be good friends due to different backgrounds and values.

Jennifer came from a broken and abusive home. She used to come to school sometimes with bruises. (I am not sure if anyone did anything to help Jennifer back then).

In high school, Jennifer had a boyfriend who was about 3-4 years older than her. More than at least three times a year, she would often run away from home with her boyfriend for few weeks at a time, then return and pick up as if nothing had happened.

Due to this problem, she was often in remedial classes although she had such great potential. The only thing she was good at was art.

She was deaf, or so at least I had thought. My then best friend, Missy, had gotten a pink slip during a class to go to the restroom. On the way, she happened to spot Jennifer at a phone booth, talking.

Puzzled, Missy came up to her and said, "Jennifer, please stop this joke and hang up the phone".

Shushing her, Jennifer continued talking. After hanging up, she replied that she was actually hard of hearing, to her surprise.

In spite of her personal problems, she would make things fun to laugh about. Although she smoked and drank, and perhaps some drugs at a later time, she never encouraged others to do the same, especially me.

For instance, a former deaf school classmate, stopped by my Taco Bell where I was working then, and invited me to attend a "party" at a motel. After his trying to convince me to come, I reluctantly agreed.

Upon showing up, I was the only one who seemed to be "overdressed" while others merely wore jeans and T-shirts, etc. Everyone seemed to be drinking hard liquor while smoking. I decided to drink only wine coolers.

When Jennifer saw me drinking wine cooler, she was quite surprised. "Nita.. you DRINK??! You are so 'straight-laced' Are you sure you want to drink??" I replied that this was only a wine cooler, not a vodka.

After I quit Taco Bell, I eventually lost touch with her. As time passed, I vaguely heard from others that she had gotten married to someone and had kids.

Then, ten years ago, I heard that she had changed and became somewhat mellow and nicer, even quitting smoking and taking up decent hobbies. At this point, she seemed to be finally content with her family, especially her daughters.

Unfortunately, I think, it came a bit too late. She died of cancer.

A Night Owl

2008-03-20T20:48:00.002-04:00

At the end of my sophomore year, while enrolling in summer classes at Gallaudet, I decided to work as a summer SRA (Student Resident Advisor). I picked 2nd shift work since it paid more.

Because it was during the summer-time, I was given my own dorm room and a share of the kitchen which was nice because I did not like the cafeteria food. During the day, after classes which only lasted at least three hours in the mornings, I did errands, watched soap opera (I was addicted that time), exercised, cooked, etc.

However, one weekend in August, we had a "visitor day". Every summer year, parents came to Gallaudet to ask questions about enrollment and other subjects for their deaf children. Hence, they needed a place to say. Since most dorms were empty, they paid to stay in them.

That meant some over-time work. My supervisor had a brief staff meeting prior to the "visitor day". I was picked to do a 3rd shift on Thursday, one week away. My schedule stated that my shift started at 12:30 am.

Since I was, and still am, a big fan of sleep, I decided to plan my schedule accordingly so I wouldn't feel too tired or sleepy.

One week later, friends invited me out on early Wednesday evening. Thinking that I would go to bed early after I returned so that I could start working the third shift on Thursday.

Walking and chatting along the street of DC on the way back to Gallaudet from my friend's apartment, I happened to mention that I needed to get a good sleep soon.

My friend asked me the date and time I was supposed to start working.

To my panic and dismay, she pointed out my error: 12:30 AM meant Thursday MORNING, not Thursday late NIGHT!

There wasn't enough time to get some sleep upon my return due to having to do some paperwork before I started my shift.

So I ended up with NO sleep for 24 hours which was H-A-R-D!

The Miss Vermin

2008-03-18T15:22:00.005-04:00

When I first entered seventh grade in a junior high school, as it was called then instead of middle school, I was put in a "hearing-impaired" class for only one period although I was completely mainstreamed in all other classes.

This "hearing-impaired" classroom was quite small, fitting about 3-4 students and two teachers. Deaf students had different class periods, so they would come into this classroom in various periods during the day. That way, everyone would have the benefit of using this classroom.

The purpose of this classroom, at least it was explained to ME, was so I could ask for help, if I needed, on my other classes' assignments. For most of other students, I believe, it was mostly remedial tutoring in various subjects.

One teacher's name was Miss Urban. She was of average height, had a boyish brunette cut, and had a lopsided mouth. Although she signed a bit, she mostly used Cued Speech as a method of communication with me and perhaps one another student. And the other teacher used sign language to communicate with the other students.

(Cued Speech is not a language as most people assume. Instead, it is a simply a supplemental method to lipreading skills, using hand movements to indicate phonetic sounds in the English language. Unlike Sign Language, it can be learned within 48 hours, though can become fluent within 6 months or so.)

Miss Urban had such domineering personality that most students felt quite intimidated of her, including me. Due to her lopsided mouth, it made a bit difficult for me to lipread her although she used Cued Speech.

Every time I said, "Huh? Please repeat", Miss Urban would often shout, "PAY attention!!" How could I tell her that her "twisted" mouth was giving me such distraction?

Almost daily, she would often find something to criticize the students. For me, it was often my clothes. "Your top doesn't match your pants", she would comment. Or, "Didn't you HEAR me calling your name from behind?? ARE YOUR HEARING AIDS ON???"

Sure, I heard some sounds, but how the heck would I KNOW to recognize sounds when I am simply profoundly deaf?!

(Hearing aids simply magnify, NOT simplify the sounds; they tend to distort them. People who lose their hearing later in life can make it with hearing aids simply because they already recognized the sounds from their previous hearing).

Anyway, there was another student, Jeannie, who was overweight, deaf, and mildly mentally retarded.

One day, it was one of the student's birthday. A cake was provided for all of us. After the cake-cutting, plates were distributed to the students.

When Jeannie leaned forward to receive a second helping of plate, Miss Urban quickly grabbed the plate from her hand, signing, "You're too fat! You don't need this!"

Quite conveniently, as Miss Urban said this to her, the other teacher was busy bending down, doing something. I don't know if she used her voice when signing to Jeannie, but I doubt she did. None of the students dared to speak up.

I was so appalled and humiliated for Jeannie. Due to her mental limitations, she simply resigned to sitting at her desk with head down.

Of course, not knowing all this, my parents thought Miss Urban was really wonderful teacher who simply knew the basics of education and teaching, not to mention the fact that she knew Cued Speech well. (Cued Speech was in its infancy that time, hence it was hard finding educators who knew how to use it).

By the end of the school year, Miss Urban unexpectedly announced to us that she would not be coming back. She continued saying that she would miss us and had enjoyed "working" with us.

Years later, I brought up the subject of "Miss Vermin" to a former student who is still my friend. She said that because mother worked for the county school system, she got wind of that vermin's performances that subsequently got her fired.

Stringing like a Puppet

2008-03-16T14:51:00.006-04:00

In seventh grade, I had a best friend, Jeannie, who was originally Canadian. She came from a large family of six children. Even though she was a causacian, her parents were old-fashioned, believe it or not. We were both 13 and she ALWAYS wore skirts, never pants. She said her parents wouldn't allow it, and not even date until she turned 16.

Students made fun of her, but I remained friends with her. She had a habit of speaking SO FAST that I had to muster all of my strength to concentrate in lipreading her!

Anyhow, Jeannie said she was in my state south only for few years as her dad had a business contract and when it expired, the whole family would go back to Canada.

There was another girl in our group, Jenny, who was Taiwanese. We three often hung out together in cafeterias and we were in some of the same classes. While Jeannie lived a bit too far, Jenny lived close to my house enough for me to ride a bike to her place.

When we reached ninth grade, Jeannie moved back to Canada. Jenny wrote in my yearbook at the end of eighth grade year that when Jeannie moved, she would move up to be my best friend.

But by this time, Jenny became popular when she got elected to be a cheerleader. With her slim toned body and growing looks, she started to make different friends. Still, she would, from time to time, ask me to visit her house after school or some weekends or come over my place.

She started dating a Taiwanese guy who was about 3-4 years older than she. However, due to family feuds on both side of families, she was eventually forbidden to see him. Hence, Jenny resorted to sneaking around with him.

Upon reaching tenth grade, Jenny and I went to different high schools, due to the fact that our base high school did not have a hearing-impaired program. But still, if not often as we used to, we visited each other at our respective homes. (In the 80's, ninth grade was still part of "junior high", as it was then called instead of middle school.)

One weeknight, on a spur of a moment, with my parents' permission, I asked my mother to call Jenny to invite her to spend the night at my house on this coming Friday night. Jenny accepted the invitation.

But, on Thursday night, Jenny called my mother and told her that as a last minute something had just come up and could not make it, however she still wanted to stop by on Friday evening, briefly, just to chat with me and catch up with news. Though a bit disappointed, I agreed.

On Friday, around 7 pm, there was a knock on the door. Jenny came in smiling and we immedately went to my bedroom and chatted. It took about an hour and then Jenny said she had to go as she had important plans.

I was asleep a bit late on Saturday morning when my dad woke me up, saying that Jenny was on the phone, saying she wanted to stop by again for few minutes. Groggily, I wondered why she wanted to come again, but told my dad to tell her to go ahead and stop by.

Again, as soon as Jenny arrived, we went to my bedroom to chat. After a bit of conversation, Jenny hesitated a bit and slowly said she had something to confess.

Curious, I leaned forward to see what she had to say. She admitted the real reason she canceled the slumber invitation in the last minute.

I was stunned.....

And felt used.

She had said she lied to her parents about spending the night with me. After her mother dropped her off at my home, her boyfriend picked her up to go to a motel. That was why she wanted to stop by again on Saturday to make her parents think she did actually stay with me when her mother came to pick her up.

That was the end of our friendship.

Junk food is a surefire cure for our health

2008-03-14T19:33:00.004-04:00

At my public high school in my time, there were about 15 deaf/hoh students. A hoh girl named Lara and I were good friends. There was another hoh girl, whom I will name Janie, had a learning disability. She was a quiet and sweet girl.

Almost daily at lunch time in the school cafeteria, most of us deaf/hoh students would sit together.

One day, after eating lunch, I suddenly felt in the mood for some donuts. After buying two Krispy Kreme donuts, I couldn't wait to devour them.

I was sitting at one end of the table, while Lara sat two seats away and Janie on the other end of the table, with other students sitting in between.

A guy next to me was savoring his popsicle and I was about to eagerly tear open the donut package when of all sudden I saw my donut and the popsicle flying into the air!

Confused and dazed, I looked around. Lara apparently had hit the guy and me, to get our FAST attention.

Lara quickly pointed at Janie. I looked at the chair that she was sitting but it was empty. Puzzled, I scanned around for Janie.

Suddenly, I found her, next to the table, on the floor.... having an epileptic seizure!

Panicked, I froze. I had never seen anything like that in my whole life.

Lara beseeched me and the guy next to me to help but of to no avail. I was terrified with absolutely no idea what to do.

Finally, a teacher rushed in to help her. I noticed Janie immediately covering her face while they put her on a wheelchair to the nurse office to recuperate. I sensed she was embarrassed that everyone had witnessed her "problem" and felt bad for her.

Since this incident, I never ate the Krispy Kreme donuts ever again.

The last car

2008-03-01T21:31:00.002-05:00

After the police filed a report for the stolen Nissan Sentra, there was nothing else to do but wait.

It was not until two weeks later when I got a notice from the police department that they had found my car and it was being taken to a junkyard.

Meanwhile, my father gave me his car, Chevy Monte Carlo, after all. Perhaps it was a sign that I should have taken the Monte Carlo.

When I went to see the Nissan at the junkyard, I saw the exterior of the car including the tags were normal. But the interior, the seats looked like they were soiled. Where the ignition was supposed to be, there was big gaping hole.

Of course, all the contents, except my contact lenses, were missing.

Looking at the car, I felt used and violated. I knew somehow that if even though the insurance paid for the car repairs, I could not touch it again.

I had one more month before I moved to another state. The car was not really damaged, hence I gave my insurance company permission to repair my car.

However, something funny happened. The next day, a representative from my insurance company called, saying that when they went to pick up the car to tow to the insurance repair shop, the personalized tags were missing.

I could not believe that someone would actually STEAL tags at a junkyard?!

Heaving a big sigh, even though I only had a month prior to moving to another state, I got new tags at a DMV.

It took about five weeks for the car to complete its repairs, not to mention a paint job which were already paid by the insurance. The whole time I was holding my breath that the car would be ready before 30 days after the move-in date.

Normally, you have 30 days after moving to another state to obtain new state tags. But I had planned to sell the Nissan, yet it had not completed its repairs till AFTER I moved.

Anxiously, I hoped for the best.

As if it was a miracle, a day BEFORE 30 days were up, someone came and bought the Nissan!

What a quite close call.

To this day, I still have my dad's car, Chevy Monte Carlo, the tenth car.

Nissan Sentra

2008-02-28T20:23:00.002-05:00

My mother gave me her 1992 red Nissan Sentra, after I had "lost" my Mazda Protege' to a SUV that my ex-fiance demanded and wanted. That car lasted for about five years, second longest next to the 1983 Chrysler that my dad had surprised me with.

In 2003, my dad and I were discussing through IMs. He was packing and getting ready to move back to India in few months. He asked if I ever wanted his car. Thinking that I was satisfied with this Nissan Sentra, I said no.

"Are you crazy?! Your dad's car is much better than this Nissan which is getting old!", my mother said to me.

But I felt attached to Nissan Sentra and it was small enough for my needs whereas my dad's car was quite big... more of a sedan type.

One night in October 2003, I, along with other south deaf Asians, hosted a first annual festival. I wore a nice Indian outfit that was re-made from my mother's old wedding sari that was dyed pretty teal green with pink silver border.

After the festival, I quickly changed to regular clothes and took off my contact lenses. I was planning to go to a friend's house and meet some friends there for tea and chat, although it was already 11 pm. I had pre-arranged a baby-sitter for my dog in case I got home real late because I wanted to have fun without worrying about Coral.

I had gotten married few months earlier, in April, and since I lived in a small bedroom of a condo that my roommate owned, I stuffed the back and trunk of my car full of wedding presents, that had not been opened or used yet. I was to move to a new place in two months and thought that the car would hold them for the time being.

Quickly throwing my bag with the Indian outfit and shoes in the back of my car, I proceeded to follow my friend to his house which was about 20 minutes away.

After parallel parking my car on a street of where my friend lived, I ran to catch up with others who were going inside my friend's place.

We had fun chatting, getting to know some people, and exchanging stories while sipping hot tea. Eventually, one by one, others left. It was just me and my friend. I lingered a bit longer, chatting with him, until about 2 am.

Finally, I looked at my watch and said I was due to have lunch with my sister and cousins in few hours so decided to leave.

