It wasn’t a normal party. History had shown us they didn’t work. So Sophie just had birthday cake and some savouries with her few friends. They stayed for an hour or so and then went home.
After one more of Sophie’s meltdowns, I rented the only two movies I knew of about deaf people: The Miracle Worker and Children of a Lesser God. ‘These might help give you some answers,’ I said to Sophie when my own answers weren’t helping her. But as she watched them I saw only more frustration and sadness.
‘Mum, Helen Keller was deaf and blind, so that’s hardly the same as me. And Marlee Matlin is a signing deaf person, and I don’t sign!’
Which was true. Sophie was oral, but it was tough. She knew no others like her. None of us did. She was constantly struggling. If only there was someone who was going through something similar.
‘Mum, why don’t you get it? No matter how hard I try or how many times I ask, it’s always the same! When I speak up to ask friends to repeat jokes or comments that I miss, they just brush me aside and move on, saying, “Oh, it’s nothing, Sophie.”’
It broke my heart to hear her despair.
I was excited to learn of a new research program that was seeking deaf adolescents and adults to explore voice coaching in a drama setting. The project was run by the Head of Voice at the Victorian College of the Arts, with one of her acting students who happened to be deaf. Both women were inspirational and Sophie looked forward to the sessions every Saturday for ten weeks. The project taught breathing skills to increase voice quality, and it was very beneficial for her.
Sophie always went into these things hopeful and couldn’t wait to make friends with the other participants, to share in conversations with them. Others taking part in the project could speak and some were proficient in Auslan. They were very patient and understanding with one another. What a great opportunity. I was now sure that the time had come for her to broaden her social life and be part of the deaf world as well as our hearing one.
After the ten weeks, the participants appeared in a short play, with all of them speaking. Everyone in the audience was crying by the end, and the actors were elated with the response.
Another niece, Yan Yan, Li’s fifth brother, Cunfar’s, daughter, who was a few months older than Sophie, was coming to Melbourne to study, too. But I just couldn’t take on a fifth child, even though she was a young adult. I felt guilty about it. Instead, I checked nearby homestays and visited several schools to find the best one for her to do Year 10.
Sophie told us that she wanted to complete one of her Year 12 subjects ahead of time, which would mean she had one less subject to worry about in her final year. She had decided to include dance for her Victorian Certificate of Education, so throughout Year 10 and Year 11 she became really focused on her choreography and dancing skills. We thought it was wonderful, because she was talented and we could both help her.
For the dance subject, Sophie had group assignments in Year 10 but solos in Year 11. She worked very hard on her major assignment. She had to choreograph and dance two very different solos and for months locked herself away in her room, marking out lines on the floor and going over and over her creations, practising her movements, finding music and working hard. I would often find myself comparing her life to her peers who were out partying or playing sport, and wishing she could have more freedom, but then I’d remember how both Li and I, at the same age, were applying all we had in us to become the best we could be in our chosen field.
Eventually Sophie was ready to show us and invite feedback. I kind of knew it would be good, but truly we were amazed. For her technical piece she used a Chinese calligraphy concept and made it a dance, mimicking the movement as if the space were the paper for her expression. It was beautiful, delicate and flowing. I found myself transfixed. I glanced at Li to see what he was thinking and he was quietly smiling and nodding. ‘Wow, Sophie! That was great!’ we said in unison as she looked to us for feedback.
For her contemporary piece, she had choreographed a dance about being locked in a cell, longing for freedom. It demonstrated all the despair, longing, hope and remembrance of a lost romance and, most importantly, the desired freedom. What she had achieved here was so moving, so expressive, so accomplished. What impressed us most was her ability to inject meaning through movement, developing the layers and weaving emotions with the music.
Although both pieces were only in their early stages, we believed that with further practice and refining she would do well in her exam. But we wouldn’t know her results until the end of Year 12 nearly twelve months away. I was so happy when she asked for my help in this; we agreed to put in the time on Saturday mornings when I’d finished teaching.
I hadn’t expected our first session to go pear-shaped quite so quickly, though. Sophie took exception to my corrections and stormed towards the door, looking thunderous. ‘Sophie, if you want my help, it’s now or never!’ I called out.
She stopped, looked at me with her stubborn stare, and finally said, ‘Okay, Mum.’
‘Let’s start again,’ I said. We then continued, more calmly.
Sophie had evidently decided she had nothing to lose by taking on what I had to say, and from that moment on she opened up and became an amazing student.
A year after Sophie’s speech at the Houston Center for Hearing and Speech, she took her desire to speak Mandarin to a whole new level. I was amazed when she decided to continue Mandarin in Years 11 and 12. ‘Mum, Dad. Wo xiang tigao wo de zhongwen shuiping. Wo ye xiang qa Zhong guo liu xue.’
‘What?’ I said, my jaw dropping somewhat. I looked at Li. His eyes were shining.
‘She said, “I want to improve my Chinese, and I also want to do an exchange in China,”’ he told me.
Sophie gave me a radiant smile. ‘The best way to improve my Chinese is to go there. I saw how much Tom improved from his exchange. I really want to do well. Can I go, please?’ she asked.
Tom had gone on a six-week school exchange to Tianjin the previous year. It was an intensive Chinese course especially designed for foreign students. Not only had his Chinese improved immeasurably, he had also gained an understanding and appreciation of Chinese history and the Chinese people. It was a brilliant trip for him. However, we’d never thought about it for Sophie because there was no such exchange program on offer through her school.
‘What about through Tom’s school?’ she suggested. ‘I can join theirs.’
Li was just as keen as she was, so he asked Tom’s Chinese tutor if there was any way that Sophie could enrol in the same program. The tutor contacted a host family in Tianjin and soon everything was in place. It was nearly three years since Sophie had gone to Houston by herself, and she was more mature now, I could hardly object this time. It would mean so much to Li. So in early December 2007, at the end of Year 11, Sophie and two students from Tom’s school headed off to Tianjin, a city about one hour north of Beijing. She’s not on her own and it’s only for five weeks, I told myself.
Sophie sent emails and called regularly. It was clear she was having a ball, enjoying her host family and their daughter, Sophia, who was the same age as her. They attended the same school, though Sophie was in the special class for foreign students learning Mandarin as a second language. ‘It’s freezing here, Mum,’ she told me, ‘but everyone talks to me slowly so I can understand. I’m happy with how my Chinese is going. The tonal language is very challenging, but I think I’m getting it.’ Amazing!