February 10, 2009

Sign it right


At 3:00 today, I debated whether to go to the deaf school or simply make it another day. I ended going and coming home with 400 photos.

Now I finally know which wall makes the best backdrop, who makes the best sign models and what color shirt is needed to avoid 10 hours extra work on Photoshop.

A few months ago, the intention was to simply collect a few signs to use when teaching English. Now, I’ve ended up working on a small dictionary. Of course, there’s a big need for one, but it is a big project. A conventional dictionary can hold 40 definitions on one page, but for signs, we need photos and that amounts to four words a page. Sometimes we need close-ups or side shots and often times a progression of shots to capture what should be meanings in motion. I’m not sure how I got tempted into this project other than the fact that it is immensely fun. I leave the deaf school with my right brain refreshed. I forget to speak to people who hear and the usual thought-babble in my head is tamed.

Today I brought an American sign-language book. Someone had asked for one. It was more popular than the Thai one as they had probably been educated to avoid Thai signs to prevent Lao language loss. I was curious what they were seeing. The explanations were in English, but there seemed to be enough recognizable signs. I’m sure they would find ways to communicate if given the chance. For them, it’s probably only the resistant people who can hear that are the problem.

I can’t trust that I understand, but I’m sure one boy is saying that if he could learn enough American sign language, he could go to America and communicate with a wider world. I can tell that the book helps make this dictionary project real for them. More kids are volunteering to have their pictures taken. They will be thrilled to have their own book in print.

The kids’ personalities seem more vivid without spoken words. They live together in a tiny world and though they might feel fettered at times, I sense something very special about their world, so special that I won’t be able to find words to explain until much later.

They are neither miserable nor pitiable. I cringe when the do-gooders come. The other day a couple shyly handed out plastic slippers. On another day, a troupe of rich high school girls came to entertain, singing and screaming in shrill voices. How do the kids feel? They seem to play their roles cooperatively, granting the do-gooders enough satisfaction that they can go home feeling they’ve helped miserable people. Who is more miserable? Am I too cynical?

This is one my favorite pictures. You can guess what it means. This is the boy that wants to go to America. It’s a big dream, but you can see it in his eyes. He knows how to get there too.