My friend walked with me to the street. Puzzled, he then asked me, "Where's your car?"

In my corner of my eye, I saw a red car and immediately pointed it out. My friend's face still looked puzzled.

Not understanding the look on his face, I looked closely. It WAS a red car but of different make. I quickly looked around but did not see my car anywhere.

Panicking, I racked my brain, trying to remember where the heck I had parked the car! I was in a hurry to follow others into my friend's place.

Not letting go of hope, I said that perhaps it got towed. After calling the police which seemed like an eternity, they revealed there was no towing incidents in that area.

Finally, it dawned on me that my car could have been stolen.

"No, no no!" I told myself. It can NOT be true!

I sank slowly in the sofa, realizing that I had left all the wedding presents, especially my Indian outfit from my mother's wedding sari in the car!!!!

What an idiot!!!, I repeatedly berated myself.

Due to other more "important" crimes the police had to pursue in the middle of the night, I waited for about four hours before they finally came to my friend's place to take a report.

Glancing at my driver's license, two policemen looked at each other and wrote a brief note: "I am sorry this happened to you but happy birthday!"

To be continued....

Mazda Protege'

2008-02-27T18:48:00.005-05:00

To read how I obtained these two cars, please click here.

After the demise of a "lemon car", Honda Prelude, I leased a 1995 Mazda Protege which turned out to be a quite good car. I liked the features, especially that the radio/clock part could be un-installed with just a click of a button, and the wheel lock.

Unfortunately, I had that car for only two years.

On New Year's eve of 1996, I attended a friend's party. After all the shouting, hugging, and wishing each other greetings at midnight, a friend asked what my resolution was.

I replied I wasn't making a resolution but stating something this time: I will be engaged by this year.

My friend laughed. He replied, "You can't wish something like that on New Years' Eve!"

I shrugged and still maintained my statement.

Then I eventually forgot about it.

On New Year's Day, I bought my very first computer. Excited at this new "toy", for days and months, I would be glued to the screen for hours, laughing and chatting in the chat rooms.

Yet, I was still careful not to invite any loony bins or wackos to my IM chats. I merely ignored those who tried to talk to me.

My sister then visited during spring time from Peace Corps in Africa. Right before she returned, she joked to me, "Hey... don't go and get married without me!"

Although I knew she was just teasing, I suddenly felt this strong premonition that I would meet someone soon.

Two months later, I was chatting with someone that I knew when a strange IM suddenly popped up.

My first instinct was to immediately ignore it when I had this feeling telling me that I should talk to this person.

And one thing led to another.... then we became engaged.

He was a charming man, seeming to have a lot to offer. He was such a gentleman, taking me out to romantic dates, giving me gifts including jewelry.

He seemed to be well -off with his job, obviously being able to afford two cars, which one of them was a black sportscar.

Few months after the engagement, he casually asked if he could trade my Mazda Protege' for a SUV. At first I flatly refused.

After days of cajoling and making promises to me, I finally gave in.

Unfortunately, we were not able to purchase a SUV but leased it instead. We got a 1997 Jimmy GMC.

But the new SUV lasted only a year.

When we broke up, due to various reasons, he promised to continue the two-more year lease payments on the SUV while I borrowed his older car.

To my shock and disappointment few months later, I found out that he had reneged on the payments while still using my SUV. Thus, I was forced to call the police to repossess it.

Of course, he took back his car.

I now did not have any car.

So, my mother sold me her car, a 1992 Nissan Sentra. She went and bought a new one.

Motto: Be careful what you consciously wish for!

The Court - Part II

2008-02-26T14:31:00.002-05:00

I am back, after a long hiatus!

Although I felt quite relieved that the supposed lawsuit never came, I still worried about the upcoming hearing of my car accident which was booked one year later. Not a day went by without the thought of what would happen looming in my mind.

Meanwhile, I continued with my life, with work, friends, and family. With a help of friend, I took more pictures of the accident scene, preparing to argue with the court in my defense that I did not see the stop sign and I was driving slowly, within the speed limit.

Then the day finally came. I was jittery and nervous, feeling a huge rock pressuring on my shoulder. I could not even think about eating breakfast before going to the court.

Arriving at the same court, I proceeded to a room where my case would be held and waited.

This time, an interpreter showed up, to my half-disappointment.

One by one, the judge called each case.

At last, he called my case. The interpreter and I came forward.

The judge looked around and said, "Your officer who gave you the ticket is not here. He is at a funeral of another officer."

I held my breath.

After a moment of hesitation and looking at my case papers, he replied, "Normally I don't waive any cases that had to do with traffic violation other than speeding, but since you've come here twice, I will waive it. You're free to go".

With that said, I felt like a rock on my shoulder immediately crushing to pieces and never felt SO LIGHT! I heaved a big sigh of relief.

Nodding politely, I left the court. Suddenly, I was hungry and decided to treat myself to a nice lunch.

What miracle could happen twice?!

The Court - Part I

2007-12-02T14:11:00.000-05:00

Click on this earlier post for reference to my accident. And also click on the next previous post about the hospital and my subsequent two cars.

The police issued me a ticket simply because I had "overlooked" the stop sign. The driver of the other car did not get one.

However, one month after my release from the hospital, I got a bill because I had no car insurance, and even no health insurance. It was due to the fact I was living in Virginia while my employer was located in Maryland. My private company, unlike government agencies, unfortunately did not accept out of state insurance.

As if it wasn't enough, the pile of my 'woes' kept increasing.

I got an unbelievable letter from that driver, wanting a lawsuit against me for "damaging" her car. In reality, her car only had a dent on the front side, while mine was totaled.

My friend, Cindy, insisted I should go to the court to dispute the ticket because we all had "overlooked" the stop sign only since it was recently put there. She used to ride bicycles along the street quite often but she, and also I, had not been around during the summer and missed the new sign just as I did.

Cindy and Candy joined me to the courthouse to make an appointment which was few months away and emphasized for an ASL interpreter for that date.

In the meantime, I took pictures of the stop sign and the surrounding sign for the upcoming court discussion.

During this period, I was going through so much stress that I had trouble breathing. I kept telling myself to take "one day at a time".

Eventually, Cindy asked me to be her roommate along with our two other friends in an apartment in Maryland. It was convenient since it was closer to my work and in the SAME state as well.

The court date came. Cindy joined me for emotional and moral support.

Nervously, I wringed my hand. I knew that if the court did not favor my side, I would get high points on my driver's license, thus increasing my new insurance rate that would deplete my already tight budget. Or even perhaps suspend my license for driving without car insurance.

No, no, I did NOT want to think about that possibility.

I kept crossing my fingers and held my breath while my turn came in the court.

Finally, the guard called up my name. I glanced around and saw the police who gave me a ticket was there.

But there was no interpreter in sight.

After five minutes of waiting, the judge gave up and wrote a note, saying since my case involved an accident, unlike a speeding ticket, it could not be dismissed.

I read the note, sighing a bit of relief but at the same time felt like my life was being on hold. I did not have to face the consequences...yet.

That meant I could still drive and pay a normal rate to my insurace for the time being.

The court date was postponed...due to full court schedule, ONE YEAR LATER!

And....the lawsuit that the other driver heaped on me, for some reason, never came to materialize, to my immense relief!

The next two cars

2007-11-13T17:04:00.000-05:00

(Continued from previous post)
The police and the ambulance arrived.

A policeman shook his head and gave me the ticket for running through the stop sign.

Even though we three girls only had mild whiplash, the ambulance EMTs insisted we go to the hospital for check-ups in case. Our friends who waited at the restaurant somehow got a message from someone what was happening and met us at the hospital.

I kept trying telling the nurse I was fine, she was adamant that I stay overnight along with the other girls. The next morning, we all three were lying in one room, waiting and waiting for hours for the doctor who did not bother to check on us after the initial check-up.

Meanwhile, Cindy, one of the girls, commented she noticed that of all three machines that were attached to our arms, my heart rate seemed the calmest. I was surprised at myself.

After arguing with the nurse, the nurse finally brought us the TTY to call family/friends. I called a friend, who I was supposedly dating at that time, to see if he could pick and drop us home. When I told him what happened, all he said was, "I have to go to the meeting." That was the end of the dating game with him.

Cindy managed to ask one of her friends at Gallaudet who had a car (I did not know any friends that time who had a car as most of my friends were still Gallaudet students for another year or two).

My mother came the next day. Taking few days off from work, I went to N.C. with her to look for another used car. Almost of my savings were gone but I managed to scrape some and bought a 1986 Toyota Celica, also stick-shift.

Unfortunately, this car had so many problems that would give one a headache and ulcer. I was still living with my sister and my job was about an hour drive. This time, for the last repair, I had dropped off the car for repairs near my work and rode with a co-worker to work and did some office work for the time being instead of traveling to sites.

In the evening, my co-worker dropped me off at the repair shop to pick up my car. It was the third time that this unforsaken car was being repaired. I proceeded to give my credit card, with a big sigh.

The staff beckoned to me and replied that my credit had reached the limit. I did not know what to do. I had no other means of payment.

I was an hour away from my sister's place and she was still out of town on business. I did not know anyone who lived nearby who could drive me home.

I silently sat down, feeling helpless. I prayed, with tears slowly flowing from my eyes.

To make matters worse, I did not have a car insurance as my company was in Maryland while my sister's place was in Virginia. My company, a non-profit private enterprise, did not accept out of state insurance.

After ten minutes, of all sudden, the staff again beckoned me. She said that my credit card company called back and decided to extend my credit limit. Vastly relieved, I took the car home.

Finally, after some decision a month later, this car was hauled to junkyard and I leased a 1995 Mazda Protege, again stick-shift. It was my first time having a brand-new car.

To be continued....

My Fourth Car

2007-11-11T18:05:00.000-05:00

The third car, 1981 white Chrysler, that my dad surprised me lasted for six years. It was the longest of all 10 cars that I ever kept.

Two years after I attended Gallaudet, the car eventually deteriorated to the point that it was no longer good for long-distance driving. So I sold it to my mother's neighbor who was a mechanic. He fixed, repainted the car, and re-sold it for his profit.

After graduation from Gallaudet, with my saved money from my previous job prior to attending Gallaudet, I bought an used 1987 Toyota Tercel.

Unlike my other three cars, this one was a stick-shift. I did not know how to drive stick, yet I bought one and had a friend drive it home for me. I thought it would be exciting to drive stick.

During summer-time, while staying at my mother's as I was looking for a permanent job, I had a friend teach me how to drive stick. Within two months, I managed to drive stick successfully.

One month later, I finally obtained a job out of state. My sister let me stay at her place for free for few months until I got some money saved up to get my own place. She traveled frequently almost every week so it felt like I was living on my own.

My new job required traveling to sites, so a car was needed. Soon enough, my old car started to accumulate mileage. One month, after obtaining my job, my friends wanted to take me out to dinner for my birthday.

After work, I picked up my two girlfriends from Gallaudet and proceeded to a restaurant to meet other friends who were waiting for us.

Bubbling with enthusiasm, we all chatted amicably while I drove, occasionally looking in the rearview mirror at my friend signing. I was not driving fast, but at a comfortable pace, still paying attention to the road.

Suddenly, my friend screamed at me to stop. Somehow, I had overlooked a stop sign at an intersection that was recently put there.

Before I could blink my eye and react, a car passed across the intersection from the adjacent side at the same time!

I quickly swerved, however hit the edge of the car. But instead of coming to a stop on a shoulder, I saw a lamp post looming over me.

There was absolutely no time to do anything.

I slammed my eyes shut, knowing the inevitable was going to happen.

C - R - A - S - H !!!!!

My girlfriends and I were fortunately not injured at all except for a mild whiplash.

My car was totaled. I only had it for three months.

To be continued...

My second car

2007-11-10T21:53:00.000-05:00

During 24 years after my first car at 16, I've had about total of 10 cars. Each one has a story. But for now, here's my story on the second car. (Please refer to my previous post on my first car).

In 1986, after my first car's demise, my uncle gave me a 1970 Ford Maverick. It was quite old but it had a new engine though. However, the muffler was broken so it was really loud whenever I turned on the ignition. The car was neon green, to my discernment.

I used to work at a Taco Bell, mostly working night shifts during the week and day shifts on weekends.

One month after I had just gotten the job, my parents announced they and my sister were going out of state to visit my uncle and his family for the weekend. At first, they were adamant that I join them but I insisted I did not want to jeopardize my job and was not merely interested in going anyway.

In spite of the fact that I was 19, they still were quite protective of me. They insisted that even though I could do whatever I wanted during daytime, I still would have to spend the night at their friend's house, which was about 10 minutes drive.

That weekend, my schedule temporarily changed to night shift. After my parents left, I stopped by their friend's house just to ensure they saw I was alright.

When they realized I would not arrive at their home till about 2 am, I was given a duplicate key so I would not have to wake them up. I merely nodded and smiled.

I absolutely had no intention of staying there overnight; I did not want to be "babied" anymore. I did not care of the consequences; I thought of a plan that could take care of it.

After cleaning up and closing Taco Bell, I proceeded to drive to my home and slept there overnight. The next morning, I got dressed and drove to the friend's house.

When they opened the door, they immediately asked if I was alright. They wondered why I never showed up and drove by Taco Bell around 3 am but it was dark. Also, they even stopped by my home but realized could not knock as I did not have any doorbell light then, nor a phone light either. (The relay system for deaf people in my state was not set up until in 1990).

I fibbed that when I got home from Taco Bell to pack up some clothes to take with me, my car would not start. I could not call so I had no choice but to sleep at home. The next morning, I decided to give it a try and the car just happened to start.

They said they almost called my parents but decided not to spoil their weekend. I quickly interjected I would explain to my parents myself. They merely nodded.

Whew, I thought I had everything in control.

Was I ever wrong.

On Sunday evening my parents came home with a surprise. My cousin decided to join them back to spend a week with me and my sister. (It was during summer time).

On Monday evening, I noticed my parents all dressed up. "Where are you going"? I asked, puzzled.

"To that friend's house for dinner. They wanted to talk to us."

I panicked. For two hours, I paced nervously, squirmed in my seat while watching TV, all in the while frequently glancing out the window for my parents' return.

When they finally walked in the door from the garage, I pretended to sit on the sofa calmly. I casually asked, "Hi..how was dinner?"

My father was in a sour mood. I did not dare approach him.

I decided to bid them good night and go straight to bed when my father interrupted me.

"Tomorrow morning, I would like you to get dressed and be ready by 9 AM, SHARP!"

"What for??", I asked, puzzled. He stated not to ask any questions.

Imaginations ran wild in my mind.

The next day, to my surprise, everyone was dressed as well to join me and my father.

After some 20 minutes drive, we stopped by someone's house that I did not recognize. Everyone got out except me. From the backseat, I watched my father talk to some man on the driveway.

