ARC TWO

perdendosi
Origin: Italian
Dying away; decrease in dynamics, perhaps also in tempo

DISCLAIMER: The personalities and opinions of these characters do not represent those of actual idols themselves, the Juilliard students, the New York Philharmonic, or any of its employees. The Juilliard School is not responsible for the accuracy of information.

A/N: I apologize for the inconvenience. I want to inform you guys that bolded black text in between quotations (e.g. "Hello!") implies the subtitles that Mina is reading. You'll figure out why it's needed as you read this chapter. Enjoy!

The Sixty-Fourth Measure

Monday: May 3, 2021

Who is shaking me?

Someone's hand is on my hip and is clutching onto the silken fabric of my nightgown, rocking me back and forth like a pendulum.

Stop it.

My eyes fluttered at the sunlight motes filtering through my bedroom window. I rolled over to my left to protect my vision when a tall figure obstructed my view, placing her palm at the top of my shoulder now. Her expression seemed pained as she was unsure how to communicate with me now that I'm completely deaf in the right ear and near-deaf in the left ear. I rubbed my eyes and sat up on my bed. Oh, it's just Nayoung.

Her intonation is supposed to be low and somewhat soft. Her voice didn't seem to match her dynamic aura (or her driving).

Now I couldn't recognize her voice. She's just too soft-spoken.

Nayoung reached for her phone in her coat pocket and displayed her phone screen: eleven o'clock in the morning. I already missed one class and it's one of my most important classes. There's no way that I could have overslept after setting up three wake-up alarms on my phone. 

Oh wait. I lost my hearing.

I'm too stupid to even recognize that my ears would not catch the high-pitched Rite of Spring ringtone.

[Im Nayoung] Do you want to get dropped off at school?

I don't want to take the metro because I might become aggravated by the crowds and the train wheels screeching against the rails. At the same time, I also don't want to endure Nayoung's slapdash driving again. Every time I step into her car and she's in a pressured mood, I'm met with my neck snapping backwards as she stomps on the gas pedal after an abrupt stop. Even worse, Manhattan's roads are congested with taxis so driving within the city limits is counterintuitive to begin with. I looked up at Nayoung and shook my head, and thankfully, she just smiled and left.  

There are clothes laid out at the foot of my bed again — a black sweater dress and black stockings. God, Mina. Why did you pick out these clothes? It's like I'm attending someone's funeral. Could be my own funeral, but I can't speak about death after Chaeyoung attempted suicide. Everyone believed that she was finished when she succumbed to the demons inside her head. But now she's alive and well, which I'm grateful for.

Speaking of Chaeyoung, her mom told me to find her at the Disability Resources Center later. I don't know why Chaeyoung wants to summon me there, but I haven't seen her in a while so I might as well go. She's the only person other than Sana who can use sign language. I'm kind of tired with having to fish out my phone from my instrument case to talk to someone, resorting to texting to compensate for the lack of communication.

Rush hour is over so there's not a huge volume of people at the Chambers Street Station, which is very much what I needed. I anchored on a set of headphones to test if I still have my hearing and to ward off any aggravating noises that displease my left ear. As expected, I couldn't hear anything on the right and only the lower-pitched instruments on the left. I can feel the vibrations from beats and bass, but I can't decipher the composer.

During General Musicology, I situated myself in the back row of the lecture hall. Jennie planted herself two seats away from me for some reason, but I avoided eye-contact with her by placing my bassoon case in the empty seat between us. Yuzuna and Shuuka were chatting away in the front while Eunha and Jihyo sat in the same row as me. Sana wasn't here because she planned on skipping class to focus on her jury repertoire.

Oh right. Juries. I still haven't figured out how I'm going to get through mine with minimal hearing.

