My ears never stop listening 

Tyler Deakin-Thomas

I am always listening – to others’ stories, to conversations being held by strangers, to the ticking of the clock, to the news. I think my brain can’t filter out noise to focus on the most important noises. All this external input is constantly impacting my internal world.  

As a child, my parents got my hearing tested, probably wondering why I found it hard to listen to them. I’m sure they were surprised when the test came back and there was nothing wrong with my hearing. I still get overwhelmed with all the noise. When everything comes at me all at once, I can’t process anything. 

In my teen years, I remember always being able to hear my parents talking, fighting, discussing me and my many issues. I would beat myself up about some of the things they would say. They certainly tried to understand me, but how can they when they’re not me. Sometimes if their voices were too muffled, my brain would fill in the gaps with mean things about myself. It was a rough time. 

On the internet, it was easy to listen to people who had no business talking about their uneducated ideas. So many ideas about identity and what was right and wrong. Even in passive consumption, knowing I disagreed, their ideas stuck inside my head. It felt like the whole world was against me and my ‘kind’.   

I find it especially hard not to listen to myself. To ignore the constant internal thoughts about what potential catastrophes could be caused by a single conversation, text message, or action. Questions about my morality and mortality. Fears of ruining relationships with one wrong move. My lack of ‘significant action’ over injustice in the world. Just as the noise overwhelms, so do the thoughts; they go hand in hand.  

I am glad to never be alone in this world; community, family, friends keep me going. But sometimes I wish I could be somewhere truly quiet, even of my thoughts. Where I could rest.  

I try to find this quiet sometimes. Sitting alone at Success Hill Reserve, Ashfield Flats, Baigup Wetlands, or Taylah Reserve. Listening to the wind in the kwel, inviting me to stop and look upwards. The lapping of the waves on the shore of the Derbal Yerrigan, reminding me...  

I’m trying to listen for an answer, but I think I have all the wrong questions. Boodja doesn’t care about my career choices or my infinite yearning. It cares about giving me direction, purpose. When boodja talks, I know what I must do. I must listen.