I could not figure out what was going on and what my father was up to.

Looking around, he noticed I was still in the car. Annoyed, he motioned me to get out.

Nervously, I slowly approached him.

"Nita, what do you think of that car?", he pointed to a white car, a 1981 Chrysler.

I merely glanced and said it was fine. Puzzled, I asked what that was for.

My mother smiled and replied, "Surprise! Your father's buying you a car".

My first car

2007-11-09T19:55:00.000-05:00

When my father first moved to U.S.A from India in 1976., he bought an used 1975 brown station wagon, AMC Hornet. The reason he chose the station wagon instead of a compact car or a sedan was so my mother could accommodate her sitar (Indian type of guitar) case in the back. My mother was and still is a sitar player. Over the years, she had performed in front of audiences.

The station wagon stayed with us over the years until I turned 16. By the time, the 11-year old car was starting to develop few problems but nothing that could not be fixed though.

My father tried selling it but he was not satisfied with the recommended selling price. My mother then suggested giving the car to me since I was of driving age. He eventually agreed and bought a new station wagon.

Hence, I had my first car at 16. However, I was not allowed to drive whenever I wanted; I had to ask my father permission. Few times, he would let me drive to school only if I had to stay after school to attend club meetings. Other times, I was asked to go on errands for my parents or drop off my sister somewhere.

During summertime after my high school graduation, my father got a telegram from his brother saying that his father was gravely ill, possibly due to die anytime soon.

My parents flew to India immediately, leaving me and my sister alone at home. However, even though we were allowed to do whatever we wanted during daytimes, they would not let us sleep in a big house overnights by ourselves, in spite of my being 18 and my sister, 14.

We had an Indian neighbors who lived three houses away. They agreed to have us sleep there and do our business during daytime.

My sister, although 14, had a volunteer work program at a State University which was 15 minutes away, to work in a lab. Since she could not drive, it was my duty to drop and pick her up at certain times. During my free time, I worked part-time at a grocery store, as a deli clerk.

My parents were quite protective of their new station wagon but on the day they left, my father said he would leave the keys to the new car in case of emergency only.

They went to New York with the other car to fly to India from there. On their way, they stopped overnight at another friends' home in NJ.

One and half days later, as usual, I dropped off my sister in late morning. On the way back, I was about several feet away from turning onto my street from the main road when I noticed some smoke coming from the pedal area.

Not too concerned since I was too close to home, I proceeded to turn when my car suddenly stalled.

More smoke came from the back and my driver's window.

There were some construction workers at the corner of the street. At first glance at my car, they quickly motioned me to get out of the car... fast.

Grabbing my bag, I got out immediately. I saw at the bottom of the car, some sparks were flying.

No less than few seconds later, the car hood was on fire!

Shocked and speechless, I stared and gaped at the car for seemed an eternity.

Fortunately, an Indian neighbor who lived at the corner house saw the whole thing and helped me go inside their house to sit and calm down.

Police and firemen came. They managed to hose down the fire before it entirely engulfed the car. Only the whole front of the car was all burned down.

I did not know what to do. My parents had already left.

When it was close to time to pick up my sister, I took the new station wagon. Good thing my father left the keys as a last minute decision!

When my sister saw me nearing to pick her up, she looked surprised. "Of course, I KNEW you could NOT wait till the minute they left to use this NEW car!!! You're gonna be in big trouble!!!"

I replied, calmly and casually, "That's not true. My car got on fire. That's why".

My sister scoffed and laughed. "Yea, right!"

Upon getting home, my sister asked, puzzled, "Where's your car??"

"I TOLD YOU the car got on fire!!!! ASK that neighbor!"

Stunned, my sister gaped at me.

As if on cue, my parents called from NY airport, prior to their departure, to check how things were going.

I ran to the basement and sat down on the stairs, nervously wringing my hands. I wasn't sure what they would say.

My sister calmly came down. "What did they SAY???", I asked anxiously.

She replied that they only asked if I was okay. They said the car was too old and it was no big deal and that my mother's brother will give me one of his cars which was already older but had a new engine. (He had about four cars).

The reason my car got on fire was due to fuel pipes leak.

Woman's foe

2007-11-04T10:59:00.000-05:00

While growing up, my family often took family trips on vacations, especially during summer times. One of the trips we took when I was 14 was to Minneapolis to visit my aunt and her family. I had a good time playing with my cousins and going out around Minneapolis area.

On the way back home from Minneapolis, we stopped by in Wisconsin to visit old family friend of my parents.

They had a nice house but during the time we visited, their a/c was not working. However, the husband ran a motel business so they let us sleep in a room for free for two nights.

In the mornings, we would go to their house to eat meals and chat during the day. My sister and I played with their two small children.

On the last morning, as usual, my mother woke me up and told me to get ready. I proceeded to go to the bathroom to take a bath.

Enjoying a warm gentle shower, I lingered after finishing lathering myself with soap, feeling the water flowing on my face and to my body. Ten minutes later, I suddenly felt a bit weak.

Puzzled and woozy, I quickly turned off the shower and swaggered to the towel rack. As soon as I took the towel, I felt weaker and collapsed to the floor.

Mustering my strength to get up to open the door, I could barely lift my arms.

With a weak voice, I shouted for my mother. Seconds later, I heard a banging. I then realized I had locked the bathroom door.

Taking a deep breath, I, with all my might, struggled to get up but slipping on the floor and then using the door knob as a support. Finally, when I managed to almost get on my feet, I quickly unlocked the door and collapsed again, out of breath.

My mother rushed in, wrapped me with towel, helped me get up, and put me on the bed. I was sweating profusely.

I never felt SO good to get out of the steamy bathroom into the cool room and bed.

Immediately, I felt sleepy and was about to go to sleep when my father said we have to go. We were going back home after breakfast.

I moaned and groaned, pleading my father for fifteen more minutes of rest.

Feeling snuggly under the bed comforters, I proceeded to sleep well. It felt like just seconds later when my father woke me up, firmly saying I HAD to get up and get ready.

Of all the days, it had to happen TODAY! I muttered.

I miserably endured riding in the car for 14 hours back home, whining and complaining to my dad not to swerve too suddenly and go slowly on the bumps.

I had for the first time, since age 12, developed severe abdominal cramps.

The reason I nearly fainted was because I did not realize that a "steamy"/sauna room or hot shower and the first day of menstrual did not mix, at least for me.

Add another tree branch, please!

2007-10-29T21:14:00.000-04:00

My former deaf co-worker, Bob, retired for good about six months ago. After getting to know him about six years ago when he first came to work at my agency, working as a contract employee upon retiring from his former employer, I found him to be quite an intelligent man with such witty grasp of English grammar. Upon discovering our love of English words and vocabulary, we eventually did crossword puzzles together during lunch time almost daily for about a year.

I love hearing stories on how older and elder deaf people coped in the real world in those days. Bob would regale me some stories about his times at Gallaudet in the '60s which made me chuckle.

Bob has two sons whom one was adopted and the other, a foster who is deaf. He is now a grandfather of ten children.

Surprised, I asked him how in the world a deaf couple was able to adopt and foster in those days when hearing people then "looked down" at deaf people. He told me briefly of his life.

He became deaf at age 12, just out of the blue, when waking up one morning. He still speaks quite well although the lipreading skills was another matter, to be practiced over the years. Due to his speech and English skills, the court was able to grant him & his wife permission to adopt & foster.

One afternoon, as usual, we sat to chat for a while. While on the subject of family, curiously, I asked Bob how he proposed to his wife whom he married on the same day they both graduated from Gallaudet in 1964.

He replied that after browsing through photo albums with his wife at his hometown during a holiday, he asked her:

"Will you join my family tree?"

"The Dating Scene"

2007-10-02T19:21:00.000-04:00

Several years before I met my husband, I was involved in the Internet chat rooms (which was kind of new that time) and posting my ads on-line as well, hoping to meet a "dream-guy".

At that time, there were hardly any "wackos" in the chat rooms as they are nowadays,. So, it was quite fun chatting in those rooms for hours and hours, making innocent jokes and punchlines. As a result, my mother often got frustrated not being able to reach me by phone (TDD) since I had a "dial-up" mode and the Internet cable did not even exist.

Most of the people in the chat rooms were locals. It was not about a year later, that the local chat room group set up a meeting every month for locals in a bar/restaurant.

Eventually, I met this hearing guy on-line. We exchanged few e-mails for about a week. He asked to meet me but since I, at that time, worked from afternoons to mid-evenings, suggested that he meet me outside my work, which was safer.

One late afternoon, he stopped by. We stood outside and chatted amicably for about fifteen minutes and then he left. I knew from seeing him that he wasn't my type though he seemed nice.

That night, upon returning home, I got an e-mail from him, saying he was glad to finally meet me and thought I was a nice person.

To my surprise, he added, "To be honest with you, I was only looking for a one-night stand but upon seeing you, I thought that you were a sweet person. I felt I did not want to take advantage of you."

Seeing double

2007-09-26T18:18:00.000-04:00

Ever since I went to Gallaudet, I mostly stopped wearing make-up, except for special evenings out, occasions, etc. Aside from job interview and first few days at work as well as having a photo I.D. taken, I don't usually put on make-up to work.

I prefer having my face "skin" to breathe more freely than having a gunk of stuff covering every pore of my skin. After a whole day, my face often turns oily, to my discernment. I felt it takes too much time and hassle to put on and take off make-up daily.

Isn't being 'natural' a beauty though? :)

Few years ago, my sister graduated with a Masters degree. My family came up from the south to attend the graduation ceremony. Accomodating to modern times and the FAA law as well, her college provided me with an interpreter which was nice.

My work is about 5-minute walk to the metro station whereas one of my earlier homes was not. On the day of my sister's graduation, I took a half day off and went home by metro.

My father and stepmother were staying with me while my mother stayed at my sister's place nearby. After we all got dressed, I took my car to my work and parked in the garage of my work-place (I had borrowed my co-worker's parking permit). Then we all took the metro to my sister's college in downtown.

After I had parked my car in the garage, I walked up to my work lobby and went out the revolving door. It was during my work's lunch time so several co-workers were sitting outside on the benches due to nice weather.

I was wearing a skimpy short sleeveless dress (YEP, I was thin that time!) and well-put make-up. My shoulder-length hair which was usually put up in either ponytail or barette, was let down, flowing to the wind.

Walking breezily past my co-workers, including Cheryl, who stared agaped at me, I briefly smiled and joined my father & stepmother, who were waiting in my work courtyard, to the metro station.

The next morning, I was walking down the aisle at my work, when Cheryl suddenly stopped me.
She started raving about a lady whom she saw yesterday afternoon who looked like as if she stepped out of a Vogue magazine.

Feeling flattered that she was obviously talking about me, I nodded and was about to say thank you when she asked me a question.

"Do you have a twin sister?"

What's the password?

2007-09-14T20:57:00.000-04:00

Few years ago, my sister bought a condo in downtown. Proud of her first home purchase, she painstakingly decorated it. She felt safe and secure due to the security in her high-rise building. In order to enter the building, the person must punch in the code of the resident's unit and wait for the resident to open the door.

Although my husband is a man of few words, he has a sense of humor. One evening, my sister invited us over for dinner. Since my husband had to work a bit late, I arrived alone while he came a bit later.

Upon walking up the stairs to the front entrance of my sister's condo building, my husband proceeded to punch the code number and waited for my sister's answer.

When my sister picked up the telephone, instead of stating his name as usual, my husband replied, "Open Sesame".

(The "code" words were derived from the ancient Middle-East fairy tale: "Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves".)

"A New Friend"

2007-09-08T09:20:00.000-04:00

About two years before I was born, my father, newly married for few months, went to France on business. (He was an electrical engineer) He lived there for nearly two years. He visited my mother in India once, several months prior to the end of his two year stint.

Hence, he was not present when I was born; my mother went to her parents' house in New Delhi so they could help her with the baby, as it was the custom anyway. My father did not see me till I was about one or two months old. My mother stayed at her parents' for three or four months before going back home to Mumbai.

Shortly after he arrived in Paris, he stayed at a hostel with no kitchenette. To save money, he cooked in the bathroom, avoiding the fire alarm in the living room.

Learning French was a bit difficult because the classes he took was IN French too! (Imagine your sign language class teacher teaching you IN sign language?!) Over several months, my father managed to pick up enough to carry a basic conversation.

My father is very fair skinned with grey eyes and had black hair. Most people in France often mistook him as Spanish, as from Spain. They found a bit hard to believe that he was actually Indian. He was nice looking in those days, from looking at the old photographs.

Several weeks after he arrived, he went sightseeing in his spare time. One day, a very pretty French girl smiled at him. Naively, my father smiled back and suddenly she came to him and started talking.

My father struggled to understand her. She kept trying to tell him what she wanted. This went on for half-hour. Finally, she gave up and left.

That night, after dinner, my father lain in bed, feeling bad he couldn't understand the seemingly-nice girl, pondered over the event that transpired during the day.

Suddenly my father bolted upright. He finally understood what that pretty girl had been trying to say. And what she actually was.

She was a call girl; in other words, a prostitute.

Education Vs Romance

2007-08-30T18:19:00.001-04:00

My husband was born hearing but lost some of hearing in both ears at 1-1/2 years old after taking antibiotics due to high fever.

Taking speech therapy helped a lot that he got by throughout his childhood, not having to tell people that he was hard of hearing. However, he still had to lip-read the teachers a little by sitting in the front. He was a hard worker and managed to pass the classes.

He considered his father as a role model. One day, he asked his father what would happen if he did not do that well in school. His father, a patient man of few words, pondered for a moment and then pointed out the window.

My husband glanced outside. A poor man was hunched, tiredly pulling a cart behind him. His dad replied, "You could work like that."

That comment scared my husband enough to gather all of his energy and focus intensely on his school studies.

When he was 15, he looked much older than most boys in his pre-college classes. (In India, there is no "12th grade". Hence, my husband finished high school at 15.) He worried constantly about the future and if he would be able to obtain a decent job.

He majored in mechanical engineering. (He later switched to working in computer/software field, hence never experienced working in engineering field).

My husband was, and still is, nice looking. There was a pretty girl who took a liking to my husband. Every mornings and every afternoons, she would muster her courage and walk up to him at the college entrance to say "hi", hoping to possibly start a conversation.

But my husband constantly curtly nodded and walked past her, ignoring her greetings. He was adamant and set on establishing a successful future in job. He was not to be 'swayed'.

This went on for months until the girl eventually gave up and stopped greeting him.

Several years later, after my husband obtained a good job abroad in other countries, he started to mature since he did not socialize much earlier. He made friends, went out to eat, etc.