I'm such an idiot for choosing to sit in the back. I can't catch a single word about Dr. Zarkov's teachings about authentic performance. Actually, I would've not been able to either way, but at least the front row offers a better acoustic and I can sit on the side where she's facing my moderate-deaf (if that's even a real term) left ear. Eunha, who fell asleep, doesn't have notes that I can copy off of and Jihyo's seat is on Eunha's left. I'm sitting here with absolutely no notes and I'm not sure how I'm going to prepare myself once my professor begins squawking at students for answers.

I spoke too soon.

Dr. Zarkov's hawk-like eyes gloss over the lecture hall for a millisecond until they land on me. is moving but I can't read her lips. Jihyo noticed my inactivity, which enforced her to tear out a piece of paper from her notebook, scribble something, and slide it across our table:

The answer is Descent, Treble, Tenor, and Bass.

I put Jihyo's text into spoken words and I could barely hear my own voice. Dr. Zarkov just shrugged and moved onto her next victim. The older girl is beaming at me with her satiny teeth but I still feel like a sack of knowing that I'm burdening her and that I can't adapt to the hearing world.

Is this how Chaeyoung felt prior to her attempt?

Juilliard Orchestra rehearsals came along with the announcement of our final concert, also known as theJuilliard Orchestra Commencement Concert. There are two pieces line up in our repertoire. One of the them is not just any ordinary piece that has been conceived by famous and accredited composers. This is a self-composed piece by a Juilliard student, and that person is not even a composition major. It's Nayeon.

Somewhere around February, Nayeon received the golden envelope in the middle of her Music Theory class. Her peers froze in awe as President Polisi's student aide strode through the aisle with the letter in his hands — a letter that is handwritten by the institution's President himself.

Nayeon was bawling in President Polisi's office when he declared her as the ceremonial soloist for her graduation. Just last year, Nayeon didn't even believe that she would be graduating on time. Then Jeongyeon and Momo introduced her to the Pops Orchestra and things changed.

She is not the smartest student in the entire school nor is she the best musician within her major, but Nayeon was chosen as the graduation soloist because the faculty recognized her persistence and dedication to her craft after she had hit rock-bottom with her grades, her relationships, and her drug addiction. In December, she received rave reviews from her adjudicators for her semester jury; in March, she was deemed the very first clarinetist to win at the Prague Spring Music Festival; and just last month, she held the highest score among clarinetists in the Vandoren Emerging Artist Competition. Nayeon told her clarinet instructor that, "the best part about hitting rock bottom is that there is only one way left to go — up."

I wish that was my case right now.

Now the seat on my right is empty because she's standing at the front of the stage by Maestro Gilbert's side, her self-composed solo entitled Cherry Blossom mounted on a symphonic music stand. She's glowing radiantly. I'm very proud of her.

*Nudge*

I whipped my head towards Mingyu, "Eh?"

What is he doing?

"I don't understand", I told him. His mouth is moving but I can't comprehend a single word. Reading lips doesn't seem to help either.

After catching a clue, Mingyu then leaned to my side and pointed at the first bar of my score. I inspected my surroundings to see bows moving, fingers pressing on opalescent valves, sticks and mallets hammering on varied surfaces, and Maestro Gilbert's baton hand flowing. I'm late and I'm frustrated because I'm never late. I've always known how to stay on tempo with the rest of the ensemble. Keeping time is a musician's necessity.

We've been practicing the same nine bars over and over again until I could keep up with the rest of the orchestra. I could tell that most of the musicians were getting irritated at me because would enter too early or too late. Nayeon kept her calm, but I feel incredibly bad for her because my gut is telling me that she wants to move on. It was discouraging for me to realize that I was being a burden, wasting time and holding everybody back. If it wasn't for my inadequate hearing, we would've gotten more work done and been released from rehearsals earlier.

My heart ached at the sight of an expaserated or annoyed face that drifted past me, grappling furiously at the awareness that I caused so much pain to them, and this caused a tear to leak out from my eye. I forced myselt to blink the tears back when I caught a quick glimpse of these freshmen violinists pointing fingers at me. Eunha stepped in and admonished them, but I still feel like a piece of . 

