Our Life Is In Our Hands
Can you remember what you wanted to be when you were 17? I wanted to be a pilot, a rock climber or a skydiver. It was all about the freedom; the wind in your hair, life in your hands, ground under your feet freedom. A month before I turned 16, my mother took my brother - my visually impaired brother, and myself - my innocent, unknowing self for a routine eye exam.
As always, I was only there to keep him company, as any older brother should do. I would also get “tested” with him just so he wouldn’t feel so alone. While looking at my medical records, and noticing my birthday is near, the doctor asked my “what are your plans for your birthday? ” I told him that “I want to race my cousins in a Go Kart. ” He puffed through his nostrils, the sound you make when you hear something mildly humorous. Then he paused. Dropping his arm in his lap. There was this awful quietness about the room. I felt a sense of foreboding but was hesitant to admit it until the doctor broke the disturbing silence. He turned to my mother and in a confused yet hushed tone, he whispered “You haven’t told him yet? ” That day, I would learn, that I am, and always have been, legally blind. It was not until this moment that I noticed incapacitating grip the blurry world around me had on my life. In fact, this was the first moment I realised the world - beyond a metre of my face - was blurry at all.
How I managed to reach this age without ever figuring this out is beyond my understanding. Shortly after I was born, my parents made the discovery that their son has ocular albinism. They also made a decision, a somewhat unorthodox and bold decision: to never tell me. To send me to a normal school. To act like their son is a normal kid. Why? So I would act like a normal kid, survive in a normal world. There would be nothing to protect me but my own self belief. Despite the news, I continued to live life with the same obstinate determination my parents had instilled in me since I was a child. Over the course of the next 12 years I persevered through life like the normal, free person I knew I was. I was a chocolatier, a swimming instructor, a martial arts teacher and then I got a job as a travel agent. Somehow, on top of all of that, not a single person realised I was legally blind. However, one morning, when I reached the age of 29, I could hardly see the fine details in my own reflection in the mirror, only a few inches away from my face. The creases in my forehead which folded after years of squinting, the chip in my tooth, the jagged blonde hairline which drew a sharp curve in my scalp. They faded behind a wall of fogged glass. Now, being a travel agent is surprisingly competitive, when a customer comes in, you better get out of your seat shake their hand and pull the best fake smile you can before anyone else.
You better do it, because your commision, and even your job, is on the line. That day at work I remember turning my hands over and staring at the wrinkles in my knuckles, wondering where they had gone. I overheard my manager mumbling with an employee. “He hasn’t reached his monthly sales target since october. ” I knew that “he” was me. It couldn’t be anywhere else. I looked up and realised the customer in front of me had been waiting for my response. “Sorry, what did you ask again? ” The old lady rambled on about her flight booking and something about the distance between the airport and I didn’t listen to the rest. I felt the same incapacitating grip wrap around my neck and shake away my confidence, my courage, my stubborn determination. In my lunch break, I made an appointment with my eye specialist, and in between my helpless sobs, I told her about how my eyes had gotten worse almost over night. She sat me down, didn’t bother with an examination. Instead, she simply asked me “Are you truly happy? ” She seemed to sense my confusion towards her unanticipated response. She reiterated. “Are you truly happy doing what you do? ” I shrugged. “You’re vision might not last forever, don’t waste time doing something that doesn’t truly make you happy. ” I can’t really remember much else from that conversation but I remember going home feeling like my heart had dropped into my stomach. I went home that day sinking into my couch, sulking in self pity. I noticed my hobby horse above my closet. The one I would fight for mith my brother as a kid. I thought I was happy, I thought I was free. I really did; but that horse reminded me that something wasn’t right.
What happened to the the wind in your hair, life in your hands, ground under your feet freedom? I rediscovered the sense of freedom that I had only just realised I had lost. I told myself “I know what i’ll do. I’ll become a skydiver. ” I had no idea if it was possible, no idea how I would manage to convince someone to let me skydive considering I might one day be as blind as a bat. All I knew was that was what I would do. And guess what? 4 months, 2 days and 14 jumps later, I was a B License Star Crest skydiver. And how on earth did I afford all of that? The third jump made the papers. People from around the world donated money for each jump. Now, 3 years, 2 months and 496 jumps later, I’ve started my own charity foundation and raised enough money to restore sight in 3500 children. My eyesight, with medication has improved dramatically too. Not exactly 20 20 but halfway there. You don’t need eyes to see. Only a vision.