He eventually realized what that girl wanted. He felt so bad he did not treat her well that he decided to apologize to her.

During his hiatus in India, he set out to find her. When he finally found out where her folks lived, he became elated and set out to visit her place.

Unfortunately, he was too late.

That girl had died of cancer.

Sugar Rush

2007-08-29T08:44:00.000-04:00

As early as I can remember, I've always had a "sweet tooth". As a result, from my teenage years to adulthood, my weight has often been like a "yo-yo".

The earliest memory I have of my craving for sweets was when I was about five years old.

We lived in a small flat in Mumbai. In the kitchen, on the floor below the shelves, there was a big tank plugged into the wall outlet. Every morning, my mother filled it with cold water and then switched it on to make it hot for our daily baths.

My mother did not stash any sweets in the house. Sometimes, we would go out for ice cream or she would make Indian sweets for special occasions. That was it.

The only substitute I could eat was sugar. The sugar tin was placed on the top of the shelf, probably strategically placed, out of my reach.

One morning, as usual, my mother filled the tank but forgot to close the top with the lid. She left the kitchen to do something in the bedroom.

A while later, I craved for some sweet. I craned my neck at the sugar tin that seemed so far away. Looking around to ensure my mother wasn't walking in, I steathily took a stool, climbed on it, and tried to reach for the tin.

Elated, my hand almost reached the tin. Suddenly, I lost my balance and my left arm splashed into the tank of water, which was now boiling. My arm looked like a huge smallpox full of big bumps. The doctor put a cast on my arm for several weeks.

My mother said I was a good sport; never cried, not even once. She hoped it was a lesson for me to learn.

To this day, I still have a ring of scar on my left arm.

A cold shower is good for you

2007-08-27T14:09:00.001-04:00

Even though we had one or two servants, they did not stay all day doing all the chores. My mother, a housewife, kept herself busy as well as taking care of me.

One afternoon, after lunch, when I was 1-1/2 years old, my exhausted mother, after putting me to sleep, decided to take a brief nap. (My sister was not yet born at that time and my father was at work.)

In no time, my mother was fast asleep, oblivious to everything around her.

About more than hour later, my mother suddenly opened her eyes. At this moment, she sensed something was not right. She realized that the house sounded quiet. In fact, the silence was deafening, pardon the pun. (I was usually noisy, since I was deaf, not understanding the concept of "quiet").

Noticing I was not in my bed, she quickly threw her covers and rushed around the flat, looking for me. Since she could not shout my name, she started to panic, not being able to find me.

She then happened to glance at the bathroom door. Water was seeping out of the door.

Panicking, she opened the bathroom door. Water gushed to the bedroom floor.

There I was, to my mother's dismay, in the corner of the bathroom floor, sitting under running cold water and shivering with my clothes all drenched.

(We did not have a bathtub in that flat and no shower "stall" either, although the bathroom floor had a drain in the center. The Indian custom to bathe was using a mug to dip in a filled bucket of half cold water from the bathroom tap and another half of boiled water from the stove. But, I apparently had turned on the cold water without a bucket, hence flooding the bathroom.)

It took her hours to mop all the water that was gushing everywhere.

Apparently, I had woken up and upon seeing my mother sleeping, got bored, thus getting myself into a mischief.

White skin cream, please!

2007-08-18T12:34:00.000-04:00

As a teenager, I was quite self-conscious of my looks, especially my skin color. I grew up in a town that had more whites than blacks. Except for hearing Asian Indians, there was not much diversity that time. Even some of those Indians were lighter-skinned than me including my father and sister.

I rebelled to the point that I actually refused to go out in the summertimes, not even go swimming. I instead mostly stayed home all day, watching TV and reading books, to my parents' dismay. From time to time, I would attend art class or visit a friend. But that was basically it.

Finally, after two years of this self-deprecating behavior, my Indian friend advised me, "Don't 'punish' yourself. You're still nice looking."

Then one day, my grandmother told me this story.

When I was quite young, at least two or three times a year, my mother and I (and my sister, after she was born) would go visit my maternal grandparents while my father stayed to work.

My grandmother often helped taking care of me, mostly enjoying her grandparent role, and giving my mother a brief break.

One day, my grandmother was giving me a bath. I was about 3-1/2 years old that time. She scrubbed me vigorously from head to toe.

As she was toweling me dry, I glanced at my arm.

Pointing at my arm to my grandmother, I complained, "Wash more! This dirty!", referring to my medium brown skin. She tried explaining to me that it was permanent.

I thought it was interesting that me, only 3-1/2 and D-E-A-F, understood to some degree that people have different skin colors!

A kitchen lesson

2007-08-16T18:02:00.000-04:00

My father is the third of four siblings: two older brothers and a younger sister. My grandparents had three children prior to four siblings but they died in infancy, of which the first two were twins. His eldest brother is a bachelor and the middle brother died several years ago, hence my father became a "surrogate" father to his middle brother's two children.

His family were poor. His father was a forest ranger, and mother a house-wife. My grandfather was not that educated and my grandmother only had a second-class education. They never had electricity but lanterns. Because all the siblings had to study a lot, the lanterns caused such strain on their eyes that practically everyone in the family eventually wore glasses.

Due to my grandfather's job, the family moved so much that my father attended at least 10+ different schools throughout his childhood! Nevertheless, wherever they lived, they often had relatives who visited. My father had a favorite aunt who was his father's sister. She used to regale him with stories that had him riveted to his seat.

His aunt came to visit the family one day which happened to be close to my father's birthday. She wanted to celebrate my father's birthday by cooking his favorite dishes. (It was common in India for families to celebrate birthdays by cooking his/her favorite dishes. They did not give presents or go out to eat. Not even have a party. My mother changed this tradition after she had me and my sister).

As I mentioned in my early blog, kitchens in India have their own doors. They usually have portable gas stoves, just like the type you take to camping. And sometimes those stoves are either placed on counter, if you have a modern kitchen, or otherwise on the floor. My grandparents had the stove on the floor.

My father's aunt insisted on surprising everyone with her cooking, thus closing and locking the kitchen door. She asked not to be bothered for few hours.

The whole day passed and no show.

My grandmother knocked on the door.

No answer.

My uncle banged on the door, shouting for her.

No reply.

Finally, a family member went outside and pried the kitchen window open and went inside.

My father's aunt was found sitting beside the stove which was still on, holding a frying handle.

My uncle tried to move her but her body was stiff.

Apparently, she had died from carbon monoxide.

It was a big educational lesson to the family NOT to close the kitchen door/window while cooking.

"Food Waster"

2007-08-11T17:54:00.000-04:00

In her 17-page letter, my grandmother wrote of few more incidents in her childhood prior to her marriage at age 12. In reference to her other incidences in my previous blogs, click: here and here.

She had a cook, named RamaKrishna, who was a faithful servant for years. He held strong moral values that my grandmother's parents respected him and left him to assist a bit in disciplining the nine children during mealtimes.

Ramakrishna maintained that no one should NEVER waste any food on their plates. He enforced such discipline to the children. If someone carelessly wasted, even a morsel, the cook would put the leftover in a cloth bag and tie it with a string around the person's neck. Anytime durig the night, the food MUST be eaten, before daybreak. It was never ever allowed to be thrown away.

One evening, my grandmother carelessly, without thinking, served a big scoop of food on her plate. She realized, to her regret, was a bit too much for her stomach.

One by one, all her siblings, but her, left the table upon finishing dinner. Nervously, my grandmother sat still at the table, knowing that Ramakrishna would not allow her to get up without finishing the food. She dreaded having the cloth bag tied around her neck, even if all night.

Fidgeting, she did not know what to do. For two hours, she sat at the table with her hands clasped under the table.

Finally, my grandmother's mother pitied her and politely asked the cook to let her go only this time. The cook replied that she was free to get up. My grandmother knew she would be allowed to leave whenever she wanted, but with the bag tied on her unless she finished the food.

After some thought, my grandmother took a deep breath and held it. While she was doing it, she quickly drank some water and gulped the rest of the morsel on her plate.

She narrowly escaped the wrath of having the bag "weighing heavily" on her neck.

In the letter, she wrote that after this episode, she NEVER ever wasted food again in the rest of her entire life.

Number Eight

2007-08-07T10:53:00.000-04:00

Dear Readers,

According to Stephen's blog, here's the random eight things about me:

1. I love the color purple.

2. I did not start walking till I was about 1-1/2 years old.

3. My sister's and my birthdays are one week apart yet different horoscopic signs.

4. I did not learn to speak full sentence till I was about 5 or 6.

5. My first speech therapy was in Hindi, not English, as it is a "phonetic" language.

6. I became a bookworm at age 10.

7. Almost daily my deaf friend and I, both five years old, gesturally made fun of people, in front of them, at the bus stop, at the discern of my paternal grandfather who dropped me off.

8. I had a Cued Speech interpreter for the first time in eighth grade.

Grades don't count....

2007-08-03T09:35:00.001-04:00

In this continuing story of my grandmother's childhood in her 17-page letter, she wrote of some incidents. Here's another one:

She mentioned in the letter that she felt she was not smart enough.

(I beg to differ. Actually, I think the reason of her self-esteem was that in those days she was not 'expected' to work upon finishing her education. Knowing this, she probably felt it was a bit waste of time and energy to do her assignments well. She possibly developed this "good enough" attitude. My mother went through this similar attitude growing up when only marriage and family was expected in the near future).

Near the end of my grandmother's third class, she received a report card stating her grades. To her disappointment, she was failing and would not go on to fourth class.

Nervously, she handed the report to her father for review. Usually, when seeing such report cards, he simply said to all the nine children, "You should try to do better." He did not sit down with any of them to help with their assignments as there were too many of them.

But this time, her father went to the school and talked to the principal.

When my grandmother attended her class in the next few days, she was taken aback from what her teacher said to the whole class.

Her teacher sarcastically stated that my grandmother had failed the class but she still will be going on to fourth class next year. It was simply because her father was RICH and he recently had donated a lot of money to the school.

My grandmother said she never felt so humiliated in her life.

"Second Mother"

2007-08-02T18:38:00.001-04:00

Few years ago, my maternal grandmother, at my cousin's request, wrote a 17-page letter of her life. As soon as I heard about it, I asked him to make a copy for me to keep as a memento. Although her handwriting was a bit hard to read, I managed to decipher it.

When I first read the letter, I was puzzled why she stopped at age twelve. I later understood that it was around this time she got married.

There was one incident that made me chuckle.

Her second class (as it is called in India in lieu of "grade") teacher was my grandmother's favorite. She was quite close to her that she considered her as her "second mother". She called her teacher, "Amma", the same name that she also called her real mother.

One day, she arrived to her class but to find a different teacher. Puzzled, she asked what happened to her teacher. She was told that 'Amma' had passed away.

Upset, my grandmother came home, bawling like a banshee, lamenting, "Amma's dead! Amma's dead!"

One of her older brothers, whom she was close to and played together often, happened to be in the room. Overhearing her, he started wailing, "NOOOO!!!! Amma's dead!!!!"

At this point, their real mother came in from the kitchen, annoyed, demanding to know what the racket was all about.

Seeing the real Amma, her brother stared agaped and turned to look at my grandmother. Thinking he was being tricked, he angrily strode up to her, before she could say anything, and thrashed her real hard.

It was uncommon in those days, in India, in large families that older siblings "help" discipline the younger ones since the parents usually have their hands full.

In the letter, my grandmother said whenever she thought about this incident, she remembers the pain from the 'beatings', although she finds it a bit funny.

My Grandmother

2007-07-31T09:34:00.000-04:00

My maternal grandmother was the fifth of nine children in her family: five girls and four boys. Actually, her parents had first two children prior to nine but they both died in infancy. Out of five girls, my grandmother was the only one who was educated. In those days, girls were only educated up to the point where they were ready to get married and eventually start a family, while boys were expected to reach higher education in order to support their future families.

Even though her father was wealthy and respected in his community, he was quite strict in disciplining his nine children. Instead of riding in carriages to school, they were told to walk. In spite of servants around the house, they were taught to make their own beds in the mornings as soon as they arose (they were required to get up on certain times regardless of holidays), and put away their belongings in the proper places. The rest of the chores, the servants did them which included washing the dishes, sweeping and dusting the house, washing clothes and putting them on clothesline to dry, etc.

Their house was quite huge and beautiful. I was told that the columns were made of ivory while the floor were of real marble. There were two small cottages next to it, for servants. My
great-grandparents had three German Shepherds who lived in dog houses in the big yard.

My mother has good childhood memories of visiting there during summer times/holidays and interacting with her 35+ first cousins! (Unfortunately, upon my great-grandfather's death in 1968, in his will the house was given to his eldest son but he did not want it and neither did other siblings as it was too large, thus it was burned down. I don't know why it wasn't sold instead.)

Years later, when I asked my mother why my grandmother was the only educated among her sisters, she told me this story.

My grandmother married (arranged) at age twelve, as it was common in those days, especially among high and middle classes. (Nowadays, it is still prevalent but this time in low-class families) However, she did not go live with my grandfather until she was much older. (He was about five or six years older than her).

To pass her time as a married girl, she, while finishing up her high school education, mostly learned to sew, knit, cook, and visit her in-laws from time to time. In the meantime, upon finishing his education, my grandfather decided to pursue further education in England. This was in the late 1930's.

But something happened. Few months after my grandfather temporarily moved to England, he suddenly fell critically ill. Several doctors examined and tested him but could not find anything specifically wrong. Apparently, he had some virus of a kind.

He was practically on death-bed that his brother-in-laws came and brought him back to India, to die in his native country.

Due to the fact that my grandmother would be a widow, my great-grandfather, after some thought, told her to pursue degree in medicine, in case of my grandfather's imminent death, she would be able to support herself. (According to their Hindu religion, re-marriage was not considered as an alternative, mostly for women).

At that time, colleges were only for men. However, since my great-grandfather was a benefactor of this college, my grandmother was allowed to attend. Because she would be the only woman in crowds of men, her father did not feel comfortable, thus asking his eldest son's wife, who then did not yet have kids, to accompany her.

After four years of core education, as my grandmother was about to enroll in medical school in the upcoming few months, my grandfather suddenly completely recovered, without any plausible explanation. (For the rest of his life, he did not as much get sick, i.e. flu, fever, etc, ever again until his death in 1997.)

Hence, she dropped her further education and started her married life with him, having three children in the process. My mother is the middle child.

During my teenager years, my grandmother lived with us. I remember the times she used to help me with my school projects, crafts, etc. She was very creative person and quite liberal compared to other Indian grandmothers of her time.

As of now, she is 85 years old, the only living grandparent, residing in India, with my aunt and uncle.

Nah, I must be dreamin....