I didn't really get much sleep that night.

The Sixty-Fifth Measure

Tuesday: May 4, 2021

Today was hot, a rarity in New York City especially off-summer. I could finally wear the clothes that I would've not been able to wear before since the city is known to be perpetually cold. I donned a sky blue sundress, matching ballet flats, and went on my way to school. On my walk to the station, I passed by the Tribeca farmers' market and everyone was sporting jean shorts and smiles — another rarity in the city. The air was perfumed with fresh produce, beads of sweat glistened on the foreheads of shopkeepers, and a busker strummed his guitar. Even though the sounds were muffled and I couldn't grasp words nor the guitar, I felt that the citizens were becoming optimistic about summer.

Summer. It is not just a season where we are freed from classes; Juilliard students often take summer as an opportunity to expand our horizons and try new things in the performing arts realm. For music majors specifically, our goals adhere to (but not limited to) entering music festivals or competitions; joining or volunteering for summer music camps; auditioning for other ensembles; taking on workshops, seminars, internships, masterclasses, etc.; touring with your youth symphony orchestra or chamber ensemble; and even simply just practicing. 

As for me, Chaeyoung, and Sana, it's preparing for the BBC Proms in July.

Today after working on my jury pieces, my bassoon instructor wants to begin touching upon Silent Sonata. Sana will be there to interpret for me, but Chaeyoung can't attend our practice session because her class schedule does not line up with mine.

I arrived at my lesson early, perhaps way too early. Neither Sana nor Dr. Cseszneky are present and I have a whole quiet space to myself — just what I need after what happened yesterday. I could hear my own bassoon better than during NY Phil auditions and orchestra rehearsals. It's still very, very faint and sometimes inaudible so I had to practice my intonation more intensely than I ever had. I downloaded a tuning app on my iPhone, drilled myself in louder long tones, and relying on muscle memory. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I'm not even sure if I can trust my pitch. Like I said, reeds affect how you sound and no reed is guaranteed to function the same way every time. It's like wearing a new set of vocal chords.

Shoot. It's a hot day too. Not only do I have to become increasingly conscious about the humidity and the condition of my reed, but I hate succumbing to hot weather itself. My breathing is wearing thin, I'm starting to pant, and now I'm too tired to practice. Tinnitus overrode my left ear so I had to put my bassoon down and lurch forward, rubbing my temples and groaning silently.

"I'm fine!" I squawked as the door swung open. I looked up and warm hands clasped my cold ones. It's just Sana.

Then she released her hands so that she could communicate with me, "Breathe, just breathe."

The 4-7-8 method. Inhale through my nose to a mental count of four, hold my breath for a count of seven, and exhaling through my mouth to a count of eight. Rinse and repeat.

Okay. I'm ready.

Dr. Cseszneky came in ten minutes late, enveloping his bassoon case to his side as he sipped the last of his discount coffee from Indie Food & Wine. With his toothy grin, he shook hands with Sana and offered her a seat beside him, which she graciously accepted.

The lesson began with my jury pieces — four contrasting pieces and/or études meaning that each piece must represent a different period or style. Sana translated my instructor's comments and questions, albeit in an elementary way (with some fingerspelling) since I'm not extremely adept at sign language yet, while I responded back in spoken language. There were times where I could pick up some of his words with my left ear since he projected in a clear, deep voice and talked slowly. We continued this cycle for a good half-an-hour before moving onto Silent Sonata.

When Dr. Cseszneky fidgeted with his man bun, almost as if something was bothering him, I couldn't help but feel crappy again. I'm probably causing him a lot of trouble for dragging my lesson, not being able to play up to my usual standards before my hearing deteriorated. 

"Mina, what's wrong?" I could somewhat hear him say in his baritone voice.

I raised my head, wiping my nose and my eyes, "I don't know how this is going to work without my hearing."

"Mina. Music is not just about sound; it—" Dr. Cseszneky leaned forward on the side of my left ear, but he's talking too fast and it's hurting my head.

