What Will I Hear When My Ears Stop Working?

When I was diagnosed with a rare hearing disorder I embarked on the unusual mission of preparing to go completely deaf—while archiving the sounds I never want to forget.

Illustrations by Danielle Chenette

What is silence? To most of us, it is found in temporary absence of sound: the quiet nights of sleep in suburban neighborhoods; the demi-beat before a pianist pounds the ivories; and the pause one takes after receiving bad news. In our world, silence is also abstract. It is the hush that blankets a city devastated by disaster. But silence – true silence – is neither poetic nor dramatic. For those who can no longer hear, it is constant and formless.

I think about this a lot. I imagine the experience of eating without sound, of muted mastication. I wonder if not being able to hear my own breath would unground me from my yoga asana. I think of all the shouting conversations in bars I wouldn’t have to listen to. But most of all, I think of what sounds I want to remember when I can no longer hear. The tap-tap of my fingers, busy writing on a keyboard. The waves along Hong Kong’s beaches at high tide. The hiss of a bonfire. The buttery tail of bassoon notes …