2007-07-29T09:12:00.001-04:00

At seventeen, I won a free trip contest to England sponsored by then Gallaudet College. It was a 3-1/2 week trip during summer time prior to my senior year of high school.

Excitedly, I packed at least one month before my departure. My mother took me shopping and bought me new clothes as a "present" for winning the contest.

On the day of my flight, I got up early, without anyone waking me up (I did not have an alarm clock for the deaf that time). I flew to Washington, D.C. where I, along with other 14 contestants, 10 deaf and 5 hearing, stayed at a lodge behind Gallaudet College for the first two days.

During the first two days, we got acquainted with each other, as well as with the three chaperones which one of them was an alternate interpreter. I made fast friends with some of them. The chaperones lectured on the policies, itinerary, rules, passport information, etc. We also had 'ice-breaking' activities that helped us to get to know each other.

On the third day, we all flew to London. Upon landing, we were shuttled to a YMCA where we stayed for the most of the two weeks. The food was so terrible that we eventually all paid for our food at restaurants, cafes, etc. with our own money which was later reimbursed by the chaperones with the money sponsored from Gallaudet.

During those weeks, we visited museums, the Parliament, school for the deaf, deaf clubs, some deaf/hoh individuals' homes for tea/snacks, and old churches/parks.

Finally, the next 5 days, after two weeks, our group of 15 were divided into two groups. The two groups went to different cities in England. One group went to Devon to stay at a lodge where each of them stayed with a host family for a day or two. The other group, which I was in, went to York to stay at a hostel. We were supposed to stay with host families but due to summer time, most of them were away on vacations. Instead, we each visited our host family only for few hours and then returned to the hostel.

At the hostel, I shared a room with another girl, Julie. Next to us, Doug and Josh shared a room, and so on. There was a pub (as bar is called in England) downstairs.

Most teenagers are curious about life, experimenting with things. Some of us in the group, including me, was no exception. (Doug was the only one who was 20) Some nights, Doug, Josh, me, Kate, Scott, and a Welsh girl named Kim who was visiting us, snuck into the pub to have few beers without chaperones' knowledge.

One night, around 11:30 PM, as usual, we quickly got away from the chaperones' eyes, and entered the pub. It was my first time tasting alcohol. I initially did not like the taste of beer, but then eventually adjusted to it.

Only three of us stayed longer at the pub, after some of the others left. Doug, Kate, and I chatted amicably over our drinks until about 2 am. I then decided to hit the sack, leaving Doug and Kate who were not finished with their drinks.

In the room, I slept on the bunk bed while Julie slept in the bottom one. Exhausted, I immediately discarded my clothes and quickly changed into my PJ's and then crashed.

In the morning, I felt a light flashing on my eyes. I peeked and saw one of the chaperones, Richard, at the door, talking to someone at the bottom bed. I assumed it was Julie who was talking to him and went back to sleep.

Five minutes later, I felt a little bump and opened my eyes. To my astonishment, I saw Doug getting up from the bottom bed, with nothing on but his underwear.

I quickly looked under my covers and to my relief, I had my clothes on. Racking my brain, I tried to recall if Julie was asleep last night when I came in. Actually, she was. Then I checked the room, to ensure I was in the RIGHT room. I was.

"Good Morning, Nita", Doug cheerfully greeted my stunned face, and walked out the door.

My curiousity became greater than my need for more sleep. To solve the puzzle I could not figure out, I quickly arose and went down the hall to find out what had happened.

It turned out that apparently after their drinks, probably around 3:30 am, Doug and Kate went to their respective rooms. Somehow, in the early morning, Doug who was a bit drunk, after returning from the bathroom, accidently went to my room. Seeing Julie sleeping, he mistakenly thought Julie was using his bed. Annoyed, he woke up Julie, practically dragged her out of bed, threw her out of the room, and then went to sleep.

The chaperones found Julie sleeping in the hallway.

I wasn't dreaming after all.

A Good 'Samaritan'

2007-07-27T16:42:00.000-04:00

During my first five years, my parents and I lived in Mumbai (formerly Bombay). We lived in a high-rise flat, on 2nd floor. Next to the building was a very busy street. All day, people were seen milling and walking on the sidewalk, by our building.

One day, an incident happened when I was about 1-1/2 years old.

Our residence front door was ajar. Apparently one of my parents had just walked in. They eventually became immersed in their important discussion about something, forgetting to close the door.

Oblivious to them, I sauntered to the door and managed to slip out, climbing down the stairs like a crab.

A man was walking down the street when he happened to glance at something that appeared out of ordinary: a toddler standing precariously at the edge of the curb, innocently watching cars whizzing by. Immediately concerned, he looked around and did not see any parent(s) nearby.

Upon quickly grabbing me, he asked the first floor resident whose baby I was. The resident peered at me and motioned with his finger upwards. The man carried me and climbed to 2nd floor.

Seeing the door ajar, he cautiously peeked in. He saw my parents talking.

You could imagine the astonishment on their faces when the man asked, "Is this your baby?"

You don't scare me one bit, Grandpa

2007-07-23T18:12:00.000-04:00

My maternal grandfather was about seven when his father died of heart attack. He was the youngest of three children whom the two older ones were sisters. Due to traditional culture of males, regardless of age, my grandfather was put in the spotlight as an "elder" of the family.

He had a strong personality and as a result, he became quite dominant over the years. Practically everyone was intimidated of him and never dared to cross him, including his older sisters.

He also had this soft side that hardly showed but when necessary. He used to live in England, in early 1940's, to further his higher education before my mother and her siblings were born. Hence, he had some knowledge of the western culture. Since I was going to move to U.S., he taught me the dining room etiquette as well as good manners.

Anyhow, there was only one person who was hardly scared of him: ME!

One day, a servant came in the house and put fresh washed, starched white shirts on the sofa and left. My grandfather had happened to be mad at me for something I apparently did which I quite do not recall.

Standing in front of him, who seemed tall to an eight-year old, and crossing my arms on my chest, I refused to listen to him.

To his shock, I threw one of his clean shirts to the floor.

"PICK IT UP!", he immediately ordered.

With a defiant look on my face, I shook my head.

At this point, my grandfather started quavering, not believing the situation was happening right in front of him. In his whole life no one had ever defied him and now he was suddenly at loss what to do.

As an adult, my understanding of the main reason I may not have been scared of him was that I was deaf. He was intimidating to everyone mostly due to his tone of voice.

Grandma, you belong in a cell

2007-07-21T11:13:00.000-04:00

Prior to moving to U.S. from India, my parents sold their flat and my father then flew alone to U.S. to look for jobs. Meanwhile, my mother, my sister, and I went to live with her father in another state in India. I was eight then and my sister, four. Her father's sister and his mother also lived in the same house. It was a full house.

We stayed there for about six months till my father sent my mother a telegram that he had found a job and sent us plane tickets.

Due to the small town my grandfather lived in, the schools there did not teach English but only their state's language. Hence, my mother home-tutored me and my sister.

Daily, I was expected to memorize the multiplication and division tables and recite them out loud to her by the end of the day. I also was required to write a journal to improve my English grammatical skills. Writing letters to my dad helped as well.

My grandmother which is my mother's father's sister (my parents are first-cousins, so I have grandparents who are related to each other), was an orthodox religious woman and she often did rituals with my great-grandmother. Not well-educated they both hardly knew English so whatever communication they had with me was mostly gestures and few broken English words.

In order to prepare for our life in U.S., my mother took up typing class, painting class, and few other courses. I attended speech class, twice a week, I believe. My sister was only four so the only thing required of her was to learn reading and additions/substractions.

It was summer time when I lived with my grandparents. We had two or three neighbors who had children close in age to me and my sister. They mostly played outside as school was out but my mother made my sister and I stay home and gave us "homework". Only in the late afternoons, if my mother was satisfied with our lessons, were we allowed to join our friends.

One day, my grandfather and my mother was out for the day. I think my sister went with them too. I was alone at home with my grandmother and great-grandmother.

In India, most home kitchens and living rooms have their own doors as if it is a separate room. And doors have locks on the outside as well as inside. That was to keep servants out in case of thefts.

After finishing my "homework", I got bored. At this point, my memory is a bit vague as to what specifically transpired. As usual, my grandmother and her mother was in the kitchen doing some rituals as well as preparing meals for the day. Somehow, they did something or said few words that made me mad. Before they did anything further, I quickly slammed the kitchen door and locked it.

Poor them tried screaming and banging but to no avail as no one was home and I was deaf. This went on for about three hours.

Finally, my mother arrived home. When I saw her out the window, I immediately ran upstairs and hid under the bed.

Within 5 minutes, I could see my mother's feet walking around, apparently looking for me.

Of course, as expected, I was scolded and ordered to apologize to them as they were "elders" and should be respected, no matter what. My mother also threatened to tell my father if I did not improve my behavior. She used this tactic often because she knew I wanted to make my father proud of me. While apologizing, I remember seeing my grandmother shaking her head with displeasure written on her face, as if to say my mother could have done better in disciplining me.

To this day, whenever my parents talk about the times I was mischievious, they would often bring up this incident.

"Twin" sisters

2007-07-16T18:17:00.000-04:00

My mother was a natural tailor, knitter, decorator, chef, etc. In other words, she was a "well-rounded" housewife and mother.

When my sister and I were little, my mother, to save money, often sewed our dresses. Originally, she made us identical outfits. However, a while later, due to my dad's dislike of the outfits looking like "uniforms", my mother started making the attire in different designs, but from the same materials.

My sister and I often acted like rivals. With petty jealousy, we frequently complained to mother on each other's dress, pointing out that this looked better than the other.

Taking advantage of my deafness, my mother whispered to my sister, complimenting her on certain designs on her outfit, and then she mouthed to me, without using her voice, complimenting me on my outfit.

Her strategy worked. My sister and I walked away proudly with our "unique" designed attire.

But, it eventually backfired. I asked my mother the reason.

She replied, "Your sister learned to lipread me."

Sorry to disappoint you but it's only a bug bite

2007-07-14T15:26:00.000-04:00

During the summer of my first year at a community college, which I transferred from my one year at a State University, I arrived home from my classes when I felt something on my neck.

Putting my hand on my neck, I pulled some bits which appeared to be some kind of bug bite. The area on my neck started bleeding a bit. I quickly washed with water and put on a band-aid.

In the evening, my father came home from work. Coming downstairs from my bedroom to the kitchen where my father was sorting out the day's mail, I cheerfully greeted, "Hello Dad."

My dad looked up and greeted me back. He then did a double-take at the band-aid on my neck.

Suspiciously, he asked, "Did you have a hickey?"

My "fake" hearing flop

2007-07-09T16:04:00.000-04:00

I finally got my driver's license at seventeen, after a year of badgering my father. The only glitch was that I had to run errands for them, including my younger sister, without complaints.

My sister, then thirteen, attended a weekly Asian Indian dance class. The class was usually held, in turns, at each student's parents' homes. The Indian community in my town was quite small at that time. Almost all of the students' parents were considered as "family friends" of my parents. Practically everyone knew each other.

One Saturday late afternoon, as usual, per my parents' orders, I drove my sister to her class. To save gas, I had to stay there till they were finished and then take her home. Usually it took about 2 hours, or 3 at the most if the teacher felt satisfied that the students accomplished their steps.

Bored, I sat stiffly on the sofa, with my legs crossed and my arms on my chest. Suddenly, one of the student's older brother came up and beckoned me to follow him.

Relieved, I eagerly followed him to his room for a distraction. Sanjay was only about 1-2 years younger than me but was quite an intellectual and an expert with computers during an era that was emerging during the mid-80's.

Sanjay politely offered a seat in front of his computer. Standing next to me, he started explaining how to use the computer and play some games. He looked straight at the computer and talked fast, pointing at some things on the screen.

I quickly realized that he had NO idea I was deaf. In spite of about 5 years of living in the area, my parents apparently did not bother to "announce" that I was deaf; only when certain situations came up.

Sanjay continued to talk quickly, with him facing the computer instead of to me. I panicked, not sure what I should do. My mind started thinking fast. Should I tell him? That may scare him though. Or should I just pretend, just to be polite?

I was still unsure as he continued to talk. I sat tensely while staring at the computer, and pretended to nod as if I understood every word he said.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity of looking at the computer with a blank look on my face and robotically nodding my head at Sanjay, I was relieved when he finally finished his monologue of explanations.

Satisfied, Sanjay pleasantingly asked me if I had any questions.

Not feeling comfortable with this pretense, I nervously after a second of hesistation, decided to confess. I would look like a fool if I did not as I obviously had NO idea how to use the computer. I then told him slowly that I was deaf.

Stunned, Sanjay stared at me for a moment then replied stiffly, apparently not comprehending the fact that I did not HEAR his explanation, that I was welcome to use his computer and left in a huff, leaving me in an awkward situation.

Glancing at the computer with not a faintest idea where to start, I felt uncomfortable staying in his room so I went back to the living room where the students were practicing the dance.

Since then, Sanjay never spoke to me, not even a simple "hi", ever again.

It is always best to inform the person at the beginning, to save any embarrassment or awkward moments.

A New Moon

2007-07-08T15:29:00.000-04:00

During two week Christmas vacation of my last semester at Gallaudet, my close friend, Cindy, and I flew to Minneapolis where we stayed at my aunt's house. We got together with five deaf friends from Gallaudet who were also visiting Minneapolis.

The New Year's Eve gathering was the most fun. We all spent the day and night at one of our friends', Aaron's, father's place. We played games, ordered pizza, watched movies. On the other days, Aaron joined Cindy and I to go shopping and "bar-hopping" at the Mall of America. Since Aaron was from Minneapolis, he took us on a tour as well.

On the last day, Aaron decided to fly back on the same plane to Gallaudet with Cindy and me. I sat by the window with Aaron next to me.

It was late at night when I looked out the window. The sky was clear and the stars were twinkling. Admiring the peaceful looking sky, I noticed a round bright moon that seemed so far away.

Beckoning to Aaron to look at the window, I said, "Isn't that a nice moon?"

Suddenly, I peered against the window. Puzzled, I asked Aaron, "How come that moon looks so small?"

Aaron then gently slapped the back of my head and replied, "That's NOT the moon, silly! It's a plane wing light!"

A Penny For Your Thoughts

2007-07-08T14:34:00.000-04:00

Because of often being left out as well as alone while growing up deaf, I developed a habit of thinking too much. Sometimes my face expressions would indicate that I am thinking.

After our honeymoon, my husband was getting to know me better and vice versa. Like many newlyweds, we started to notice each other's habits.

One afternoon, riding in my husband's car in India, my husband noticed I was thinking about something judging from my expressions.

"Thinking out loud, as usual, aren't you?", he teased me.

"Becoming deafer, aren't you, from my loud thinking?", I encountered.