"Can you repeat the second sentence?" I requested, "Maybe slower and louder?"

With a patient smile, he leaned in again and repeated his words according to my instructions, "Music is an experience that plays to all senses."

I have no idea what that means.

Our time limit for this lesson had been surpassed yet we didn't have enough time to go over Silent Sonata. While eating dinner with Sana at Indie Food & Wine, I couldn't concentrate on my sausage sandwich nor my cup of coffee. Juilliard Orchestra rehearsals are in less than an hour and my mind fleeted to the happenings of yesterday, wherein my lack of hearing perception caused the ensemble to stay overtime. I had to mentally prepare myself for the disappointment that I'm about to encounter within the next fifty minutes or so.

*tap*

"Eh?"

"What's wrong?" Sana set her fork down and signed, "You're not eating."

I exhaled, shifting around in my seat for comfort, "I'm going to cause a mess for our orchestra again."

"Huh?" the hornist squeaked out loud, startling the other patrons at the eatery, "Don't think like that. Everybody knows that you lost your hearing and that you're still struggling to adjust—"

"Then why were those violinists pointing fingers at me and laughing?" I wailed out and knocked down my chair as I stood up precipitiously, but then I chickened out after seeing Sana's dismayed face, "Oh my god. I'm... I'm so sorry! I'm not mad at you! I'm... I'm just..."

She placed a finger on my lips before signing back, "It's okay. At least you're not going to rehearsals today."

I fumbled and knocked my chair over a second time, "What?"

"Chaeyoung didn't tell you?"

"Chaeyoung has something to show you. Can you meet up with her at the Alice Tully Hall on Tuesday? At 6 p.m.?"

Oh, that.

The Sixty-Sixth Measure

Why am I here?

There are about a couple hundred or so people sitting in a half-moon in the Alice Tully Hall, all of whom are affiliated with Juilliard. Some of them are Juilliard students, some of them are from the pre-college division, a good number of them were from the adult extension program/evening division, and there were three members from the faculty, one of whom I recognized as Dr. Dupré, Chaeyoung and Bambam's percussion instructor. Dr. Dupré is not deaf or hard of hearing but I believe that he has a child who is, and thus he learned sign language.

"Where's Sana?" I asked Chaeyoung.

"Orchestra practice", Chaeyoung signed back, "She's a section leader so she can't leave."

"I'm a section leader too?"

"You have an excuse. She doesn't."

I cocked my head at her, "What about you?"

"I'm pretending to be sick", she snickered but I'm not quite amused. I still don't know why she skipped orchestra practice to bring me here.

Nobody else said a single word, or as far as I'm concerned judging by the lack of movement from people's lips. Every minute or so, one person would get up and saunter over to the table that offered a colorful array of candies, cookies, and fruit punch. This situation reminded me of one of those group therapy sessions that Ms. Chan would arrange between me and nine other depressed or anxious Juilliard students. I was usually the only music major in that circle while the rest would be drama or dance majors. I used to not understand why there were no other music major during group therapy sessions, which caused me to fret about being the only "crazy" person in my faction, or that's how Yuzuna would word it.

Maybe nobody needed to get help. Maybe nobody wanted to admit to needing help. All of my life, my parents and my mentors catechized me into believing that I was inferior to everyone; that I would never become a great musician for as long as I wasted one minute doing something else like watching Ghibli movies with Sana or playing dodgeball (and miserably losing) with the other "normal" kids in my elementary school. My elders believed that holding a mindset wherein I'm an interminable failure would help me to grow into a stronger competitor.

If I asked anyone other than my instructors or my parents for help, I would be a loser. If I perpetually ask for help from my instructors or my parents instead of instantly picking up a skill, I would still be deemed as a loser. There was never a way for me to win.

God. This situation is just reminding of how weak and introverted of a person I am.

