Unforgettable

I’ve been trying to write a post about the Deaflympics in my head since I was in the stadium in Taipei. And maybe it’s because I like to write, but since then, I’ve had a nagging urge to describe everything, and yet I am continually dissatisfied with what I produce. I have literally written a dozen rough drafts of this and thrown them out. Nothing seems to quite do it justice.

For starters, I got to see my best friend stand on a platform and have a gold medal placed around her neck. If you were able to watch the game or the medal ceremony, then I’m sure you know what I mean. What an overwhelming feeling of delight and awe! I could have actually burst with pride at that moment, and my emotions overflowed as tears. I’m a rather self-centered person and I never expected to feel this kind of pride for someone else’s achievement, like a parent for a child. Even writing this now I can’t stop crying from thinking about it.

I think the Olympics themselves awaken dormant feelings of patriotism and pride, and Laura and I both agree that the National Anthem makes us cry before games. But this was different. The arenas, playing fields, and all of the amenities were in fact, magnificent. The Taiwanese are yet another Asian culture that, in general, seems to find it honorable to serve you in any way possible. But it was what was inside the arenas and stadiums that stood out to me.

On my way to the stadium, the night of the game against Germany, I walked alone through the throngs of people. Deaf people from all over the world, their loved ones, interpreters, masses of helpful volunteers. Just picture communication at its finest: everyone working to understand, be understood, and make sure that those around them have the opportunity to listen. I’ve never seen the deaf community like this and it really is a beautiful picture. It made me wish that I knew more sign language. Not because I needed it to communicate, or because that cute guy in the elevator started signing to me and I wanted so badly to know what he said, but because I didn’t want to be an outsider. I wanted to be part of this.

I was, however, thankful to be a hearing person during that game because of all the sounds mingling with the sensations of my other senses. I’m not much of a ‘yeller’ at games, unless it’s just really loud and I know my voice won’t stand out above the crowd. In a stadium full of deaf people though, there’s really no reason to hold back.

It is such a beautiful sound to hear people cheer and yell unabashedly at the top of their lungs. And not in attempt to impress others with their comments, but sometimes just because the exclamation flows forth in excitement. There were low groans and high pitched screeches, teams cheering for their teammates who wouldn’t be able to hear the shouts of encouragement. There were groups of people chanting and signing, gesturing, dancing, singing. There were flags, signs, and great movements in the crowd. Angry mothers yelling at the referees. Photographers capturing the sights on camera. People having conversations while sitting a dozen rows apart. All of these things and a first-place match, played under the lights in a grand stadium, tied at half-time. It was awesome.

The first goal brought the crowd to its feet in elation. A new level of awesomeness reached. The one-zero score lasted long enough to keep emotions tense. The rest of the game was a blur to me. For some reason I never felt worried, I never rehearsed what i would say in the event of a loss. But it was still a sweet victory. The final score of 4-0 and the signal for the end of the game brought more joyous eruption. It really was a perfect night.