Garden of "Mac"

2007-07-05T12:33:00.000-04:00

Nowadays, I have been seeing increased popularity in MAC laptops, not to mention iPods.

Several months ago, at a gathering at a friend's place, we were chatting when we came on the subject of computer/laptop. One guy had a Apple laptop with him. I asked him if it was "any good".

Showing a thumbs-up sign, he nodded.

I said I still preferred PCs. He pointed to the Apple symbol on the front of the laptop to indicate his choice.

Undauntingly over my choice of PC, I then replied, "Isn't Apple "forbidden" as in the Bible?"

It's refreshing to sleep with someone else for a change

2007-06-30T11:01:00.000-04:00

During Coral's first few years, my mother often received e-mails from me on Coral's antics as well as commenting on her intelligence. She became eager to see for herself when she visited me one weekend.

I lived in an one bedroom apartment with Coral then. Any overnight visitors I had would usually either sleep on the sofa or on the carpet with blankets/sleeping bag.

One of the stories I had told my mother related to Coral's intelligence: Whenever at night, I was ready to go to bed, I would say to Coral, "It's time for doggie bed-time". As soon as I switched off the living room light, Coral would immediately dash off to my bed.

Even though my mother had grown up with German Shepherds, they hardly stayed indoors. She was and still is fussy about having dogs in the house, due to hair shedding and dirty paws on the floor/carpet, not to mention sitting on the furniture.

Coral started sleeping with me since she was 1-1/2 years old when she was completely housebroken. It helps to have her sleep with me at times as I could tell whether she was barking or acting strangely. Being alone, I felt safe knowing she would provide "ears" for me.

One evening of my mother's visit, I made preparations for her bedding in the living room. My mother was curious to see how Coral acted when I switched off the light.

With us both standing by the halogen lamp in the living room and Coral sitting between us, looking up at my mother, I switched off the lamp and said it was doggie bed-time.

To our surprise, Coral did not budge; she still looked up at my mother, with her tail wagging.

"Why isn't she going off to the bedroom?" my mother asked, puzzled.

I replied, "She wants to sleep with you tonight instead."

I prefer just the two of us

2007-06-30T09:10:00.001-04:00

Coral was 5-1/2 years old when my husband moved to the U.S. Prior to that, we mostly lived alone. As a result, Coral became attached to me. When I had dates over, Coral always greeted them quite eagerly.

However, when my husband arrived to our new place, within few days of picking up Coral from the baby-sitter, Coral refused to greet him. Perhaps she did not like the idea of having to share me with him, besides having to adjust to a new place.

After two months, her action was quite obvious in showing her 'distaste' towards him, even though she would ask him, from time to time, to pat her.

Coral was sitting next to me on the sofa, pawing my shoulder to take her out. My husband quickly offered, hoping to create a bond with her. He walked towards the front door and opened it. He beckoned Coral to go.

Coral sat there, looking straight ahead, and refused to budge. After five minutes of useless coaxing, my husband went back to his seat on the adjacent sofa.

Testing Coral, I got up and calmly ambled towards the door. I then beckoned to her.

Upon the door opening, she suddenly dashed off.

Dogs do sense things happening around them, especially changes. I am sure she figured out that my husband would be living permanently with us, not merely visiting.

Sixth Sense

2007-06-26T09:00:00.000-04:00

My maternal grandmother is quite known for her sixth sense. Everyone took it for granted what she said all those years except my uncle, my mother's brother.

My uncle was a doctor (retired now). Doctors, scientists, and mathematicians tend to have "linear" thinking. As a result they do not believe in anything supernatural; tangible evidence are quite important to them.

Several years ago, my grandmother got a ticket to fly to India for few months for the summer time. She was to fly together with my uncle and his family.

However, few days before the departure, she had a dream. She dreamt that a plane crashed into the ocean. This repeated at least two or three times.

Scared, she told my uncle she was not going to India.

"Rubbish!", scoffed my uncle. "You're going with us!"

She tried insisting she was not going but with my uncle's strong personality, she finally gave in but with much trepidation.

Yet the flight to India went smoothly.

"See I told you! Nothing happened!", crowed my uncle.

But after they got off, new passengers boarded this plane. And the plane then crashed into the ocean.

Let's play it by ear

2007-06-24T19:47:00.001-04:00

Few years ago before I met my husband, I was casually dating few guys, in hopes of possibly developing a serious relationship.

I met this deaf guy, Jeff, on a blind date set up by a mutual friend of ours.

Sitting in a restaurant, we chatted amicably, getting to know each other. Although Jeff was not an "intellectual" to my disappointment, he was considered a "street smart" guy.

Soon after the meal were served, Jeff mentioned that when he asked our mutual friend when the actual date of our blind date would be, she said, "Oh I am not sure. But let's play it by ear." (The phrase meant to wait and see what happens. )

Apparently not comprehending this 'hearing phrase', he asked me, "Is she playing games with me?"

Hold on your pants

2007-06-24T19:32:00.000-04:00

In the summer of my sophomore year at Gallaudet, I got an internship as a teacher's assistant for eleventh grade at a school for the deaf. There were two other interns who also were from Gallaudet whom I never met. By the end of the internship, we all became good friends.

One of the intern, Jess, was also a teacher's assistant for tenth graders.

This was, and still, is, an era where fashion for youngsters is low-waisted jeans.

During a field trip to a zoo, on the bus I was sitting behind Jess when she turned and told me this.

She said when a student asked her to do something, Jess told him,"Ok but hold on your pants", meaning to wait few seconds or minutes.

The student, obviously not understanding the 'hearing phrase', commented, "Oh no, my pants is supposed to be like this."

There is only 24 hours in a day.

2007-06-22T08:28:00.000-04:00

About two months before the end of of my eleventh grade year, I heard that there will be a contest to win a free 3-1/2 weeks trip to England for deaf youth exchange program sponsored by then Gallaudet College. Only 10 deaf and 5 hearing participants (those hearing contestants had to prove their interests related to deafness) will be picked out from the contest.

Excitedly, I participated in the contest. It required two essays, grade transcript, recommendation letter from a teacher, and a project, along with a report, related to England. Sounded a lot? It did not deter me as I was quite eager to begin.

Laboriously, I worked on the contest, and on my school work, especially my upcoming end of the school year report, not to mention the final exams.

There were times I felt pessimistic about being able to finish all. Then my father said to me, "There is only 24 hours in a day. You have to learn how to make the best of those hours." Somehow I managed to finish both of them, on time.

Soon after I finished my final exams, I was eating a snack on the dining table when I saw my grandmother answering a phone call. She looked excited and beckoned to me.

"You won the contest!"

It turned out that I was one of the participants to be chosen out of 300+ in the U.S.

Honestly, I did not really expect to win. I merely enjoyed participating in the contest.

Perseverance and determination, without expecting the outcome, will eventually succeed.

An Unexpected "Snitch"

2007-06-21T08:04:00.000-04:00

As usual, being a child within, I loved to pull harmless little pranks on people close to me.

After that April's fool fiasco, I decided to pull another one on my husband.

My husband usually came home about one hour after me. Close to the time he would be arriving, I looked out the window and saw that he was walking towards the front door steps.

Quickly, I went in the bathroom and hid behind the shower curtains. I switched off the lights to make it look like no one was there.

I wanted him to wonder where the heck I was, knowing I would usually be home by the time he came.

I expected him to take some time in searching the place for me, however, less than two minutes, the bathroom light switched on.

Nonchalantly, my husband moved the shower curtains and found me standing there surprised.

"How did you KNOW I was there so soon??"

He calmly replied, "Usually when I get home, Coral would greet me. But this time, I instead found her sitting in front of the bathroom door, pawing the door as if to say she's in there."

Doggie Pizza

2007-06-20T19:45:00.000-04:00

Few years ago, I lived alone in an apartment with my then 3-year old black cocker spaniel mix named Coral. After being adopted, Coral eventually became spoiled, expecting everything to be handed to her on a silver platter.

One evening, I came home from work, exhausted. So I decided to simply bake a frozen pizza for dinner instead of making a dish which would take some time.

After changing my clothes to more comfortable attire, I sat in my living room sofa and switched on the TV while waiting for the pizza.

I became transfixed with a program on TV for few minutes. Suddenly I realized I had not seen Coral around. She usually sits with me or sometimes on the carpet, facing me.

I quickly got up and looked for Coral. When I looked in the kitchen, I laughed.

There Coral was, patiently sitting right in front of the oven, waiting for the pizza to come out.

Deaf person is often the last one to know

2007-06-17T09:12:00.000-04:00

When I was fifteen, during a summer break, my whole family and I took a trip to England and then India. It was our first and last family trip abroad.

England was "on the way" to India, so my parents thought a good idea to stop by there and sightsee for five days then to India for three months (for my mom, my sister and me. My dad was to stay for close to six weeks due to work). Instead of motels, to save money, we stayed at an acquaintance's home in London which happened to be close to a subway station.

Boy, that flat was really dingy! The mattress on the floor was really old and sagging, not to mention dirty! I slept on the very edge of the mattress to avoid the middle part. The bathroom was not clean as well. I remember complaining loudly how shabby the place was but got shushed by my mother. My sister and I were told to be patient and tolerant.

Nevertheless, we managed for five long days. Thankfully, we were out almost all day the minute we got up in the mornings and did not return till late in the evenings.

We mostly rode subway stations around London to go sightseeing. And we walked a LOT that I lost at least 8-10 pounds in just five days!

One afternoon, while in the subway, my parents informed me and my sister ahead of time which station we were to get off. After fifteen minutes, the subway got crowded. My parents suddenly realized they had figured the wrong station and quickly informed the correction to get off the next two stations to my sister. I was standing close to my sister, oblivious to what was happening.

In haste, they completely forgot to tell me. Hence, I got off the wrong station and by the time I turned around, expecting my family to be following behind me, but instead to see the subway doors just closing with my parents panicking against the door window. They quickly mouthed to me to stay put and they would return to this station I was at.

Nodding, I calmly sat down on the bench and waited. I felt no fear or panic. Few minutes later, my parents rushed and asked me if I was "okay". They apologized for the oversight. Without thinking, they had mistakenly assumed I would "overhear" the conversation they said to my sister about the correction.

Deafness is "invisible" and is easy to overlook at times, hence mostly the last one to know what is happening.

Correct steps on following a recipe

2007-06-15T20:12:00.000-04:00

Happy Father's Day!

In celebrating Father's Day, I would like to narrate one of the stories my father told me. He was, and still is, a good storyteller. As children, my sister and I would be quite riveted with his tales prior to bedtime and often plead, as soon as he finished, to tell us another one.

One weekend, few years ago, I was visiting my father and stepmother at their home.

Normally, I dislike south Indian food which is somewhat different from north Indian food. My family are from south part of India, so call me a traitor if you will.

That night, as usual, my stepmother made south Indian food for dinner. However, to my surprise, I ate it all, relishing every bite. I told them I felt satisfied with a full tummy.

That was when my dad told me this story. I do not know if it was true or not but that is not the point.

There were British soldiers stationed in some parts of northern India. (This possibly indicates it was during pre-independent India)

One early morning, two soldiers decided to go hunting in the forest. Few hours later, satisfied from their activity, they felt it was time to go back.

Trudging through the thick, dense forest, somehow the two soldiers strayed from each other and eventually got lost. This soldier walked aimlessly without any sense of direction for a long time until it started to get a bit dark.

Hungry, the soldier hoped to find some shelter, at least for the night, if necessary. Suddenly, he saw a smoke not far from him and went in that direction.

He came across a small hut with a family of four, cooking on a firepit. They seemed quite poor judging from the mere belongings in the hut.

The soldier told them he was lost and asked for directions. The kind father asked him to first sit down and eat with them. The food was quite simple and the family willingly shared with the soldier.

Ravishingly gorging the food down his throat, the soldier finally satisfied his hunger. Sitting with a full tummy, he praised the family for such good food.

The family kindly lent him a blanket to sleep on the ground.

The next morning, the soldier woke up and got ready to leave. Armed with directions, he thanked the family and was about to leave when he had this thought.

"Can you please give me exact step-by-step instructions how to make the food you made yesterday? It was really good!"

Pleased, the mother quickly scribbled down the recipe. With recipe in his pocket, the soldier proceeded back to his place.

Upon arriving, he immediately gave the recipe to his cook and ordered him to whip up the dish for dinner that very evening. And then he sent another servant to go invite other soldiers, including generals over his place for dinner.

Eagerly, he asked the cook if the dishes were ready. With all the plates and glasses in proper places and lined up, the soldier waited for the guests to arrive.

Once they arrived, everyone looked at each other, wondering what the special occasion was. The soldier pleasantingly narrated the earlier incident and urged everyone to start eating and enjoy the food.

After few bites, the puzzled guests again glanced at each other, saying "What's this "simple" food he has cooked up? It tastes terrible!" The soldier himself started eating and to his surprise, it did not taste good as it did last night.

As soon as the guests left, embarrassed, he angrily screamed for his cook. The cook nervously walked up to him and asked what was the matter.

"Did you follow the instructions EXACTLY as I asked you to?!" The servant, with his hands clasped in front of him, quickly nodded.

"EVERY step?"

"Not really."

"Which one did you miss?"

"The very first step."

The first step on the paper said, "Take a bath first before cooking."

The soldier yelled at the cook, "You did not have your bath this morning. That's WHY the food tasted horrible!"

The point of this story: If you are quite hungry, then any food, irregardless of your likes/dislikes, will taste good!

Canine fate?

2007-06-14T22:13:00.002-04:00

As young as I could remember, I have always loved dogs. Walking on the streets in India, we often passed dirty and mangy stray dogs. To my mother's dismay and panic, I would frequently run and pat them. Fortunately, I did not get bitten, except once by my neighbor's dog. Still I was unfazed.

There's a photo of me as a three-year old, at my grandparents' home, laughing and sitting on the floor while my hand was in a German Shepherd's mouth. I had no qualms about hugging strange dogs or sitting in a doghouse with the dog even if it stank.

As a teenager, I started to beg and plead my parents to get a dog but of to no avail. The reason? We traveled often. My sister disliked and even feared dogs. My dad, even though could tolerate dogs, was not fond of them as well.

Only my mother had grown up with German Shepherds but they were outdoor dogs.

The "You can get a dog when you are grown up and on your own" reply was often repeated, to my discouragement.

To satisfy my desire, at least, I put up posters of puppies of all breeds on the walls of my bedroom.

However, to my surprise, on my 21st birthday, my mother got me a black laborador puppy. To heck with my dad and sister, my mom replied.

Unfortunately, it was wrong timing as I was busy with two jobs and attending community college. And to top that, the dog and my personality did not match. In other words, I felt no connection. Hence, it was given away three weeks later.