In the midst of all silence, a young woman with wavy brown hair and porcelain skin entered the room. She released a glorious smile that could revive the dying, focusing intently on my face rather than everyone else's. She stood at the front of the room, close to my left ear. Do I know her?

I tapped Chaeyoung's shoulder to divert her attention towards my hands, "Do I know her?" 

"She's Sana's mother", she shot a perplexed look at me, "You didn't know that?"

Sana's mom? She looks so young. One would've mistaken her as Sana's older sister or cousin.

Truthfully, I've only seen Sana's mother once or twice during my childhood. She'd always set up a plate of hot, molten cookies and have the projector readied for movies before I arrived at the Minatozaki's residence, so I never actually communicated with her. All I know is that her mom is a music director who conducts both symphonic band and vocal ensemble at some performing arts high school in San Francisco.

We made our introductions: Name, Age, Major, and our reason for attending Juilliard. Not everybody shared, so it was a quick process. Chaeyoung's opening was very detailed and long-winded while mine was short and sweet: My name is Mina, I'm twenty-one years old, I'm majoring in bassoon performance, and I chose Juilliard because it's a good school. Everyone in the circle took it as an acceptable response while Sana's mother preserved her affable smile.

Going through the introductions, it hit me that the people attending this meeting are profoundly deaf (like Chaeyoung), have a certain degree of hearing loss (like me), or have a relative who is deaf/hard of hearing. Wheein, a piano major in my musicology class and the daughter of my ASL instructor, is also one of the participants. The pianist expressed that her hearing has been deteriorating over the past sixteen years and it made her question whether continuing in Juilliard is worth it. Being in that same position, I had to emphasize with her.

Then the circle made its way to Sana's mom, who turned out to be the guest speaker that was invited by Juilliard. The host of this particular event stepped off and allowed her to take the stage. There were subtitles displayed on a screen behind her, but she communicated using both sign language and her spoken voice, and my left ear could grasp some traces of her voice. Eventually, I parted my attention towards the subtitles because I couldn't decipher her words nor keep up with her accelerated sign language and the speed of her hand movements.

I didn't quite grasp the name of Sana's mom and it wasn't displayed in the projection behind her, so I just referred to her as, well, Sana's mom.

"So I was not born deaf", she began, "I could hear sounds just like the majority of people. I could listen to music and rely on my ears for perceiving sound. And because I was so fascinated with music and how it could bring together a community, I became a member of several choirs around this city. And then I enrolled in LaGuardia and met my late husband there. We made corny music jokes and rambled about classical composers more than hip hop, and then we were both assigned solos for a citywide competition. Forrest's You Are The Music, I believe. Him with his horn, me with my voice. When I heard our sounds intermingle, we grew to become even more than just friends."

She's talking about Sana's dad, their inseparable relationship and passion for music, and it made me wish that my parents shared that mindset.

Then for four minutes, Sana's mom delved into silly summer music camp accounts, all of which revolved around Sana's dad. She included the time he got chased by a deer, passed out during one rehearsal after smoking pot, and was locked in the storage room with her after assisting the staff with transporting percussion equipment. Just like Sana, her mom had so many (embarrassing) stories to tell that I began to zone out.

Her facial expression changed abruptly after the "storage room story". Her teary eye pulled me in so singularly that I sat up in my chair and fixated my eyes on the subtitles again.

"And then on the final night of that camp, I heard ringing noises in my ear", she started with a morose expression, "We were about to give a performance culminating what we learned within the past four weeks. I was so excited to share the evolution of my voice to the audience, but when I opened my mouth, I couldn't hear my own voice. And I looked around at my peers in the choir and I couldn't hear their voices as well, despite their mouths moving. As the audience stood up and clapped, my head was spinning. I ran offstage into the arms of my husband and he tried to console me. The saddest part of that day was not hearing his voice; my husband's voice. Before I knew it, I couldn't see anything. I out."

"Sana, I can't hear you!"

