AT the age of 63, Len continues to work in the boisterous environment of a salon. Chatter among beauticians, audio on the television and the whir of hairdressing equipment are all crammed into the studio-sized room.
Yet, despite working in that salon for years, Len has heard none of these noises.
One Thursday morning, as Len stroked this customer’s nails with red paint and great focus, I kept trying to get her attention, but to no avail.
Edith Traballo, a colleague and self-proclaimed “best friend” of Len, then approached me saying, “Hindi ka maririnig niyan.”
Len had lost her hearing even before she started clipping and painting nails at Remy’s Beauty Lane, a brightly lit salon inside the shopping center of the University of the Philippines (UP) in Diliman. A beautician, she’s been doing manicure and pedicure at the customer’s instructions, which she receives and understands by reading their lips, for some 40 years already. She lost her hearing back in high school, when she overdosed on a drug that was supposed to cure her cough.
Going against the doctor’s advice, which was to use only half the bottle of the prescribed medicine a day, the nurse of a health center in Camalig, Albay, told Len it was all right to use up the entire bottle, just once, but that if she wanted to, Len could consult the doctor before she agreed to the nurse’s suggestion.
“Ang sabi sa’kin, pwede namang ubusin ’yung whole bottle, pero hindi araw-araw. Sabi ko, subukan. Nasubukan,” she said.
Len was living with her grandmother at the time. Her mother died when she was little and her father, who died much later, was barely visible to her and her five siblings as they grew up and got older. So, Len found it difficult to open up about the situation to her lola, her guardian, especially with the friendship of her grandmother and the nurse in the way.
Rachel Hernandez, a caregiver at Ayala Alabang and a graduate of Technical Education and Skills Development Authority, said the reason why some nurses give their own medical advice, despite the doctor’s instructions and patients allow them, is that they prefer the faster route.
“May nakausap din akong patient na sinabi niya na bakit nga ganoon. ’Yung sa kanila, uso ang shortcut. Kung sa shortcut ako gagaling, e di doon na ako sa shortcut,” she said.
Len said her hearing worsened over the years, but that it significantly changed before she graduated high school.
“Medyo tumunog na ’yung tenga ko. Tapos nung tumagal-tagal, malapit na sa graduation namin, hindi na ako masyadong nakarinig hanggang naka-graduate ako, hanggang ngayon—grabe ngayon,” she said.
Len’s loss of hearing made her reluctant to go outside the house for quite some time, and it took a bit of prodding from her aunt before she finally agreed to interact with people willingly again, she said. Her aunt had hopes of her regaining her sense of hearing; however, it never came back, and not even hearing aids would do the trick.
“Hindi kaya kasi ’yung tunog parang gumu-Gong!” she said
But her situation clearly did not hinder Len from getting a job.
“Hindi naman ako masyadong nahirapan kumuha ng trabaho kasi ’yung kapitbahay namin may sariling parlor. Kinuha niya ako para magtrabaho sa parlor niya. Ngayon, pinapunta ako ng kapatid ko dito sa Maynila, dito sa UP. Matagal na ako,” Len said.
In the 40 years that Len has been working at Remy’s Beauty Lane, she built good friendships with her colleagues, some stronger than others. Edith recalled how her chats with Len would be family and problems. It’s not difficult to communicate with her best friend, she said.
“Kasi nung sinabi nila na lip-reading siya, ‘pag magsasalita ako, haharap ako sa kanya. Haharapin mo lang siya para makita niya ang bukas ng bibig mo,” Edith said.
Although content with her life at present, Len said she misses the sound of the radio, as well as the sound of people’s voices, but nonetheless, she continues to move forward, bearing in mind the ephemerality of life through her parents’ death.
“[Iniisip] ko na lang, para sa kinabukasan ko, para sa pagtanda,” Len said.
Justine Anjanique P. Jordan