Ten years later, I made a mistake of adopting a Husky mix out of pity for this poor puppy who was abandoned by his mother. This dog had issues I could not handle, as I was a "newcomer". I gave it to a friend.

Fast forward to two years. I was with a friend on the way from a store when he suggested to go visit this old lady who collected stray dogs with puppies. I was not in the mood and asked him to drop me home. But he coaxed me to go with him.

"Simply see them and quickly leave." So I relented.

Arriving to this dilapidated farmlike area with a bunch of mangy stray dogs following us, my friend went to talk to this old lady. Leaning against the car, barely holding my nose from the stink, I waited for him to return.

A black curly cocker spaniel calmly walked up to me and started sniffing. He then returned and excitedly said this dog who was smelling me just had puppies. But I was not interested at all and simply wanted to go home.

Urging me to follow him to see the last puppy as her siblings were already given away, he led me, with the old lady ahead of him, to this old abandoned station wagon. I saw few dogs mingling in the car.

Then the lady opened the passenger door and I gasped.

There was this small cute cuddly velvet black puppy, a mixed breed, which almost fit the palm of a man's hand, excitedly wagging her tail.

I fell in love immedately.

Still, I was reluctant to adopt this absolutely adorable puppy because I did not want to regret as I previously did with the other dogs.

Both he and the lady tried to convince me to take the puppy now as it was the last one she had at this point. Yet I resisted, saying I needed time to think, giving at least a week lest do I decide.

It was a risk I decided to take because this puppy was so adorable and seemed to have such sweet personality. It would be no question if anyone else came by and took her.

During the week, I thought about it over and over. I then recalled my mother telling me I tended to run away from responsilities. Therefore, I decided to accept the responsibility, for once and all.

Excitedly, during this time I shopped for items for the puppy. I already had a name in mind for her as I was supposed to give this name, Coral, for the previous husky but it did not match her personality however. I even planned few days off to spend time with her, as well housetraining her.

On that Friday, my friend came and picked me up and went to see that old lady. But to my dismay, the gate was closed. We waited for half an hour but no show.

Downcasted, I went home. I thought maybe it was not meant to be.

One hour later, the phone light flashed. My friend said the old lady called him back saying she was working overtime but she brought the puppy and her mother with her.

Few days after I got the puppy, I discovered we had a connection!

About three years later, I was sorting out old photos in my drawer. To my shock, I came across photos of me as a one and half year old with my parents' neighbor's black-colored puppies. And I also had a glass statue of a puppy given to me by my best friend for my fifteenth birthday.

They looked EXACTLY like Coral! She is a mixed breed.

Was it a fate?

When you're not "looking", it will happen right under your nose. :)

Two opposite poles

2007-06-13T18:21:00.000-04:00

Growing up, my sister and I have always been quite different. This included our personality, temperament, tastes, likes/dislikes, interests, etc. As a result we clashed often, fighting like cats and dogs.

The only times we did not fight were when we were busy planning surprise "party" or gifts for my parents. However, they eventually stopped being surprised because the minute they saw us acting like "angels", they immediately figured out we were up to something.

Here are few examples of our differences:

Sister/Me

vanilla/chocolate
healthy food/ junk and sweets
classic lit/novels
no animals/dogs
reserved/open book

I could list a lot more but you get the idea.

One day, I asked my sister, instead of pointing out our differences, what we had in common. I said that there must be at least ONE thing.

She pondered for a moment then replied.

"Our parents."

Pants "dye"

2007-06-12T17:56:00.001-04:00

Turning twelve, I was almost the same height as my mother. My mother looked young enough to make people think we were sisters. From time to time, I started borrowing some of her clothes which fit me well.

One day, as usual, I borrowed one of my mom's outfits: cream white striped pants with a matching blouse to wear to my sixth grade class. During late afternoon, shortly before recess, while doing my classwork, I noticed one girl in front of me glancing at me and then whispered to the teacher. My teacher looked at me as if I was in trouble. Following teacher's and this girl's eyes, some students looked at me as well.

While trying to rack my brains what I had done wrong or if I had said something inappropriate in the last few hours or even in the past few days, I sat with my hands fidgeting.

Then it was time for recess. Students quickly scrambled to go outside however my teacher immediately halted me and told me to stay put. Puzzled, I went back to my seat.

When the teacher saw that the class was now empty, she leaned forward and told me to "close my legs" and to do so for the rest of class period. Not sure what she was referring to, I quickly glanced down and to my horror and embarrassment, I realized why they were looking at me.

Between my legs, there was a crimson stain.

North and South

2007-06-11T08:29:00.001-04:00

Nineteen years ago, my best friend, Missy, a freshman at Gallaudet, wrote me a letter telling me what fun she was having there, meeting all kinds of guys, as well as making new friends. I was attending a community college in my state south that time and was living with my parents. (This was during pre e-mail/Internet era.)

Reading the description of each guy she was meeting, my eyes caught the name of the guy, Todd, who was a special student at Gallaudet for a year. Missy merely described him in few words: He became deaf at age 5. Very intelligent and can speak quite well. He is a country boy from a small town in New England. I immediately felt something was going to happen.

During Missy's visit home on Christmas time from Gallaudet, I visited her at her mother's home. I told her I wanted to meet Todd. Eagerly shoving a piece of paper under my nose, she told me to write a letter and then sealed, to my useless protest, the back of the envelope with a lipstick sticker.

Todd and I became pen-pals for a while then eventually, I went to Gallaudet to visit Missy, hence meeting him. We ended up dating, but long distance though. Every few weeks, he would come down to visit me, staying at my parents' home.

We mostly communicated via TTY, which this time I finally bought. We called each other almost daily, to my dad's chagrin. The phone bills often made my dad jump. He tried coaxing me to merely use a "20 cent" stamp instead but it fell on deaf ears, no pun intended.

One day, as usual, my Yankee boyfriend called me. Upon my answering the TTY call, he cheerfully said, "Hello, how is my Southern Belle doing?" "Hello, Northern Telecom.", I replied.

(Southern Bell and Northern Telecom were the names of telephone companies in the South at that time.)

Cough syrup please!

2007-06-10T20:42:00.000-04:00

Upon graduation from high school in the mid-80's, I only had two choices of college: my state university or Gallaudet College (it was called college that time). My dream of attending another, but private, college, four hours away, dashed when my father refused to send me far away, not to mention not being able to afford such fees.

Not ready to mingle with the deafies and immerse into "Deaf culture" yet, I chose to attend my state university which was only 30 minutes away.

This university only had one other deaf student, besides me. Hence, I mostly mingled with other hearing Indian students which some of them I had grown up with.

Since many of us Indians lived close by, we lived at our parents' home, to save money, instead of dorms. So, in order to mingle with each other, we gathered in the university library lounge every afternoons.

There was this guy who was from Pakistan, I believe, who eventually joined our crowd. I barely talked to him but I am sure he did hear my conversations with others. (I could speak but not well enough to sound like a hearing person though.)

The whole year went by without this guy and I talking to each other personally except to say a brief "hi" when passing by.

Near at the end of the spring semester, he asked one of my friends why I talked "funny". She replied that I was deaf.

Stunned, he told her, "I had no idea she was deaf the whole time! I thought she had largynitis."

"Kids Only" pillow

2007-06-10T14:52:00.000-04:00

"It's time to get up now! It's close to midnight. We have to get ready quickly!", urged my mother who hovered over my bed. Our plane's pending departure for U.S. from India was probably around 2:30 am or so.

Sleepily, I, watching my mother help my sister dress, asked her to help me also but she pointed out I was old enough to do it myself. Grumbling, I proceeded to slowly dress myself.

Finally, we were on the plane, with me sitting by the window. I remember, as the plane was taxiing on the runway, ready to take off, waved and thought, "Good bye, India. I don't know when I will see you again".

The stewardess gave us blankets and especially pillows to sleep on, to my sister's delight.

Several hours later, as soon as the plane made preparations to land in U.S., the stewardess came to take the blankets and pillows away. My five-year old sister, however, refused to hand over the pillow.

"I want to take it home! PLEASE, Mommy!", she sobbed loudly. My mother had to gently twist the pillow from my wailing sister and give it to the crew.

I was oblivious to what was going on as my mind was focused on seeing the U.S.

Years later, I asked my sister why she cried over this "trivial" thing. She replied, "I thought due to the size of the plane pillow, it was especially "tailored" made only for kids like me!"

Blonde VS Brunette

2007-06-09T07:38:00.001-04:00

When my family moved to U.S. from India, I was forced to give up my toys, to my chagrin, especially my precious dolls, due to lack of suitcases space. My father had already moved to U.S. six months earlier. He telegrammed my mother, upon obtaining a job, to come here with me and my sister.

Most toys were given to the servants' children, and my dolls, to my cousin. Hugging my dolls, I politely asked my cousin to "look" after them.

Prior to moving, I asked my mother what America was like. She replied people there usually have different hair and eyes colors. Fascinated, I asked what colors. "Hair vary from black, red, brown, to blonde, and eyes, blue, green, hazel, brown, black, or violet."

Sounded quite like a rainbow! I could not wait to come here. I kept asking my mother when it was time to go. Sometime soon, she would often reply.

Arriving in the U.S., we stayed at my cousin's place where my dad drove few hours to pick us up. He was already here few months earlier to search for a job and thus obtaining one.

Upon entering in our townhome-like apartment with a "Welcome home" sign on the door, that my dad made for us, I excitedly dashed to the bedroom that my sister and I would be sharing.

There were two twin beds, each set against the opposing walls. And on the top of each pillow, stood two dolls, as a surprise gift from my dad.

Both dolls' faces and height looked identical except one was "tomboy", and the other one, "feminine". The tomboy one had dark brown hair, brown eyes and had on a blouse and pants, while the feminine one was blonde and had blue eyes, with a dress.

Guess which doll we fought over? :) Yep, the blonde one!

My mother told us to share or keep the blonde doll for a week before giving it to my sister and vice versa.

However, within two weeks, guess who kept the blonde doll after all?

Someone else's bananas surely taste better!

2007-06-08T17:39:00.001-04:00

My father told me this story when he visited us two years ago.

I was about one and half years old that time, in India, when my parents tried to coax me several times to eat a banana but to of no avail. They assumed I probably did not like it.

One day, we were going on some trip and took the train. At the train station, there was a couple standing near my parents. They had a bunch of bananas. Apparently, I saw them peeling one and suddenly stood before them, watching.

The couple thought I was probably hungry from the watchful stare I was giving them. They proceeded to hand me a half banana when my father quickly warned them that I did not like it, thus wasting it if I threw it down.

To my father's surprise, I took it and gulped it down and asked for more. They gave me the other half and I ate it quite fast as if it was so delicious.

My father said the episode made him look like a fool trying to warn them.

Shall we duel?

2007-06-07T21:40:00.000-04:00

Twenty years ago, I worked at Taco Bell, mostly night shifts. I was dating a manager of Taco Bell, but in a different town though. His name was Geoff.

Technically, I was not supposed to date a manager even though he worked in a different location. But everyone at my Taco Bell knew and kept mum simply because they knew Geoff since he used to be an employee at my Taco Bell just before I joined.

We saw each other quite sporadically due to different schedules, not to mention he worked at least 75 hours a week. I did not have a TTY that time and the relay system was not even set up in my state until about two years later. So, sometimes I would ask a friend to call him or he would stop by my Taco Bell to plan something.

Eventually, I did not see him at all for about one and half months. In the meantime, there was this guy who worked with me named Wade. We chatted and joked for several weeks.

One night, Wade asked me if I was still with Geoff. I, assuming Geoff probably moved on since I had not heard from him, replied no. He asked me out and I agreed. We planned to discuss more after our night shift.

As soon as we closed Taco Bell and went out, Wade and I were about to talk when I noticed a car pulling up to the parking lot.

To my surprise, it was Geoff. Geoff said hi but Wade curtly nodded. I felt Wade's eyes boring at my back. I sensed what Wade was thinking. It felt awkward when they both realized what was happening.

Both guys stood, facing each other, with arms crossed, apparently waiting for one another to leave first. I was in the middle, fidgeting, not sure what to do next.

After a seemingly long ten minutes of silence, finally Wade decided to leave. He walked off quite abruptly.

Since then, Wade never talked to me again, although I insisted I had no idea Geoff was going to stop by.

My lesson? NEVER assume anything!

April's Fool flummox

2007-06-06T21:34:00.000-04:00

Like most new marriages, we started out on a tight budget and limited means. That meant no cable, for either TV or computer.

My husband had never met a deaf person until me. Into few months of our marriage, I was not sure how much he understood the limits of my deafness. (I am profoundly deaf whereas he is hard of hearing) So, on April's fools' day, I decided to play a trick on him.

He was sitting at a desk when I suddenly went to the phone (and TTY) nearby and quickly picked up the phone, dialed some number, and waited for it to ring.

Acting like a "hearing" person, I pretended to talk as if someone on the other line had answered. I laughed and put my hand on my hip, continuing to chat with expressions showing on my face.

My husband stared at me for a moment and cracked up so hard. Then, he slowly ambled towards me. While intently looking into my eyes, he calmly took the phone handle from my hand, and hung up.

Not letting go of my act, I protested while surprised, "What are you doing? You hung up on my sister?!"

He, still looking at me, coolly replied, "How can you be on the phone when I am currently online?"

This doesn't even look like Lychee!

2007-06-06T17:52:00.000-04:00

My husband and I met four years ago, through an Indian marriage website. Upon obtaining a Visa few months later, he came to the U.S. for the first time, in the middle of my move to another place.

At the new place, there were only few boxes and miscellaneous items. No furniture and even no food as the rest of my things were still at the old place.

On the first morning at the new place, as I got up, I noticed my husband had already woken due to jetlag. Walking on the way to the bathroom, I immediately spotted him standing by the kitchen, munching.

I stopped in my tracks and thought, "Hey, what on earth is he eating?? There's no food in the fridge and he does not even have any U.S. money!"

With a puzzle look on my face, I asked what he was eating. Holding a jar with a label, "Lychee gel cups" and something in his hand, my staunch vegetarian husband said, "What is this? This tastes funny." (Lychee is a tropical fruit with a thick red covering and inside is a white fruit that tastes sweet).

Trying not to laugh, I replied, with a solemn look on my face, "It is NOT Lychee. You are eating a dog biscuit!"

Cardboard hair

2007-06-05T21:01:00.000-04:00

Typically, female teenagers tend to spend hours with their makeover, especially hair. Looks are quite important to them.

I was no exception at fifteen. I spent at least two hours each day, just styling and primping my hair! My mother would often bang the door, telling me to hurry up.