This narrative sounded all too familiar. Flashbacks of seven months ago infiltrated my thoughts and when everything became clear, I shivered. This was one of the first concerts the Juilliard Orchestra gave out and I was coerced into performing Jolivet's Concerto before an expectant audience. During my performance, I found out that there was something wrong with me. My hearing cancelled out, my head was spinning, my facial muscles were in unbearable pain, and I also out. It was an introduction of what led me to what I am today: hard of hearing.

A single tear traveled down my cheek; I remember, but now I want to forget. 

"At the beginning of the second semester in my sophomore year, it was confirmed that I had not one, but two tumors in my brain. I had an acoustic neuroma."

Well .

"And those tumors were in its worst possible stage, so I had to get them removed as soon as possible before something even worse happens, like death. But the removal of those tumors didn't come without its complications. By the summer before my junior year, I was legally deaf."

I'm speechless. I mean, I've been speechless since I entered the meeting, but I had no idea that Sana's mom was deaf, let alone from an acoustic neuroma just like me. It explained why Sana never spoke with her mom; it's because she can't hear Sana's voice. They used signed language.

That also explains why Sana is so knowledgable in sign language. I wonder why she didn't tell me this earlier.

"I thought that I my loss of hearing incurred my lost my identity", her mom continued, trying not to break into tears, "And I believed that way because my reality had changed. I had suddenly became the 'new kid' that couldn't keep up as well as others. The people whom I believed to be my friends turned their backs against me because they didn't want to put forth the effort to communicate with me. My choir director, who I thought as a role model, threatened to kick me out of the program because I couldn't keep up with my 'hearing' classmates. I couldn't keep time and tell whether I was harmonizing with them because I did not have my hearing anymore. I really thought about giving up; I really did."

I don't understand how she's able to sustain that smile without her voice cracking or her hands freezing.

"I love music. I don't know how I can live without it. But you need in order to be a music major, so what was the point of continuing if I didn't have my hearing? What was the point of living I can't do what I wanted to do all my life? It's been very clear from my childhood, from the moment I watched Miss Saigon and A Chorus Line on Broadway, My Fair Lady and The Sound of Music on television, and watched the Monteverdi Choir that I wanted to sing. I'd rather be dead than live with the thought of not listening to music and not hearing my own voice."

I'm also asking myself these questions right now, and it's so unfortunate that I just discovered how to appreciate my music this year instead of earlier in my life.

Sana's mom was pacing around the stage, looking for volunteers to share their answers, "When you hear the word 'deaf', what is the first thought that pops into your head?"

Dr. Dupré, the percussion instructor, raised his hand and signed, "Disabled."

"And how does the majority view the disabled?" she signed back.

I was shocked when Chaeyoung offered something, "They think that we're weak; that we're not capable of doing things that hearing people can do."

Sana's mom rendered Dr. Dupré and Chaeyoung's signs into spoken language for those who aren't fluent in sign language, and people responded with nods or the snapping of their fingers as a way to agree or sympathize with her statement.

"My husband, who always remained by my side and never severed ties with me, encouraged me to do something different. It never involved any kind of electronical device that enhances hearing. He learned American Sign Language with me so that we can communicate with each other. Devices like cochlear implants were not prevalent back in our day."

Oh?

Her radiant smile returned, "He signed me up to sing at LaGuardia's annual talent show, also known as LaGuardia Arts Rising Stars. Of course I was mad at him because I thought that he was a lunatic for making me, a deaf girl, sing in front of two thousand students. But I didn't want to disappoint him so I went with the plan anyways. I had to trust what I knew about singing, which meant relying on muscle memory and sense of vibration. There were no tuning applications at the time, so my husband had to insinuate to me whether I was hitting the right notes or not."

"Mina. Music is not just about sound; it is an experience that plays to all senses."

Is this what my instructor meant?

"I did not win the talent show", she continued with a laugh, I believe, judging by the reverberation on her lips, "But I did get a standing ovation from my peers and the school staff. My ex-friends and vocal instructor apologized for having shown prejudice against me."

