Bane and Blessing: The Story of My Sight
I have always wondered how it felt to be totally blind, totally dissociated from the visual world, from birth. I know, scientifically, one’s other senses such as hearing and feeling would be significantly augmented such that the person might not show palpable signs of any visual deficit. Even blind people frequently attest to this wonderful creation or discovery of a rich landscape of touch and sound. But how does a blind man “feel” the warmth of a smile if he doesn’t see it? How does he appreciate the rough beauty of Van Gogh’s paintings? How does he truly see the magic of form and color? How does he experience the shining wonder of the night sky, or the beauty of the Spring, nature’s grand pageant?
What I know is that there is a huge difference between having and lacking a visual world, at least from my experience. For the first fifteen years of my life I had a sight that could be well described as partial blindness. I was severely short-sighted, being only able to see things that are seven inches away in details and anything farther was a frame of colors, nothing more. That is, I could see that there was something in front of me but I was unable to tell what it was. It was so bad that I could not even meaningfully watch TV except when I came within distance of “kissing” the TV. Classes were boring because I could not see the board. Everything looked dull, drab, and totally uninteresting. I could not understand why people would see a car zoom by and say, “that’s a nice car.” I would think, “how do they know?” I really thought everyone else had my kind of vision, that we all saw faraway objects as colors mish-mashed in a frame. I was so clueless.
The confusion got worse at home. My siblings would sit blithely on the sofa—which was about 10 feet from the TV— and just watch away, laughing and talking about what they were watching. I would sit there laughing along with them but not seeing anything but an intercourse of colors on the screen. Then I wondered, “Are they even normal? Is this an expensive joke or something else? What is wrong with them? Maybe I am the problem…maybe I am not normal.” I was about seven years old at the time, so I gathered my little cute self and walked up to my dad, who is a medical doctor, to tell him about this weird…thing. In a chaotic state of mind I asked, “Dad, I don’t think I can see as well as others…is something wrong with me? Am I normal?” My dad calmed me down, as fathers do, and explained that there was nothing to worry about since neither him nor my mom had eye problems, so the chance of me having a significant eye problem was quite low. “You are normal,” he assured. Then he added, “if anything, I will start you on yeast. That should improve your sight.” Relieved, I went back to my normal life, a life of visual dullness.
Despite such a big rent in my visual life, I coped surprisingly. I adapted by being more sensitive to sounds and people’s voices. I would sit in class and assimilate information by listening to the teachers with superhuman precision. However, I was still faced with trials and tribulations especially in school. I was very tall compared to my peers, so the teacher would always seat me at the rear of the class, which was about 20ft from the blackboard. Several times, I would be asked to answer questions on the board, but since I couldn’t see the board, I would ask the student beside me to tell me what the questions were, much to my teachers’ rage. I was beaten many times, and when I tried to explain that it was because of my poor sight, I was beaten even more for lying and trying to find useless excuses. So I kept silent on the issue for a long time because I was shy, insecure, and fearful about telling people about this demon who buffeted me constantly. I spent another eight years entrapped in this cloud of pain before my life changed completely, forever.
Some months before my 15th birthday, my right eye began to swell exponentially. Alarmed by the rapid swelling, my mom took me to see an eye specialist. He was a middle-aged man with a lot of heft to his stature. He also memorably had a sizable pot belly. “It’s just a carbuncle,” he disclosed and continued, “you know, a bunch of boils that grow close to each other.” My mom heaved a sigh of relief. “So what do we do?” she asked with a tone of curiosity. “Well,” he replied, “It’s on the skin close to his eyes, so I can recommend some antibiotics to stop the infection. The swelling will reduce on its own.” Then came the moment of upturn— “Mrs. Oni,” he called, “It’s a skin infection, it’s really not my job. I work mainly on the eye itself. You want his eye checked?” My mom consented with a casual “yes,” and he got to work. After an exhausting bout of visual tests, he suddenly looked in utter disbelief, eyebrows slightly lowered, forehead sharply pulled into a three-fold crease above his nose ridge, with his mouth slightly agape. Seemingly weakened by the discovery, he mustered all the strength he had left and then asked my mom, “How has he managed to see all his life?” A cold silence rippled across the room. Absolutely shocked, my mom asked, “uh, is it that bad?” and he solemnly replied, “Yeah, it’s bad. And worse, it’s congenital. It’s from birth.” My mom was speechless. The ophthalmologist was clearly moved, and although he asked me nothing, I could feel that he was thinking about what I might have gone through with such a poor vision. He sat on his rickety office chair and pointed to a shelf full of frames. “Pick a frame, and let’s get this boy his sight. The glasses will be ready in a week.” My mom wasted no time browsing through his large display of frames. She picked up one and held it in front of me, “you like it?” Pretending to think for a minute even though I really didn’t care, I nodded in agreement with her choice.
Two weeks later, my mom came to school to hand me the new glasses in a black case. I was very tempted to put it on right away, but I resisted and decided to go to a private place where I could have a personal moment with my new friend. I held the black case firmly in my right hand and took quick giant strides towards the sick bay while I fought tooth and nail to temper the sense of euphoria that was overtaking me. I got to the sick bay and was glad no one was there. I took a deep breath and then sat on one of the beds facing the window. The moment had come, the big bang that would change my world forever. Eyes closed, I unsheathed the glasses and put them on. I counted silently, “One, two, three.” Eyes open, indescribable wonder!
I felt like a newborn, like I just opened my eyes for the first time in a new world. Everything in my sight arose from the dead, everything came alive—the hibiscus flower just right outside the window, the green grasses outside, the louvers, the slightly rusted burglary proof, the blue bed sheets. So I had been missing out on all this beauty? The world isn’t dull, I discovered. It is only when we lose our ability to feel beauty that we fool ourselves into thinking everything is cold, drab, and ugly. Right there, tears streamed effortlessly down my cheeks, and I wept joyfully. For the next three hours, I just kept looking all around me, appreciating the beauty and weeping profusely. That was the first time in my life that I cried that much! Feeling reborn, I stepped out of the sick bay. I was floating on top of the world and had a smile that would compete with the sun in brightness. An unconquerable energy filled my mind as I spent most of the day walking around and telling people they are beautiful. “You are beautiful.”
That life impacting moment not only showed me a new world, it also elevated my consciousness of beauty. I now see beauty in everything, especially in nature. I find great pleasure in gazing with wonder at the loveliness of the night sky. The stars suffuse the sky with the moon beaming its gleaming smile. And even, sometimes, Venus and Jupiter shine their glory. Before darkness shrouds the day, I yearn for the awe-inspiring sight of the sunset. And every morning, the green foliage glows in its nakedness and flowers burst alive in splendor just like my eye for beauty renews daily. Nature’s pageant has never been grander.
