Written by one of our lab members, Aaron Vincent.
Their Silent Strength
I ponder about a future path as an SLP,
Reflecting on my journey to date,
My thoughts always drift
Towards that intriguing realm of aphasia,
A world that is both complex and illuminating.
I have witnessed the struggle
Of individuals whose words linger
At the tips of their tongues,
But washed away by the capricious strokes
Of fate's cruel brush.
For some, it's not just their words they lose,
But maybe the use of a limb or two,
Yet it's their stolen lexicon
That seems to weigh heaviest on their souls.
I've seen their clenched fists and their gritted teeth,
Their eyes squeezed shut in desperation,
As they scour the deepest recesses of their minds,
Searching for words obscured by a fog,
Almost behind invisible barriers.
Each pregnant pause feels like an eternity,
A canvas quietly waiting for its splash of words.
But they are met with confused stares and puzzled looks,
"I know, I know, but I cannot say," they lament,
Gesturing towards their heads,
A twisted maze with thoughts
They scramble to express meaning,
But find themselves hindered.
The sense of defeat growing
With every passing moment.
Their frustration is palpable,
I see it while they frantically rub their heads
As they grapple with elusive words.
Their eventual sighs almost scream in resignation.
Having to abandon the chase,
Frustration is replaced with disappointment and sorrow,
At their inability to articulate
Their innermost thoughts.
Yet despite the struggle,
Amidst the silent battles waged within,
Who's to say they're not communicating?
For in the depths of their eyes,
I glimpse a universe of emotion and meaning,
And in the spaces between their words,
I hear the echoes of dreams,
The whispers of fears,
And the murmurs of hope.
But anchored are we by societal norms,
As our ideologies define us,
We've constructed a world where language reigns supreme.
But whose language is deemed "normal"?
In this tapestry woven from the diverse, colorful threads
Of culture and experience?
Diving deeper into the mysteries of research,
I'm confronted with unexpected truths,
With tests that preemptively judge, assume while they assess,
With words based on the shadows of our colonial past.
So who are we to test their languaging?
To critique them for not telling a “fawn” from a “fort”,
Or a “heap” from a “head”?
And if I stumble, unable to discern a “xylophone” or a “snowshoe”,
Does that mean I, too, have lost my language?
Yet despite these challenges,
Despite their frustrations and limitations,
I witness their resilience,
Their unwavering determination,
Their unyielding spirit.
As they come together to form a community
Where they share their personal stories,
Of families, of dreams, of intimate pasts,
I can't help but feel humbled,
As I stand in awe
Of their strength, their spirit, their passion.
They teach me more than any medical textbook ever could,
For in their desire to return to their languaging pasts
I face a mirror reflecting my own doubts,
My own uncertainties about our roles on this stage
As a growing realization descends:
“Maybe we are the ones who shackle them”,
And I find my quest to find keys to freedom,
To expose truths and to offer help.
So, as I embark on this journey,
Navigating these seas of silence where nothing seems to change,
I vow to be more than a mere observer,
More than a passive bystander.
I aspire to be the bridge that connects our islands,
Uniting our distinct worlds of varied expression,
And to see their true selves shine bright.
I want to fight for empathy, for justice, for acceptance.
For in the end,
Isn’t "normal" just a devious illusion?
A social construct born from our collective imagination?
And perhaps, while we embrace the diversity of human experience,
We may find that “normal” is not something to be defined,
But something to be celebrated,
In all its numerous forms.
END
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