It's great to hear that the people who judged Sana's mom have admitted to their mistakes. I can't say the same for some people.

Sana's mom puffed out a sigh before returning to her talk, "It's a very common assumption among able-bodied people that you need your ears in order to enjoy music. That is not true. Over time after that talent show, I found pleasure in consuming the vibrations produced by music, feeling my vocal chords, observing the body movements of musicians when they're playing so passionately, and seeing the joy in people's faces after giving a performance. Music doesn't have to be limited to the hearing majority because music — in my opinion, through the vibrations and the body language of a performer — is authentic, true, and honest emotion that can connect with the hearts of all people, including the deaf and hard of hearing." 

I think my eyes are already b with tears. By losing her hearing, she learned to adopt a different perspective on music and create her own identity. She chose to be empowered.

"I no longer feel that being deaf has taken away something from my life. If anything, becoming deaf has added to my life. If it wasn't for the new prospect I gained about music, I would've not redeemed the accomplishments that I made today. And by accomplishments, I don't mean being a music director for the award-winning San Francisco School of Performing Arts instrumental and vocal music program, which I am."

The audience laughed at Sana's mom's unforeseen fit of swagger.

She mellowed down, "By accomplishments, I mean finding self-worth by fortifying my personal dignity every single day, through post-it notes."

Oh my god. That was the self-affirmation exercise that Chaeyoung was talking about months ago. I can't believe that I forgot about that.

Maybe I should restart. 

Question time came. Wheein raised her hand first to ask a question about the song Sana's mom performed at the LaGuardia talent show. It was Don't Rain On My Parade from Funny Girl, in which the song is about striving to reach your goals without letting negative people distract you.

Sana's mom is so powerful.

"I want to thank you all for taking the time out of your busy schedules to come here and attend this seminar. I'd also like to thank President Polisi and the Juilliard Disability Resources Center for inviting me to speak at this prestigious institution", Sana's mom dismissed, "I hope that you walk out of this hall with the mindset that you are not a failure, that deaf people can accomplish and enjoy the same activities just as much as hearing people, and that they are worthy of love and respect."

The Sixty-Seventh Measure 

Wednesday: May 5, 2021

I practiced Silent Sonata with Chaeyoung after the seminar but we hadn't kept track of time, and for this reason we exited the Juilliard campus past midnight. The trains down in the metro began to run infrequently and the stations were about to close. Late-night drinkers retired from disparate clubs and bars around the Upper West Side, lethargically dragging their feet to the subway or hailing for taxis. Chaeyoung was anxious about me walking home alone from Chambers Street Station to my condo near River Terrace and Teardrop Park, so she and her parents offered to have me sleep over at their residence on West 34th Street. Chaeyoung is shorter than me and didn't own any sleeping shorts that didn't threaten to expose my cheeks. The only piece of nightwear that I would fit me was the penguin kigurumi she wore at my 21st Birthday Party in San Francisco.

And therefore for the night, I'm a penguin.

To be even, Chaeyoung wore her tiger pajamas so that I wouldn't feel embarrassed. The percussionist may be sarcastic and sometimes temperamental but she's really the sensitive, compassionate friend that I needed especially in this time where I'm coping with my loss of hearing. It is probably because Chaeyoung can relate to my struggles as she had gone through the same ordeal before. If Sana, Jeongyeon, or heck, the rest of the Crack Squad were here, they would take pictures of me right now and threaten to post them on their social media accounts.

Chaeyoung had made many changes to her room in the past couple of months. Her framed prints of her drawings and past photographs were now hung next to her bedside rather than in front of her. Instead, that wall was glistening with post-it notes of different neon colors, each featuring a positive affirmation statement that she wrote with a Sharpie pen. My eyes skimmed through the notes and came across some that stood out.

I am confident
I am courageous
I have the power to do whatever I want to do
I won't let anyone stop me
Being Deaf will not deter me; it will empower me

I was about to cry at the last one.

