years 0-6: Love, Silence and the things I didn't know yet

 I don’t remember anything truly significant from those first six years.

What I do remember is love. From my parents, from my grandmothers who took care of me most of the times.
Sometimes, fragments come back to me. Fleeting impressions. Warmth. But also fear.

I vaguely remember a sinus operation, the uneasy image of a doctor placing a mask over my face. I was terrified.
I also remember, even then, having a sense that I was different. That I sometimes triggered strange reactions in people.

For a long time, no one knew I was deaf. It was only discovered later, because back then they didn’t do routine hearing tests.
People thought I was stupid. Some still do.

Sometimes I come across as socially awkward, even now, even with hearing aids.
It’s something that will mark me for life — but I try not to give it too much weight.
It only becomes heavy when you make it so.

When I ask people what I was like as a child, they usually say “very smart.”
I’d beat everyone at simple memory games. But i couldn't speak very well because of my hearing deficiency. 
I could read subtitles on TV before I even started first grade.
I was a sponge, soaking up everything.
I still am. I probably always will be.

But they also say I was kind. To everything and everyone.
I still am too...
And I’ve come to realise this one certainty so far: being kind is the essence.
Everything else is noise.