My hair was so thick that I had it cut short and layered, yet it still fell over my hair, to my exasperation. The last solution? Hairspray. Cheap brand but strong! As a result, it made my hair like a cardboard. Unfortunately, it caused my hair to brittle, fall off, and create dandruffs at the end of each day.

Nevertheless, I was determined to hold my hair to the layered style from front to the back, as it was the fashion in the 80's. I used hairspray as much as I could that it became quite stiff.

If I dropped something, I would not bend down for fear of my hair messing up; instead I either used my foot or kept my neck still while picking it up.

Hence, my sister came up with a nickname for me: Mr. Stiffneck.

Wow, a LIVE doll!

2007-06-04T21:06:00.001-04:00

I was four years and one week when my little sister was born. I considered her as my 4th birthday "present". :)

The day my mom gave birth, my dad took me to the hospital to visit them.
The bed post was at my head's length. I remember being in awe, trying to raise my toes to look at the little white wrapped bundle lying next to my mom.

My mother was at the hospital for few days. During this time, everyday after school, I would be excited to go to the hospital.

I usually slept and played with stuffed animals and/or dolls. But when my sister was born, they temporarily collected dust. She cried, laughed, smiled. That was even better than dolls! I loved patting her to sleep and playing with her as she grew older.

Everyday, the minute I arrived home from school, I would run and squeeze her. Because I could not hear, my mother would keep reminding me not to hug her too tight or she wouldn't be able to breathe.

I used to beg my mother if I could sleep with her but of to no avail. (We did not have a crib. My sister instead slept on the floor with blankets in my parents' bedroom.)

Many years later, I was reminiscing with my mother about my memory of me visiting the hospital. She replied, "The whole time you came to the hospital, you practically made a beeline to see her. Not once you said 'hi' to me."

Jeannie, please blink me out of here!

2007-06-03T10:09:00.000-04:00

I moved to U.S.A. from India when I was nine years old. I was new to my school, American kids, culture, etc. Fortunately, I already knew English which was my first language, although it sounded a bit British.

My public elementary school, not a base school, was about an hour away because it was the only one, closest to my home, in this county that had an oral program for the "hearing-impaired".

Thus, there was no school bus that could provide transportation for far-away students. This teacher, Bonnie, who happened to live close by, offered to give me a ride.

Eventually, a deaf boy in my third-grade class, Jeff, later joined our "carpool".
Because my mother was a housewife that time, his mother who worked would drop him off at my home every morning to wait for Bonnie to pick us up. And in the afternoons, Jeff would stay at my home until his mother got off from work and picked him up.

Jeff was a sweet blond blue-eyed boy who had cerebral palsy. I was too young to understand the concept of cerebral palsy. To me, he was just deaf like me.

The only glitch in getting a ride with Bonnie was that since she was a teacher, Jeff and I had to stay after school for about an hour while she finished up her paperwork prior to dropping us home.

One afternoon, after school, as usual, Jeff and I sat in the backseat of Bonnie's car to wait for Bonnie to finish up her work. Sitting, with my "I dream of Jeannie", a popular 70's sitcom, metal lunchbox on my lap, I chatted with Jeff. (We mostly spoke orally and lip-read each other as we did not know sign language, at least me at that time)

Somehow, I don't remember how it happened, we got into an argument that became heated. Under an assumption that he might hit me, I quickly defended myself by throwing my lunchbox at his head.

WHACK!

WHACK!

WHACK!

By the time I looked up, I froze.

On Jeff's forehead, seat, and car floor, there was blood! Terrified, I did not know what to do.

I then glanced at my lunch box and saw the picture of "I dream of Jeannie" character. For a moment, I thought maybe I could beg Jeannie to blink to take all this away.

As if on cue, Bonnie came down the front school stairs and walked towards the car. I briefly looked at Jeff and the poor boy was crying in pain. Panicking, I quickly got out of the car, hoping to distract Bonnie.

"Hi... Can I sit in the front?"

Bonnie smiled and nodded.

But, Jeff also got out of the car to show Bonnie what happened. I cringed for what was to come.

Bonnie, shocked, with her hands on her hips, glared at me. She demanded an explanation. I stammered we somehow got into a fight and I was merely defending myself.

Furious, she stated she would have a serious "talk" with my parents upon dropping me off and ordered me to sit in the front.

During the ride, my legs trembled, feeling rubbery, and my hands, cold and clammy. I was absolutely terrified at the prospect what would happen at home when my parents, especially my dad, found out.

The ride seemed to take forever. Bonnie's face's expression looked stone cold.

Upon arriving home, I was hesistant to get out of the car, but Bonnie was out and already climbing the stairs to my townhome. This time, Jeff stayed in the car.

What happened immediately is a blur to me as it was so long ago. Maybe I panicked so much that the incident blotted my memory.

To summarize it, of course, my parents were furious and disappointed in me. But to my surprise, all my dad said was for me to apologize to my school principal.

Can you believe I really got off that easy?

To a nine-year old, the principal looked quite a tall man. He seemed kind and considerate. Craning my neck, I mustered my courage and stammered my apology to the principal. Shaking his head, he told me not to do such thing again.

As for Jeff, the poor boy had sixteen stitches on his forehead. His family demanded that my parents pay the medical bills.

His mother never dropped him off at my home ever again.

One year later, my family and I moved to another town.

Jeff, wherever you are, I am truly sorry for my impulsive and immature action.

A Prank Call Misfired

2007-06-02T09:47:00.000-04:00

During high school, I had a deaf best friend, named Missy. A deaf guy, also from my high school, Dale, truly liked this deaf girl, Cynthia, but unfortunately she did not reciprocate his feelings.

Among about 15 deaf students in my public high school, I was the only one who did not have a TTY. (TTY is a Teletype for the Deaf that is used like a telephone for deaf people to make calls to each other).

One weekend, Missy invited me to her house to spend the night. After talking about and pitying poor Dale who pined day after day for Cynthia, we decided to play a trick on him.

Sitting, poised, on a chair with a TTY and the phone handle on the TTY cradle in front of me, I, along with Missy's help, called Dale.

To our relief, Dale directly answered the call. I, pretending to be Cynthia, talked amorously to him. True to his feelings, he responded with an eagerness and full of hope.

Then, after some small "sweet" talk with Dale, "I" asked him out to a movie. Poor Dale excitedly said he could not believe that "Cynthia" changed her mind about him.

The time and location was set up to meet to go to the movie.

After hanging up, Missy and I rolled on the floor, laughing at the thought of pitiful, unsuspecting Dale, full of expectations, waiting at the movie theatre all by himself before realizing he was being stood up.

Ten minutes later, the phone light flashed. This time, Missy answered the call. To our surprise, it was Dale!

He briefly told Missy what happened with the previous call. Missy acted as if she did not know what was going on but encouraged him to go out with Cynthia.

Dale then surprisingly said he called Cynthia, right after my pretentious call because it sounded "too good to be true". He said Cynthia angrily told him she did no such thing.

Hence, to our disappointment, our prank was discovered.

Don't worry, Mother, just simply look the other way.

2007-06-01T20:30:00.000-04:00

Seventeen years ago, my parents separated. My mother was on her own for the first time in her entire life. She was 19 when she got married, barely out of college and out of her parents' home.

My mother is an open-minded person but still retains conservative values like many Indian women of her generation.

Moving to an apartment by herself was a big challenge for her. She did not have many things and did not even have a TV as she could not afford one.

I decided to surprise her with a new TV for her birthday which was around the corner. I was living on my own with roommates, working full-time job that time. I had ordered a new TV to be delivered to her home about one week ahead of time.

On the evening of her birthday, after work, I went straight to my mother's place. Upon giving her a card, I told her there was a surprise coming for her in an hour or so.

My mother looked a bit suspicious and asked what it was. But I wouldn't tell.

An hour passed. No delivery.

I pursuaded my mother to wait a bit more and tried to convince her that she would love the surprise. She was getting a bit restless. Normally, she is a patient person, but this time, she seemed a bit edgy. She sat on the sofa with her arms crossed, warily looking at me, possibly trying to figure out what I was up to.

Ten minutes later, she could not wait any longer. She tried to coax some information out of me. But my lips were sealed. Surprise is a surprise.

Anxious, I looked out the window for the delivery van to arrive.

About five minutes before the van finally showed up, my mother gave up her patience. She leaned forward, with her eyebrows narrowed, and nervously asked, "I hope you're not getting me a stripper, are you?"

An Invisible Helping Hand Reaches Out...

2007-05-31T17:39:00.000-04:00

During my first year at Gallaudet, I was living in a dorm with a roommate. I had a class in half-hour. At this point, my roommate was still asleep. I was only wearing my knee-length "t-shirt" nightie when I grabbed my small basket to go to the bathroom which was at the end of the hallway.

As I was opening the door to go out, I noticed a tall big black guy, whom I did not recognize, trying to "flick the lights" (akin to doorbell) next door. Feeling a bit uneasy and self-conscious with my wearing only a "t-shirt", I immediately stepped back inside but unfortunately he noticed me. I quickly closed the door and decided to grab my pajamas. Then upon returning to the door, I got a fright.

This black guy was suddenly standing at my door, ready to "flick" the lights.

He started talking. I realized apparently he was some hearing person who probably came in from outside. I, for a moment, assumed (or so I hoped) he might be looking for someone that he knew. I pointed to my ear and shook my head. He asked for paper and pen.

I closed the door, but left it a bit ajar though. I went to my desk which was at the far end of the room and fetched the paper and pen. When I turned around, I got another scare.

He was standing, right behind me. I couldn't believe he had the gall to come in my room! I was at a loss as I sensed something was amiss however tried to remain calm.

Grabbing the paper and pen from my hand, he quickly jotted down.

I quickly glanced at my roommate and to my dismay, she seemed fast asleep. The guy finished writing and waited for me to look at it. I picked it up and read it. My hands started shaking and panicking. I did not know what else to do as this guy was right beside me, towering over me, waiting.

I screamed, "NOOOO!!"

The note said, "I want to have sex with you."

The guy suddenly pushed me down to my bed.

At this moment, my roommate woke up and saw what was happening. She tried to grab the phone but he slammed it down.

We then both screamed as a last resort, hoping to scare him somewhat.

Maybe this guy was an idiot, as upon hearing our screams, he immediately fled. If he had "common sense" that most of the residents had already gone to classes and even some who were still around in the dorms, those could not possibly hear us, he might have ......

Later, I asked my roommate what made her get up just in time. Was it vibration, some sounds perhaps, or...? She said she had no idea. She had just simply opened her eyes at the right moment.

A divine intervention, maybe?

Follow your Intuition

2007-05-30T17:51:00.000-04:00

In 11th grade, there was this deaf girl named Candy who did not have exactly the best reputation. Our "friendship" was mostly limited to interactions during school periods and bus rides, nothing more or less.

One day, about two hours after arriving home from school, I was watching TV when my grandmother said there was someone to see me at the door.

Puzzled and curious who it was, I walked up and was surprised to see Candy.

She was excited and wanted to show me a car that was parked outside. Warily, I walked outside with her.

It was a red, shiny sports car. In the driver's seat sat a boy that I had not met yet. Candy introduced me to Kenneth.

He looked a bit young. Suspiciously, I asked how old he was.

"Sixteen", was the reply.

I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt because I knew his older brother at my school who was not a troublemaker, as far as I knew.

I then asked whose car it was.

Kenneth claimed it belonged to his father and insisted he was simply borrowing it for a short ride.

After some prodding and pleading to go for a ride with them, I reluctantly gave in. But on one condition that Candy drive, not Kenneth.

Grudgingly, Kenneth gave up the driver's seat and scooched over to the passenger side. I hopped in the back, with some trepidation.

After ten minutes of "joy riding", my uneasy feeling grew stronger and stronger. Finally, I decided to put my "foot down", no pun intended.

I immediately insisted that I be dropped home ASAP. They looked at me as if I was a sissy but I did not care at all. I felt this extreme urging to be home RIGHT NOW!

Finally, they reluctantly dropped me off. Never was I so relieved to be back home and be "safe".

Prior to backing out of my driveway, Kenneth took over the driver's seat.

Few days later, I found out that right after they dropped me off, the police caught them for speeding, apparently. It turned out that Kenneth was only 14. And to top that, as if it was not enough, the sportscar was stolen!

Whew! If I hadn't followed my intuition, my name would have been dragged in the mud!

Always follow your intuition. It may avert danger, bring you some luck, or meet some fate.

It's never too early to propose....

2007-05-29T11:48:00.000-04:00

Now, it is almost end of May and starting of summer time. Time for vacations, relaxation, sports, ..... and weddings!

I thought I wanted to tell you a funny incident that happened years ago.

My younger sister who was then maybe 3 or 4 years old, was in a good mood on that day. She ran to my dad and hugged his neck from behind.

"Daddy, I love you very much!"

My dad, squeezing her dimpled hands, said, "I love you too, sweetheart"

Then, she excitedly said, "I want to marry you!"

My dad laughed. "Daughters don't marry their dads. You will marry some young man later".

Hearing this, my sister ran out to the front of the flat, which was on the ground floor. There were two flats above us.

She shouted to the second floor balcony, "RAVI!!"

"RAVIIIII!!!"

A 7-year old boy, named Ravi, finally came out.

"I want to marry you!"

"NOOOO!!!!"

Was my embarrassment in vain?

2007-05-28T17:10:00.000-04:00

During my third year in college, I had an appointment at the college's clinic for some check-up before my next class. Prior to leaving, a good friend of mine stopped by briefly. She had just gotten married and was a part-time student, living off campus.

During the conversation, I happened to tell her that I was on my way to the clinic. My friend suddenly begged me to grab a bunch of condoms for her which were free. (Part-time students are excepted from this college medical insurance). I hesistated but she pleaded, saying money was so tight and would appreciate my help. Reluctantly, I gave in.

After my check-up was completed, I went to the bathroom to collect the condoms from a bowl. But, to my dismay, I was not thinking when I only brought my multi-folders. No purse, no bag, and even no pockets on my outfit. After some scanning around, I noticed one of my folders was empty so I stuffed them in and then proceeded to my class.

I arrived about five minutes late. The students were busy taking notes. I hastened to take a paper out of my folder and started writing.

Five minutes later, to my horror, like in a slow motion, I lost my balance and the whole folder flipped over .... to the floor with all the condoms scattered. My ears turned hot and beet red! I wished I could disappear into a big black hole and did not dare to look up. For whole few seconds, I stared at the floor, unbelieving this was happening to me. I then quickly picked up everything and resumed taking notes, not daring to look up during the whole class period.

Few years later, I told my friend, who was in the class with me that time, about this incident which seemed funny now. Expecting her to recall it and laugh with me, I was surprised by her reaction. "What are you talking about? I didn't notice anything and neither did anyone." They were engrossed in the lecture!

So, I was embarrassed for nothing?