*Bing*

Oh? It's my phone. I could feel the vibration in my kigurumi pocket. 

[Son Chaeyoung] Can we just text each other right now? My arms are sore from "percussing"

[Mina Myoui] Oh, okay

Chaeyoung deposited her mallet case next to her lamp table, crawled into her bed, and pulled the sheets over half of her body, leaving her hands free for texting. She patted the portion of the mattress where I would be sleeping, as her bed is big enough to squeeze in two people. I turned around and had my chin smushed into the pillow, reflecting on the seminar Sana's mom held five hours ago.

[Son Chaeyoung] What did you think of that talk?

[Mina Myoui] I was moved. I didn't think of viewing my loss of hearing from that kind of perspective. Sana's mom is really something.

[Son Chaeyoung] Glad to hear that :) We brought her here to help you out.

What? 

I tilted my head at Chaeyoung and she's grinning, almost as if she had won a trophy or unlocked an achievement in her game.

[Mina Myoui] Who is "we"?

[Son Chaeyoung] Sana and I

Sana was involved in this too?

[Son Chaeyoung] I communicated with President Polisi and the Disability Resources Center. Sana contacted her mom through text.

[Mina Myoui] And how long have you guys been planning this?

[Son Chaeyoung] Since my birthday party ended. We both stayed after. 

I don't know what to say.

[Son Chaeyoung] I know this might sound odd, but while I was in the mental institution, I had a dream that I was in Sana's house in San Francisco. I was talking to the ghost of her late dad and he narrated the story of his wife, or otherwise known as Sana's mom. I told Sana about this dream and she confirmed with me that her mom is, in fact, deaf. We brought her to Juilliard so that you can her hear story.

A gentle laughter escaped from my lips.

[Son Chaeyoung] I hope that with what happened to her and what happened to me, you'll be able to persevere

An unanticipated amount of emotion welled up inside of me, making it seem like my heart was going to jump out of my chest. Sana's mom is so thoughtful and inspirational. She didn't view her deafness as a weakness but rather, a benefit. I've never thought of viewing my loss of hearing as an asset rather than a shortcoming. Society had always painted a picture where disability equates to incapability, which explains why I was so depressed over the past few days, and which is also why Chaeyoung initially viewed herself as a strain to the Juilliard Orchestra. 

[Son Chaeyoung] Oh, Mina. Do you have Jeongyeon and Momo's USB with you?

[Mina Myoui] Umm... let me check.

I rolled off Chaeyoung's bed and ped the front pocket of my bassoon case. Indeed, the USB was there, unscathed.

I waited for Chaeyoung to look at me before signing, "Why?"

"You'll see", she signed back.

The shorter girl dived for her laptop resting on the foot of her bed. Snapping it open, Chaeyoung logged into her account and motioned for me to give her the USB. I did as I was told and with an eager smile, she connected it to her laptop and waited until a notification popped up on her desktop. She glided her finger vertically across the fingerpad to click on the pop-up in order to open up the file.

"There's subtitles so don't worry", Chaeyoung signed slowly to me, then deflected her gaze back to her laptop screen.

I nodded at her to move the cursor up to the "Play" button on the video.  

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for being bad with updating lately. I'm on vacation to London and Paris so I couldn't find the time (and internet haha) to write. In addition, I'm not writing out any bonuses until after I finish Silent Sonata because I want to focus on completing the story. I hope you all have been well and I'm sorry for keeping you all waiting.

From here on out, MitangMan (who is deaf and wears hearing aids) will be assisting and counseling me in writing these chapters. There's nobody that can describe hearing loss better than someone who is actually hard of hearing themselves and I want to respect their community in that way. Even though I had a friend who was deaf and interacted with the Deaf/HoH people within my special needs group, it is difficult to write about experiences we don't fully understand. 

Doesn't the Mina and Chaeyoung sleepover scene remind you of something? Hint: It's a VLIVE

Characters